1986 TOPPS LEN DYKSTRA
Nails, we called him.
He showed up in 1985, raw and disruptive. He was a dervish, always adjusting a batting glove or fidgeting with his helmet.
He got dirty, diving and sliding and dribbling brown spittle down the front of his shirt.
Tough as nails.
But come 1986, Lenny’s value amounted to more than just his headlong tenacity. He was a nail that held together the framework of a truly singular team.
This is his Topps rookie card, and it captures the essence of early Dykstra: low to the ground, kicking up dirt, with the profile piping on his uniform bending into an ess. Lenny– as always– in motion.
It is no surprise that he should find trouble in his post-baseball life. Lenny Dykstra was built to leap and scrap and run into unpadded walls– these are not necessarily skills that translate well to life outside the diamond.
But this is not about that. This is about 1986, and the pride and arrogance that seem so much further away than just 25 years.
This is about our Lenny.
This is about Nails.