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Posted By: Jodi Birkholm

One summer day in 1990, I was travelling from garage sale to yard sale in my hometown. By late afternoon I was rather tired, having found very little to buy. None of the people had any cards or memorabilia. The last sale I pulled up to appeared to be the most dismal of the lot. A bunch of pure garbage was strewn about a series of folding tables. The host of the sale was truly "white trash" in attire, demeanor and odor. You know the type--flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves. Boozy, day-old halitosis emanating from a mouth that was this side of being declared a national state of emergency. I'm sure this guy's wife would have rather kissed a Three Mile Island smokestack. As previously stated, the day was drawing to a close, and "Larry the Cable Guy" was anxious to "git-r-done". With an asphalt-encrusted arm, he made a broad-swooping gesture, indicating I could haul away his assemblage of bric-a-brac for the princely sum of $50. "I need beer money!" Quelle surprise. I passed, but not without inquiring if he might have any old cards that I didn't see. "Well, I do have these, but they're kinda old and beat-up." From out of his cable guy flannel shirt pocket, Larry fished out a fistful of T206's and a few T205's. Yes, he would part with them, providing I also took away the grease-laden remnants of a not-so-proud yokel community. I asked Larry how much he was short in obtaining his case of Labatt's Blue. Without hesitation, he practically shouted "Four bucks!". I handed him two Canadian $2 bills in exchange for perhaps 75 cards!