APBA Convention - 2004
© 7/2/2004
I’m 46 years old. But, during the last weekend in June of 2004, I was 13 again. I spent that last weekend in June in Las Vegas, Nevada. You nod your head knowingly: Las Vegas often transports people back through time, it’s sights and sounds magical and mystical. But it wasn’t “bright light city” that brought back my youth. It wasn’t even a time machine built into a DeLoreon. It was a pair of dice, one red, one white, and a bunch of crazy guys that came together to play a game.
And not just any game either. It wasn’t blackjack; it wasn’t roulette; it wasn’t even poker. It was baseball. The great game of baseball, condensed to a simulation that used dice instead of cowhide, spiral notebooks instead of wood. It was APBA baseball, to be exact. This is a game that was designed in it’s current form in 1951. This is a game that, as the old flyer and ads proclaimed, allows you to “manage a big league team.” This was the game of my youth and is the game that keeps me young.
The APBA Game Company staged their first ever west coast convention in Las Vegas and I was there. For the first time since high school, I was meeting people who played “the game.” There was Colin (also known as “body part”), a British chap who is an Oriole fan and a fine guy with which to chat. There was Jim and his wife Lorraine, both fellow Californians. Jim’s a nice guy with rough edges; Lorraine must carry a lot of sand paper. There was Randy, a guy from the great state of Michigan, who has a penchant for standing in front of cameras. There was Roy, forever branded “loser” by allowing Jim to beat him during the tournament. There was Art, and John, and another John, and yet another John. There was Dom, who has a great and classic Italian name. There was Joe and his methodical play. There was Maggie and her darn Reds. There was Eric, the seller of calendars, seasons, AJs, and other items. There was “The Cardfather” Jack, the seller of ... well, cards. Jack lives in Northern California, minutes from me; the world gets smaller. Of course, it was the meeting of the “Great Contributor” Nick, without whom APBA (and maybe even the Earth) would not exist, that made me understand the meaning of life. Apparently, life means “hail the 1961 Yankees.” He also had his own, personal APBA card. When I first saw it, it was inferior with the square corners reminiscent of the company that shall not be named. Through the miracle of Office Depot (or Staples-- take your pick) and the use of a corner rounder, the corners became round and all was right with the world. I met many who play APBA baseball with the same enthusiasm as me. They all had one thing in common: they were good people and meeting them was my pleasure.
I also met the guys who run the company, all three of them: Marc Rinaldi, Veryl Lincoln, and Skeet Carr. I have been receiving packages from APBA with Veryl’s name on the label for over 30 years. I’ve talked to Skeet on the phone several times during that same 30 years. To meet these guys, for me, was a thrill. I felt 13 again.
These three guys are great individuals who still believe in the quality of the product they sell and the quality of customer service they provide. APBA’s product remains at the top of the quality chain when compared to other offerings in this market. More importantly, the customer service provided by Marc, Veryl, and Skeet is truly phenomenal. If you call with a problem, they fix it. They don’t ask you to prove things; they don’t question your integrity or demand RMAs. They just make what’s wrong be right. Marc, who is company president and CEO, spends time on the company’s discussion board, answering questions, taking heat, and giving people a sounding board. He reports candidly about the company, well and above what any other company does. He, in fact, is sometimes more candid than he needs to be, providing information that most companies would never supply. During the year 2001, when financial woes stressed the company to the point of dissolution, Marc’s candidness with everyone likely saved some customers from jumping to another game. With no new baseball cards to sell and other products unavailable for various reasons, the company’s future looked bleak. With angry, bitter, and sometimes irrational customers (which, at least, shows the passion most have for this game) screaming, Marc provided information, something he didn’t have to do. He felt he had to because much of the game company’s problems were self-inflicted. He wanted everyone to know that all that could be done was being done. Somehow, he pulled a rabbit out of his hat, shipped the baseball cards, and the company’s revival began. The company has been shipping other new products while reviving or reinventing old products. Three years removed from the dark days, APBA looks to be stable and progressing. That the company is here today is a wonderful thing for all of us who have this passion. To Marc, Veryl, and Skeet, I say “thank you” for keeping a part of my youth alive.
What does this have to do with the convention? If these three guys hadn’t pulled that rabbit from the hat, there would have been no convention and I would have only been able to say that Las Vegas has many bright light bulbs and a gargantuan electric bill. But, we did have a convention and it was fantastic.
On Friday night, Jack Kohn spoke of his 40 plus years playing this game, a walk down memory lane that, without question, triggered many of our own memories. Marc followed that with a Q/A session where the first question was the nuclear bomb: what about this rival, the company that shall not be named? Because of the animosity that still stands, all Marc would say is that they are competitors; he left it at that, the high road taken. Marc also explained that most of the reasons things aren’t done as fast as people wanted were financial. While the company is stable, it is far from the hey day of the 1970s. Things are progressing and new things are coming. Perhaps the most animated question was from one of the many master game players who wanted to know why the master game symbols aren’t printed on the cards. This inevitably drew a comparison to the cards from the company that shall not be named. The answer was basically card clutter and confusion for the basic game player. Marc repeatedly noted that the basic gamers make up a high majority of the customer base. Marc also answered a question concerning the Millers and Baseball for Windows, saying only that there have been discussions. What most people forget is that APBA doesn’t own BBW; it is just the exclusive distributor (one of the few marketing mistakes made by Dick Seitz). The rest of Friday was basically choosing your teams and meeting other conventioneers.
Saturday was game time. Every player got to play 10 games in a smoothly run tournament thanks to the laid back ways of Veryl Lincoln. Jim's thrashing of Roy highlighted his tournament. Colin sinking “the great contributor” was the icing on his cake. My team was so bad, it was funny. Grade A pitchers mean nothing in a tournament like this. My favorite moment: "Nick the great one" randomly chose my line-up for my last game. We won that game behind the amazing D rated pitching of Ron Darling and the power antics of Mackey Sasser. What I learned is the 1990 Mets will never win nearly as many games in a replay as they won in real life. While the first round of the playoffs were underway, all of us losers...I mean, win-challenged participants, sat around talking. Randy, Byron, and I began talking about statistical probability and card accuracy. As Randy noted, when three guys discuss anything, eventually it turns into the Kennedy assassination. I’m hoping Bill Staffa (who, unfortunately wasn’t at the convention) can normalize the assassination to the 1959 NL season. Then we can see the true grades for Oswald and Ruby.
Sunday was the semi-finals and the finals of the tournament. Eric Naftaly eventually won the whole darn thing: a 12 foot trophy and $50,000. Hmmm...maybe it wasn’t that much. But he did win a trophy and bragging rights.
The convention was a great experience for me. I met people who were fun to be around and with whom I hope to begin building strong friendships. I eagerly await the announcement of the next convention. Nick is pushing for Connecticut while Colin was pushing for London. Myself: I don’t care because wherever it is, I’m going to do my best to be there! Thanks to everyone. It was fun.
