Donruss. The very name calls to mind a time and place instantly accessible to all who have experienced it—a world of generally adequate photography and ornate portraiture, a land ruled by Diamond Kings and defined by the yeomen pluggers and middle-of-the-order lieges and squinting mustachioed relievers who were their subjects. A diamond-shaped world, everything in its place, conversing in its own lexicon. They rate rookies, there.

Donruss. A brand that is so much more than just the sum of its various brand truths and trading cards for basically every person who played Major League Baseball in any given season. It is an inclusive set, and a capacious one. There is room for you here, whether you are a submarining Orioles relief pitcher enjoying a career year or just a not-terribly-choosy tween who has chosen to try to collect every one of the 800 or so cards, some blurry and some dull and a few vivid and cool, in the 1992 Donruss set.

Donruss. It is a destination and it is a journey. This week on Let’s Remember Some Guys, Lauren and I let ourselves into this world, touring its multitudes of forgotten sluggers and long-tenured bullpen goofballs and the forward-thinking artistic vision of its house artist, the official court portraitist of the Diamond King community, Dick Perez.

Donruss. There was always a puzzle for some reason? This year’s set had a Rod Carew puzzle in it. I didn’t remember that part.