I have awakened a sleeping giant. My baseball card obsession is back, with zeal like never before. It all happened a few weeks ago. On my way home from visiting my brother, I stopped in to a small resale shop along the way. It's one of those places that buy the contents of abandoned storage units at auctions. Inside, among the shelves of old, broken toys and Sit And Be Fit VHS tapes, was a large box of baseball cards. I had to have them! The cards were being sold individually at a price that, I thought, was too high. So I gave the owner an offer for all of them. She accepted. I immediately called my wife, to share the amazing news with her:
"Hello."
"Laura, I bought some baseball cards at the Pic-N-Pay!"
"You what?"
"I bought a bunch of baseball cards! I only spent fifty bucks!"
Silence.
"You there?"
Click.
Apparently, she did not share in my excitement. The problem is that most women think that baseball cards are toys. They are not toys - they are an INVESTMENT. Toys are things like My Little Barbie or Easy Bake Pony. Like most sports cards collectors, I am very sure that even though these cards are worth about a nickel right now, soon they could be worth hundreds of dollars, perhaps thousands? I started buying baseball cards when I was about eight years old, with the money my slave-driver-of-a-brother, Michael, gave me when I helped him mow lawns in our neighborhood. By the time I was fourteen, I had a very impressive collection – impressive to everyone except the girls that I liked. So into the attic they went (the cards, not the girls). And I moved on.
I believe my infatuation with sports memorabilia began when I realized I had no coordination for actual sports. I was so terrible, that baseball practice seemed more like a punishment than a game. After one such practice, I was in my room, going through the motions of the "Crow Hop" throw that the coach had just attempted to teach us. I executed it perfectly. That is, until my misguided hand smashed through the light fixture that was hanging too low in the middle of the ceiling. After removing the shards of glass from my hand and the carpet, I decided that playing sports wasn't for me. So I spent much more time indoors, organizing my cards and drawing moustaches on the faces of players I didn't care for. And that's what I did the next few weeks after I got the new batch of cards (organizing, not drawing moustaches). My spare bedroom is still full of cards, waiting to be culled when I have the time. But I've got to get to the oven now - I think the pony is ready.