Observations from the Card Show Front Lines - UPDATED!!!

JollyElm · #1 07-11-2025, 05:40 PM

Here's yet another long and exhausting take on a local show.
Read it or don't. Laugh or don't.
To be honest, I'm just too tired to care anymore.

‘twas your basic shampoo bottle show...

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Lather, rinse, repeat - it was the same dealers, the same set-ups and the same cards, so knowing I wasn’t going to find much stuff to buy, I decided to throw caution to the wind and just engage with anyone who seemed friendly enough to approach, and man, it was fun!!

There was an air of joy in the air, as all interactions (save one, see below) were lighthearted. The laughs were numerous...

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1. Twelve Noon in the Garden of Good and Evil
During my initial walk-through of the floor, I saw a lady with a ‘mom bag’ hunkered down against a wall and thought, “What the heck,” so I jumped in and asked if she was a collector or did she get dragged here in an act of family unity (not sure why I expressed it that way).

Smiling, but confused by a rando approaching her, she gestured towards a table and told me, “It’s a great bonding experience for my (she stressed this word really hard) HUSBAND (Come on, lady, I’m not hitting on you! And you’re a soft 5 MILF at best!)
and my daughter, who can’t get enough of her cards. We’re headed to my sister’s in Vacaville (isn’t that ‘cow town’ in Spanish?), but she would’ve screamed like mad and rained down hell on us if we didn’t go here first. She forced us!”

Chuckling, I said, “Wait...so it’s not your husband making you come here, but your diabolical fiend of a daughter??”

She kinda giggled and playfully leaned into me as a reaction to me basically calling her lass a demon, and it got me thinking, “Gee, that was quick. She’s really warming up to me...and she's cuter than I thought. Maybe I should ask if she wants to ditch her evil spawn
and hit a motel with me that charges hourly rates?” But her face grew very serious, and making sure no one could overhear her, she nervously admitted in a hushed whisper, “We have no power. None. It’s scary. She rules us with an iron fist.”

The moment those words came out of her mouth, I swear her darling little girl’s head immediately swiveled around like Linda Blair’s, and she savagely locked onto her mother’s eyes with a furious stare of damning admonition.

Whoa!! How in hell did that little goblin even hear that???!!!!!!!!!

Screw having a good time at the Motel 6, I got the hell out of there!!!

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2. Heads I win, tails you lose
(To avoid all the yammering, just read the very last line of this section to get the entire story.)

A real amiable dealer’s table in a far-off corner drew me in and we got on like old pals. He walked me through all sorts of unopened packs of Mork & Mindy, Kojak, The A Team and other old TV show cards and said,
“If you haven’t guessed, I’m a non-sports guy...but I do have a handful of baseball cards,” as he motioned to a smattering of beat up cards from the ‘70s.

It was a pile of raggedness, but as if lit by a beam of light from heaven, sitting gloriously in a throne atop a worn out stack of his vanquished cardboard enemies (gee, hyperbolize much?) was a beautiful 1972 Roberto Clemente!!

Sure, it was off-centered, but I was hooked!! Who DOESN’T love that boyishly-playful, baseball-flipping card of the ever-serious Clemente??!!

I told him, “Having this card on top of the other, sorry, JUNK is like putting a Ferrari hood ornament on a totaled Buick. No offense.”
As he smiled at my candor, I told him, “The centering kills it, so I’d be a lot more comfortable paying forty instead of your $60.”

Politely shaking his head, he said that’s too low and he’s happy to keep it, because it’s his best card and grabs people’s attention, “You stopped here just to look at it, and it got us talking, right??
I love that and it’s not all business for me. I rather have a good time at these things (shows).”

I reluctantly nodded, “Yup, you nailed it. I saw it and came over. It’s beautiful...except for the centering.” (Had to drive home that point again.)

As we chatted, he eventually countered with, “The lowest I would go is $50. You’re right about the centering, but if it was better, a few zeros would have to be added.”
But me being me, I still resisted, so he had an idea, “You know what, this is fun. How about we flip for it? I’ve never done that at a show. If you win...$45. If I do, let’s say $51, so I’ll ‘win’ an extra dollar from you. Sound good?”

As he dug in his pocket, he had a frustrated realization, “Darn it, I only have a dime,” and it temporarily took the wind out of our sails, because everybody knows a dime is NOT an acceptable coin flipping option.
I told him, “We have no choice, nobody carries coins anymore. We’ll never find a quarter here.”

And so, moments later as FDR was arcing high into the air, I cried out, “Heads, of course!!,” but was surprised when instead of catching the coin and slapping it on the back of his hand, he just let it hit the floor and plink around
(I think that properly describes the tinny sound of a bouncing dime). Striking his wife’s shoe as she leapt to avoid it, it finally came to a rest on ‘heads’!!!!!

Righteous victory was mine!!!!!!!!!!

(I’m not ashamed to admit that if it landed on ‘tails’ instead, I would’ve yelled, “Interference!!!!” and demanded a re-flip due to the lady’s foot affecting the outcome.)

Long story short, I ‘won’ an otherwise perfect, but OC, 1972 Clemente for 45 bucks.

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3. Mini Maximum
He and I began talking about 1975 Topps Minis, and I remarked how in New York we never even knew they existed, but on this coast they’re everywhere.
(An invented statistic) “For every regular-sized 1975 card I see, there are a hundred Minis out here.”

Out of nowhere and with a surprised look on his face, he reacted with seriousness, “You’re from New York?? We’ve been talking this whole time, but you didn’t swear once.”

For a laugh, I responded, “What the F*CK is that supposed to mean???!!!”
(Which startled him a bit. Whoops!)

(It’s odd how often the ‘New Yorkers love to curse’ theme arises out here. They think all we do is throw ‘F’ bombs around...which I guess is kinda true. It’s funny to me, but if you don’t call the stuff you drink in the morning ‘cawfee,’
you may not understand that’s just who we are. My girlfriend always jokingly asks, “Are you feeling all right? I haven’t heard you swear at all today.”)

Getting back on track, he said, “When I used to sell cards online, I had loads of 1975 Minis. There was such a surplus available that I got them for nothing. After I noticed all of my orders were coming from Easterners,
I got wise to the fact that packs were never sold there back in ‘75, so I started upcharging more for them...a lot more. It was like minting free money. I miss those days.”

Wanna know how great this guy is? He actually made a point of personally apologizing to me for greedily (his word) overcharging my fellow coastmates (is that even a real word?).

I responded, “Yeah, your apology for treating us like f*ckin’ schmucks is greatly appreciated.”

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4. Do you wanna wipe me bum, also?
As I was fully engaged in digging through cards, the ‘dealer lady’ inquired if I had gone to the bathroom yet.

Assuming it was a stray comment not meant for me, I ignored it and kept my eyes on the table’s treasures.

A moment later, the question was repeated very slowly and deliberately, with each word pronounced individually, “Have...you...gone...to...the...bathroom...ye t?"

No reaction from me.

A little while passed, and practically feeling her breath in my face as her head was now only a foot away from mine, she again asked with exasperation, “Have you gone to the bathroom yet?!!!”

Finally thinking, “WTF???” I leaned back and asked, “I’m sorry, but why do you keep asking me if I’ve relieved myself???”

Taken aback, a mighty horselaugh burst out as she patted my forearm and told me, “No, no! Ha ha! I’m talking to my son behind you. He keeps ignoring me!!!”

Turning around, I found a silly-haired (what my mom called a ‘rat’s nest’) kid with the over-exaggerated facial features of someone in the middle of a very awkward growth spurt.
With an angst-ridden look on his ungainly face, he stood there defiantly staring down his mother.

Nodding to ‘momma bear’ with understanding, I laughed, “Oh, okay, wow!! The age-old problem of growing up. For a moment there, I thought you were a full-service dealer, really caring about the digestive well-being of your customers!!”

Chuckling with me, her hand gently squeezed my arm with maternal affection.

(Editor’s note: as I drove home later, it occurred to me that like his mom, I never DID find out if that kid ever took a whiz or not.)

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5. No, YOU do the math
For fun, I walked up to the table in the photo and pretended to be thinking things over as I very seriously asked, “Excuse me, if I bought something from you...how much ‘OFF’ would it be??”

Slapping his hand down, he laughed big (which was nice), and a guy there said, “That’s funny. You can’t believe how many people just DON’T read the signs.”

The dealer then told me how he actually had to chase after someone earlier who left him the amount on the price sticker and didn’t take the 50% off, “I needed to give him half his money back!”

Integrity. Priceless.

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6. We Both Give a F*CK
(It dawned on me that this dealer may be the same one featured in Section #7 of post #90?)

The two set-ups in the picture were only separated by a table and an aisle, so wearing a goofy look, I approached the “PAYING STRON” (the ‘G’ was folded back) guy and asked, “If I had something to sell, why would
I choose you with your claim of ‘paying stron' (yes, I deliberately pronounced it like it was spelled), when I can go to the guy right next to you who’s not only paying strong, but paying strong AS FUCK??”
(I guess they’re right. We do curse a lot.)

Playing along, he responded, “You’d be making a mistake. We definitely pay strong as fuck here, but we’re just a lot more subtle about it.”

Ha!!! I told him that was the line of the day and gave him a reverential bow.

Footnote: He disclosed that he and the other guy are actually business partners - they work together. It was only due to the booth size that the ‘AF’ part of his banner had to be folded around back.
“You can’t see it, but believe me, it’s there.”

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7. Moon Squawk
I started chatting up the people at this table to uncover what they meant by “BAD” cards?
Since the graphics mirrored all of the shiny TCG stuff that kids chase, perhaps it was a newfangled brand of modern cards??

One guy craftily said, “We exclusively deal in baa-aaad cards,” then with a happy salesman’s positivity, exclaimed, “Don’t waste
your time with anyone else. We buy and sell only the baddest cards out there,” as the gents beside him nodded along.

“Oh, bad as in ‘bad-ass.’ Got it,” I said, “I thought maybe you found a market niche and were slinging old cards that were in bad shape.”

“Nope, he said, “just the baddest of the bad.”

Going for a laugh, I gave a loud “Hee hee,” turned my head towards them and said/sang, “Who’s bad??”

Blank stares. (And let’s be honest, I must've looked like a ridiculous 'theater camp' freak.)

Seriously? Michael Jackson references are completely lost on millennials or Gen Zers or whatever they’re called?? How f*cking old am I????

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8. High Number Anxiety
Act I: Regret is a four letter word

The more Mantles you have, the more prosperous your financial future will be.
(Editor's note: we encourage you NOT to make baseball card purchase decisions based on the implied advice of someone going for laughs in an internet forum.)

Although I’m not a fan of (overpaying for) lower grade cards, there are certainly ones that deserve attention, like the 1961 Topps #578 Mickey Mantle All Star shown here.
I’ve always had a bit of an obsession with that venerable card from the newspaper-busting 1961 subset. And this one looks a helluva lot better than merely a four.

As shocking as it is to hear, the dealer’s price WASN’T overly psychotic, just a tad bit high for my cheap heart. But did stupid me try to secure a better deal for this high number
with the Benjamins I had earmarked for such a purchase?? Noooooo...I just made a mental note of the card and sailed off into the show.

However, after only seeing two other examples elsewhere - a prominently displayed PSA 9 for many, many thousands of dollars (not exactly my neighborhood),
and a very off-centered SGC 3 for TWICE the price of the SGC 4 - I realized I gotta get my ass back and find a way to take the nicely centered card home.

So, after a bunch of rounds of dogged negotiation, and adding a pair of the dealer’s other ‘reasonably’ priced cards - a 1963 Mays and ‘65 Koufax - to the mix,
we eventually shook hands and had a deal that allowed me take home the trio of deliciousness for an outstanding price.

A happy ending for me...but someone else’s tale was ending unhappily...

Act II: Hesitation is Devastation
As I was mulling about shortly afterwards, the dealer pointed to me and waved me back over.

Beside him stood a disappointed fellow, and he directed him to me, “This is who bought it. It’s his Mantle now, so he can sell it to you if he wants.”
Then to me, “He came back to buy the 1961 All-Star. He saw it before and now he’s upset he was late to the party. Was going to pay full sticker, too.” And as a genial, but rueful, aside,
“I knew I could’ve gotten my price if I held onto it longer. The comps have been really trending upwards.”

Enjoying his terminology, I responded, “Mantles will always and forever be trending upwards.”

Although the dejected guy didn’t actually ask me, I felt obliged to match his sullen face and politely say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to sell it.”

Inside I was cheering!! If I had hesitated a moment longer, the depressed, disillusioned guy would’ve been me!!

I considered directing him to the SGC 3 I saw earlier (while NOT mentioning the extortionate price) and saying, “There’s a guy who has a great looking SGC 3 for a great price. You should grab it before it’s gone.”
But I rightfully held my tongue. Karma is a bitch.

If I may be so crass, the end result is I went home with the HOT CHICK (it’s only a metaphor, so ignore the fact that rating any guy or girl a 4 doesn’t make them “hot”), and the other guy had to settle for trying to hook up with one of her sloppy friends.

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9. Compropriety
Speaking of comps, am I the only one who does this?

I never directly go to my phone and check out comps in front of the dealer while looking at his cards. Maybe I’m old school, but even though phone-comp-hunting is the only way to do things at modern card tables,
it just seems rude to me to do it in front of a vintage dealer. (There are exceptions, of course. When you see lunatic pricing on a card, you MUST immediately call up comps and ‘nicely’ call him out on it.)

I always casually slide off to another area, out of eyesight, and then start gathering intelligence on the cards I’m interested in (and others I’m not interested in) before moseying back in to better approach my targets. It’s become second nature to me.

So, I don’t hide my phone from my girlfriend, but I DO hide it from random dealers? That just seems off.

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10. If ‘no comps’ is wrong, I don’t wanna be right
(This conversation sort of creepily echoed #8 in post #95.)

Chatting with a dealer about my ‘not using my phone at tables’ policy, I remarked how each time I tried to connect to recent sales sites on the show floor, a prompt would tell me that traffic was too high...and it wouldn’t load.
The colored wheel on my screen kept spinning around, so I had to keep escaping the congestion by walking out into the mall or parking lot to actually get results.

He cheerfully said, “It’s the best thing that could’ve happened to me. My prices aren’t bad (I obviously wanted to request time for a rebuttal), but no comps means the less I need to come down on my prices.
If they can’t prove (he basically italicized that word with his voice) that my price is too high, they have no leg to stand on.”

I asked/stated, “So, your mission is to keep your customers in the dark?”

He smiled at me.

Wow.

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11. Randomly Humorous Dealer Comeback
Watching a 40 or 50-year old guy bobbing and weaving as he tried to talk his way into getting cards for even cheaper than the ‘5 for $10’ (or whatever it was) price marker slapped on the large bin,
I heard the dealer (with good humor) finally say, “Look, whattaya want me to do, give them to you for free??”

In my head, I thought of a great way to chide this creep in a completely dismissive manner. The dealer should’ve sadly shook his head and said, “Aren’t you just a little too old to be trick or treating??”

Ouch.

So, if there are any dealers out there who could make use of this rebuke, go for it.

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12. He’s still got Blue Balls...or is it Gold Balls?
After again running into the outgoing dealer who bought the C-3PO card discussed earlier (refer to #8 in post #95), I asked if he was able to track down the guy and get his money back.

But he played a game of pretending he didn’t know what I was talking about it, and I thought, “Come on, man, have some class.”

He did a double take when he first saw me, so he obviously remembered exactly what we talked about last time. I mean, who wouldn’t?? Perhaps, like unexpectedly running into someone who broke your heart, he wanted to avoid the pain of interacting with me?
Annoyed, I remarked that between the guy who told him the card was a unique item, and me who told him they were everywhere, I was the only one telling the truth. His exasperation shouldn’t be directed at me.

With his eyes looking side to side, hoping a customer with a question could ‘save’ him from having this conversation, his look told me he accepted what I said, and he finally remarked, “I kept it. It’s in SGC’s hands now!”

Yowza. Talk about praying at the graded card altar!! He was calling the hands of the TPG, and not God’s, the higher power.
Taking my leave, I warmly wished him good luck with it, “May the grading company bless you and keep you. In SGC we trust, right?”

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13. The long arm of the low-life
For many of us, the most scrumptious part of a show is digging through boxes and bins in hopes of finding who knows what, and wondering what treasures may suddenly be uncovered...but where’s the decorum??

We’ve all been there and it’s annoying as f*ck. You’re flipping through a row of slabs or toploaders in a dealer’s box, when out of nowhere some sweaty schlub purposely breaks your flow by reaching across you to grab the cards you were about to search through next!!

I was working my way through a two row box of 1966 cards in numerical order. It was full of stars and everything else, and as I was approaching the end of the rightmost row,
a guy with a stomach telling the story of too many nights drinking beer and too many days downing donuts (wait, that describes 99% of us vintage collectors) struck.
His jiggly, fat-armed interruption was wantonly deliberate, as he must’ve been watching my progress and wanted to beat me to whatever high numbered jewels were about to be revealed. An act of total douchebaggery.

I stopped him from getting a hold of anything and barked, “Hey!! Let me finish the goddamn row first!!! Look through the cards I’ve already seen!!” (There were a few curses thrown in, but I cleaned it up.)

His lack of any reaction told me he’s quite experienced at pulling this crap, as he didn’t say a word and just sort of drifted off into the mist. A fellow ‘digger’ at the table joined me in a look of disdain.
Our faces both said the same thing, “F*cking prick!!”
(Call back alert: actually, he’s probably not from New York, so let’s assume his stare didn’t include the curse word.)

Which kinda leads into this...

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14. Viewership has its Privileges
Diametrically opposed to that box invader, a guy beside me at a different table was all kinds of polite. He wanted to make sure his arm wasn’t bonking into me due to the closeness of the boxes we were digging in.
I thanked him for asking and realized he looked familiar - a YouTuber I actually left a comment for awhile back to say I enjoyed his welcoming manner (something like that).

With such a sparse supply of vintage tables, he and I seemed to be cruising the same places at the same time, and I heard various people telling him they enjoyed his channel.

Don’t want to overstep in case I got it wrong, but I believe some sellers were giving him celebrity-type deals, because I would hear the lead in, “Well, since it’s you...” when a price was about to be discussed. (Or maybe it was said in jest??)

Then there was a friendly give and take with a dealer he obviously knew well, who while considering the price he was being offered said, “It cost me $40 just to get those two cards graded!”
(The implication being he would lose money if he agreed to the deal.)

Oddly enough, I believe that negotiation also led to a coin flip that went bouncing around on the floor (is that a California thing??), but I was leaving the table before the denouement (ten points for that effin word!!), so I can’t be certain.

If he’s a Net54er reading this (Ha! Like there's anybody actually reading this!), I would welcome any corrections. Just remember to continue being polite and welcoming and don’t throw stones at me if I didn’t accurately gauge what I was witnessing.

Until next time, my fellow dime flippers!! If you see that doofus kid, tell him to listen to his mom and go to the f*ckin' bathroom already!!!!

JollyElm · #2 10-03-2025, 06:44 PM

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It’s been over a month since I’ve been on Net54 (thanks for noticing), and haven’t been able to attend any shows for awhile, so here’s the next best thing.

Emulating how The Who assembled and cleaned up a bunch of unreleased recordings to create their ‘Odds & Sods’ album, I have taken the same approach and gave a good scrub to some of my own ‘outtakes’ from various shows over the last year or so to make them presentable (and entertaining?) for a two-part offering.

But Elms, why are some of these observations so long?
Because I’m old school and don’t cut it down for the quick-read, tiny phone set. I put it all out there (with graphics and whatnot) for my fellow big screen devotees.

Plus, since no one reads this thread anyway, isn’t it better to have all of the material in one place, so you can NOT read all of it at the same time?

But for anyone actually making it through to the end of Part II, at least you’ll understand why in tarnation this random graphic is here...

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1. Call Me Henny Old-Man
My health sucks, so now I have a glucose monitor unceremoniously stapled to the back of my frickin’ arm. When its screaming alarm announces my blood sugar problems to the world,
it is bitterly annoying...sort of like having to sit through a caterwauling Katy Perry song blasting from the car next to you at a stoplight.

So when it suddenly sounded at a packed table, the screeching broke the silence and startled everyone!
Nobody had a clue where the high-pitched squeals were coming from. “What is THAT??!! Did someone pull the fire alarm??!!”

(Slyly hitting the ‘off’ button) I reacted with dismay, “Dammit, it’s my ankle monitor!! (Ha! They can’t see my ankles...although their eyes did instinctively glance downward.) Now I’m in trouble!! My parole officer knows I left my goddamn house!!!”

Hurriedly handing the card I was examining back to the dealer, I apologized, “Sorry, man, I really gotta go!!,” and made a show of grabbing my stuff and heading away from the table and through the crowd, presumably towards the exit.

I guess a better man would’ve stopped and went back with a smile and said, “Ha ha! Only kidding, guys!” and shared a joyous laugh with everyone.
But screw that!! I decided instead to just go on my merry way and leave them scratching their heads and confused as to what it was they had just witnessed.

Since then, I occasionally find myself gazing up at the night sky and wondering, “Do any of the people there that day tell their pals about the wild time they ran into the ‘card collecting convict’ at a show in the mall??”
(The tale would certainly fit into a parallel universe’s version of “Observations from the Card Show Front Lines.”)

Postscript: I have since learned how to modulate the volume and avoid such scenarios in the future. However, it would be fun pulling the same gag on new audiences.
Maybe I could turn it into a bit of schtick, sort of my version of “Take my wife...please” to make random showgoers howl??

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2. Wheels of Fortune?
Like the baggage carousel kicking to life shortly after an airplane lands, there is suddenly a great abundance of suitcases now appearing at card shows.

The modern areas have scores of people wheeling around carry-on luggage pieces as they attempt to offload the incredibly valuable (your opinion may vary) wares packed inside to interested dealers...but who are we kidding? Fellow showgoers make up a huge part of their target market.

Asking a dealer if it bothers him that these guys haven’t paid to set up, but get all of the great exposure to customers for free, he was unfazed. “I’m busy dealing...and wheeling (yes, it was peculiar how he switched the order of that phrase around) all day,
so I barely notice. Doesn’t have any impact on my bottom line.”

And in a mocking tone, “Have you seen what they got? It’s probably just trash no one’s gonna buy anyway. I say let the kids play.”

Golden Opportunity for Future Merriment:
Somebody really needs to fill one of the spare compartments in their card suitcase with a bunch of socks, underwear and t-shirts. So when the right moment presents itself at a show, they can pretend to reach in to grab cards, but instead pull out a handful of clothes and exclaim, “Darn it, guys!! I brought the wrong suitcase!!!!!” to the uproarious laughter of the assembled masses.

Remember, you always regret the giggles you DON’T give people.

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3. A Tale of Two (Actually Three) Kiddies

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Part I: Taking Benjamins from a Baby
When I was young, the cereal aisle regularly witnessed me begging my mom to pay the extra twenty cents and buy Froot Loops instead of the cardboardy store brand
“Fruity Circ-O’s” (or whatever sadly imitative name they were given), but my pleas would be met with a glare of “Go f*ck yourself!!”
(Benny Franklin would’ve loved my mother. She considered every penny saved as being earned.)

But kids today are clueless about such indignities. If mom is headed to the supermarket after yoga class, they’ll just Venmo over cash and order her to buy whatever effin’ sugary cereal they feel like drowning in milk the next morning.

I know this because kids just keep blatantly forking over bundles of greenbacks to dealers at shows for shiny new things. By never thinking twice about laying out huge sums of money,
I swear the only thing separating these baby-faced barons from Mr. Monopoly is a top hat and an elegantly curved mustache. Price means nothing to them!

One Junior Moneybags was looking on with great annoyance while the dealer carefully counted the stack of bills he had just handed him. Apparently feeling a bit ‘dissed’ by the seller’s diligence,
he met the eyes of onlookers and gave a perturbed, theatrical show of, “Can you believe this guy??!!” and glibly declared, “It’s all there, bro.”

A child unable to grow facial hair was being dismissively patronizing to a 40+ year old man??

When a show is on the horizon, I have to root through old birthday cards from my long-gone grandma in the hopes of discovering a missed five dollar bill tucked inside of one. Finding a lost Abe is the only way I’m able to finance my purchases, but who’s bankrolling these middle school moguls?

Since they’re devoid of price-sensitivity, Lord help us if these infant industrialists start directing the wads of dough spilling out of their pockets towards paying the ridiculous sticker prices on vintage cards!!
No dealer would ever need to lower their outrageous prices again and my collecting days would be over!!!

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Part II: To the Victor Go the Foils (Gold Foils, that is, Numbered 1 of 1)
Overhearing one tweener tycoon cockily bragging about how he took someone for a ride (his words, not mine) in a trade, I realized it’s not the age of the shark that matters, but the size of the teeth.

Since he was speaking modern flipper lingo, what exactly the great ‘steal’ was wasn’t apparent to my vintage ears, but I gathered he was able to grab a more expensive (refractor or chrome or prism or whatever) parallel in the deal than what the other guy thought it was??
Something along those lines. His trade partner unknowingly shortchanged himself by making a low valuation mistake, and the great white kid-shark swam in and took a big bite outta him!

When his pal (who apparently has a moral compass) asked if he felt bad about ripping the guy off, the squeaky-voiced capitalist replied, “If the card was the (less expensive) one he thought it was,
then he was trying to rip ME off by making the trade value so high. Do I feel bad about getting him?? No!! It’s either burn or get burned.”

Whoa!! These kids are wise and jaded well beyond their years. Be careful out there, everyone.

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Part III: My Way or the Thoroughfare-way
Another rugrat huckster was hot to trot (away) as he played a game of threatening to leave if the dealer didn’t buy the card he was offering him at such a great bargain. The interaction was upbeat, but insistent and accented by a lot of posturing.
He kept teasing the same result, “This is your last chance to buy this great card. Once I walk away, you’ll regret it and never see me again.”

From the cheap seats, I was intrigued watching it play out. If the hustling ragamuffin had a smudge of dirt on his face, I would’ve sworn I was in a production of ‘Oliver Twist,’ so let me attempt to translate his
disappointment with the dealer’s refusal to buy his card into the musings of Charles Dickens:

“Good sir, I daresay thou art failing to grasp the merit of my offer to part with this ballplayer for such a trifling of farthings. Thou protest too heartily to my asketh price, which would make me suffer a loss whilst fortune smiles in your favor alone.
Alas, I shall skedaddle (okay, that word’s mine, not Chuck’s) to seek a more suitable fellow who properly values my endeavors to greatly enhance his finances. I bid thee farewell, and thou shalt behold my countenance nevermore.”

figleafpricestickers45.jpg

4. Renaissance Art Humor
While shooting the breeze with a dealer, he asked if I was interested in seeing anything.

Not wanting to miss an opportunity, I told him, “Don’t take this personally, but I came up with what I hope is a funny insult to get laughs. Is it alright if I try it out on you?”

Hiding a grimace, he encouraged me to proceed.

Thus, in my best Rodney Dangerfield delivery, I hit him with, “Your prices are so obscene, you should put a fig leaf over your price stickers!” (Hey-oooooh!!!!)

Unfortunately, my top-shelf humor didn’t elicit the big guffaw it rightfully deserved, but sticking to the theme of the gag, his reaction was one of sheer modesty.

Speaking of no respect...

1959snyderhighnumbers15.jpg

5. Easy Snyder
This was a first. I rolled into a table and kept finding more and more duplicate 1959 high numbers staring back at me. The box of toploaders continued surrendering up Gene Snyders, Howie Nunns and multitudes of other players,
which was so wildly unexpected that I took a picture after only venturing a part way through it. Lord knows how many more doubles were waiting to be uncovered.

I have never before seen such an abundance of high number riches from that particular year...but it made me wonder, how come there’s no love for 1959 highs???

Whereas collectors go bananas not only chasing the stars, but also the ‘regular’ high number players from the 1961, 1966, 1967, 1972 (and other) sets, do you know anyone who vigorously goes after 1959 high series cards? I sure don’t.

The focus, of course, is on the epic Bob Gibson rookie, the next number on the checklist, #515 Harmon Killebrew, and the All-Star greats garner the requisite attention, but what about the lackluster players who were marooned on last series island?
Unlike high number scrubs from other years, they fly so far under the radar that they’re completely disregarded. As a collector, it’s depressing that they aren’t held in higher esteem.

Don’t want to get too New-Agey here, but you know how after your girl screams like hell at you for days on end, you decide to show some kindness and finally apologize for sending naked pictures of her to your softball buddies?
Like that, sometimes you have to go out of your way to offer a little compassion. So next time you spot an oft-ignored 1959 high number at a show, pick it up, hold the card close to your heart and let him know he’s appreciated.

onlyinsky45.jpg

6. You Gotta Better Nitpick Your Battles
During my time at that table, I witnessed a spirited buyer pushing the weak points of an SGC-graded 1959 Ernie Banks in an attempt to get the price lowered, but the fact the card was already wearing a number in a slab seemed to escape him.

As he repeatedly stressed the soft corners and the not-so-great centering, he wanted a big price drop, but the dealer remained unmoved. However, after finally having enough,
he (politely) countered with, “Yes, what you’re saying is probably true...and that’s why it is ‘only’ (he let the word hang in the air for an eternity) an SGC 5. If it had better
corners, it would’ve gotten a higher grade and been more expensive. It’s a five priced as a five. Why do you act like I’m trying to get five money for a three or four??”

No reaction.

“The points you make would work if the Banks was ungraded (admittedly, he used the word “raw,” but I abhor that silly descriptor). If the price was too high for what grade it MIGHT get, then I’d consider easing up a bit, but they called this one a five, so a five it is.”

The odd thing is, the buyer (he didn’t end up buying it) never said anything about the grade number itself, like perhaps, “Sure, it’s a five, but it’s a weak five.” Something that could’ve possibly made his case for a price reduction more palatable.

righteousnesswrongeousness40.jpg

7. For my next trick, I’ll make your money disappear.
Placing a low-grade, but very expensive 1953 Topps Satchell (sic) Paige back down, a guy was leaving a table with a demure and appreciative, “Thanks anyway.”

Waiting until it was clear, the dealer gleefully turned to his table partner and said, “Toldja he was gonna be a ‘no’!”

Motioning to the bunch of us there, the other fellow announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present his majesty, ‘Read the Wallet Guy.’ Never gets it wrong!”

I asked, “Read the wallet guy??”

“When someone is negotiating with us, right from the start he’ll know exactly whether or not the guy will bite and lay out the money when we cut the price down.
It’s an innate gift. He’ll give me a thumbs up or thumbs down, and I swear to Jesus, he’s right every time.”

I asked, “Okay, so I’m safe? It only comes into play when a negotiation is taking place.”

“Correct.”

“Couldn’t he basically always guarantee a sale will happen if he simply lowers the price to match the comps everyone is looking at? That’s an easy out, no?”

With mock indignation, “He NEVER cheats.”

When I asked what happens when the card is just priced so high that it doesn’t matter if the guy can afford it or not, it’s just a bad deal, he replied, “Well, I didn’t say it was a perfect system.”

That made me laugh.

Turning to the ‘wallet whisperer,’ I wondered, “Okay, am I going to buy something?”

He thought for a second and offered a smiling and decisive, “Nope.”

I said, “Too bad. That’s the right answer, but it’s the WRONG answer. You should’ve said “yes,” and dared me to prove you wrong by NOT buying something while everyone’s watching.
That pressure may have swayed me, so you just cost yourself some coin!!”

That made HIM laugh.

End of Part I...

JollyElm · #3 10-03-2025, 06:45 PM

My apologies, but now you're stuck reading Part II...

priestkidbaseballcardcommunion60.jpg

8. Baptism By Freebie
A fun and engaging vintage dealer had been excommunicated to the modern area, but was making the most of it by chatting away with everyone about everything. He was fondly giving out free 1970s cards to young showgoers and entertaining them
with stories about the players. I kidded him that he sounded like a cardboard evangelist sermonizing the youth about the sainted ballplayers from our generation (I mean, if you think players like Sixto Lezcano should be canonized).

Chuckling while awkwardly making the sign of the cross, he pretended to shield his words from the father he was busy with, and said, �I�m not trying to save souls, just trying to create revenue streams.
If �pops� here is okay with his son leaving the modern sect and converting to vintage, I want him buying the old stuff from ME!�

Looking to get a hook into that dad and make a sale, his �always be closing� mind prompted him to do something nice for the guy�s kid. So, delicately gifting the boy a 1977 Mark Fidrych All Star card like it was a sacred relic to be worshipped, he said,
�You�re ten years old? This came out way more than a half century before you were even born. Whooooa!!!�

(Wait...did they NOT teach math at the seminary, preacher man??!!)

That exciting (but miscalculated) revelation caused the child�s eyes to pop so far out of his head they left cornea imprints in the wall!!

Quickly segueing into an amusing bio of the celebrated pitcher, the �pastor� got the kid giggling when he crouched real low and mimicked the classic patting down of the dirt around the mound.
�They called him �The Bird.��

The kid disciple wondered aloud, �The bird??�

�Yeah, because he treated the mound like it was his nest. Made sure everything was neat and tidy.�

�Pops� remarked, �He should�ve taught my son how to clean his room. Ha ha!�

My audible groan at the awful dad �humor� told me it was time for this sinner to leave the revival tent and seek my salvation elsewhere.

Repentance:
Misleading your fellow man about a nickname�s origin is a lesser sin, but a sin nonetheless. Since we all know Fidrych�s moniker came from his resemblance to the gangly, flightless bird on Sesame Street, a penance is prescribed.
To match �The Bird�s� uniform number, Padre, you�re tasked with giving away twenty more 1977 Topps cards for free to the faithful.

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9. Numerals Belong on Slabs, Not Shirts

Part I: Crunching the (lack of) Numbers
This was a strange realization. Scanning the entirety of the floor, I couldn�t see a single person donning the digits of his favorite player.

Spotting numbered shirts should be as easy as finding lost Taco Bell hot sauce packets in the abyss between your car seats, and it�s fun seeing (okay, judging) the various numerals being championed.
You can offer a respectful nod of appreciation to some people, while passively snickering at those whose �heroes� you find loathsome, but there seems to be a dearth of numbered apparel at local shows nowadays.

Perhaps it�s simply due to the malaise of attending the same show you�ve been to a thousand times. There�s no thrill in dressing in your best numeric finery if you�re NOT heading to a major event like The National, right? I mean, if you�re going to the prom,
you put on a snazzy tux, but if you�re once again hitting your buddy�s house to chug down a kiddie pool�s worth of cheap beer, you�ll just throw on whatever �Frankie Says Relax� or �FBI - Female Body Inspector� t-shirt is lying around and head out the door.

Couple that with the growing quantities of young people attending shows now and we may have the overall answer. Since they seem to be so interested in Pok�mon and other things more or less falling under the trading card game umbrella,
they have no skin in the sports game. Their fandom is reflected in the cartoony imagery on their t-shirts, and not by wearing silly ballplayer numbers on their backs.

yoursonhaschosenwisely40.jpg

Part II: 17andMe
One time, I DID spot a delicious number in the crowd!

A father and son were outfitted in Buffalo Bills gear, with the younger of the pair sporting a two sizes too large Josh Allen jersey.
(Being from a big family, I know that reality well. His folks bought it for him to grow into, so it�d still �fit� for a couple of years before they�d have to shell out money for a new one.)

Mr. Flame, meet Mr. Moth. I flew right up to them lickety-split (don�t think I�ve ever used that term before) and pointed to my Bills hat with an ebullient,
�Hey, nice to see you! We�re alone out here in the Forty Niners desert, we Bills fans...(and then sort of an aside) wait, is it �we� or �us� Bills fans??�

He cheerfully matched my enthusiasm, �Nice to see another refugee...ha ha!! I�m from the heart of Bills country and got transferred out here a long time ago now.�

We yammered for a bit, and I asked, �So you carried your Buffalo love with you, but how�d he (his son) get on board? His buddies must all be Niners or Raiders guys, right? How do you stop him from straying to the dark side?�

He smiled, �I�m not going to lie, if there ever came a day when he asked me to hang a 49ers poster on his wall, I don�t think I could go on...my life would be over. But my DNA - the Bills gene - is dominant!

�He grew up sitting next to me Sunday mornings (1PM eastern games start at 10AM here, which is nice) as I yelled at the TV (God, we/us Bills fans know all about that!!) and it became our �thing.�
He was born on the Bills train and never got off. He loves them.�

(There was a huge amount of pride in his voice. Did he just dab a tear?)

�That�s gotta be tough. Must be a lot of football peer pressure from his pals?�

He said, �I don�t think that�s the case anymore, you can ask him (his son wanted nothing to do with we/us grown-ups). With TV or streaming packages, you can watch and be fans of whatever team you want no matter where they play.
Not like when I was young and it was just local teams and a random match-up for the late game...and Howard Cosell on Mondays, of course.�

A smile came to my face with the Cosell mention, so it was a fine time to wish him luck and take my leave.

Depressing Postscript:
A lot of our chat centered around the looming playoff game between our beloved Bills and the dreaded Chiefs...and we all know how that turned out. My TV screen is still spattered with the dried spittle from my screaming.

ranchbaseballcards60.jpg

Epilogue:
We did VERY MUCH AGREE that one of the most disgusting things in the whole of humanity is how when you order Buffalo wings in California, they give you a ramekin (nice word there!) of ranch dressing.
Ranch, NOT blue cheese, the frickin� heathens!!!!!!

guywith#25shirt125.jpg

Part III: Guilt By Association
I hate steroids, I hate the steroids era, and I absolutely despise obvious steroids users.

Of the few jerseys that still make an appearance out here, local hero Willie Mays� #24 has a virtual monopoly on the tops you see, but oddly enough,
the guy who juice-head enthusiasts consider the greatest ballplayer of all-time is routinely ignored right in his own backyard.

Let�s put it this way, if life was a bingo game and number 25 was called, no one would be grabbing their dauber (for some reason, my 100% New York accented, bingo-psychotic grandma pronounced it �dah-bah� like a silly, clich�d TV Bostonian),
because I can only recall a single time I ever saw someone wearing a #25 Bonds jersey. It was on an older, seemingly friendly gentleman beside me, so I felt compelled to ask, �The steroids don�t bother you??�

His confused reaction caused me to point, �Your Bonds jersey.�

Putting his hands out to stop the perceived �accusation� dead in its tracks, he said, �Oh no, not that druggie! This is a (stressing the word hard) BOBBY Bonds jersey, his dad. Loved him as a kid and he�s still my favorite. The ONLY Bonds in my book.�

He got the aforementioned respectful nod of appreciation from me.

canyouseecompsnowcarty35.jpg

10. In my day, I had to call my friend from a pay phone and ask him to look at his Beckett�s
It dawned on me that phone companies are missing a golden opportunity to gain subscribers.

They should highlight how great their 5G or 12G or 27G (hell if I know how many frickin� G's we�re up to now) network performs in incredibly high-trafficked areas like card show floors. When you�re at one of these events, it�s a foregone conclusion that when you need it the most,
the Wi-Fi will inform you, �The past sales site you seek won�t load due to overcrowding, so you�re sh*t outta luck, douche-knuckle!! And FYI, your wife�s cheating on you!!�

It�s so frustrating! Therefore, if a provider could promote how their service is able to rise above the technical difficulties of a big, congested room and allow users to connect to websites, they would have a leg up on the competition.

Remember those old commercials asking, �Can you hear me now?�

It�s time to retool that idea:
Show a preteen in a Pok�mon shirt forlornly staring at his phone inside of a bustling card show.

His look is one of hopelessness as his device is unable to provide him with the sales data he needs...but then a disembodied voice, seemingly sent from heaven, knowingly asks,
�Can you see the comps NOW?� and his eyes suddenly light up from the glow of the phone finally providing the info he was craving!!

rookiefindmyowncard50.jpg

11. FOLO Follies

bachelorroseguy45.jpg

Part I: Stop and Buy the Roses

Can we all acknowledge that there�s a special kind of growing craziness wrapped around the 1964 Topps Pete Rose?

A FOLO card is the first time someone is featured on his very own AFTER being a part of a multi-player rookie the year before. It�s a player�s �first solo� card, and Pete has clearly ascended the 1960s FOLO throne.

(Editor�s note: No one bring up Gaylord Perry�s 1962 and 1963 cards, please. That situation is just bizarre.)

Rookies have a special glamor attached to them, but there is a significant drop off in relative value for a player�s next card. Case in point, think of how easy it is to obtain a
1968 Rod Carew or Tom Seaver card versus the nightmare of trying to land a 1967 rookie (not a great example, as those are high numbers, but still).

And just like how Topps took the tiny headshot from Rose�s rookie card and overinflated it to use on the 1964 offering, so has the value of his second-year card grown exponentially when compared to other 1960s �after-rookie� cards.

This has led to a rule at card shows: Regardless of shape, if a dealer has a 1964 Rose, a dealer will prominently display his 1964 Rose with a psychotic sales price slapped on it.
To say this card continues to trend upwards is a wild understatement. Each one is priced so high above comps, you need the Hubble Telescope to see the figure!!

Since I can see the day coming when the 1964 card will end up costing more than his rookie (just kidding...or am I?), let me offer a simple rule of my own. If you see an affordable
1964 Topps #125 at a show (Ha! Like that ever happens!), be like a horny, starry-eyed woman on �The Bachelor� and grab that frickin� Rose quickly!!

1971toppsthurmanmunson50.jpg

Part II: Of Gods and Catchers (and Therapists?)

Is there any doubt that Thurman Munson�s 1971 Topps is the most aesthetically pleasing second year FOLO card ever??
(We choose to ignore the pesky fact that despite Thurm�s gritty efforts, Chuck Dobson was actually safe at the plate.)

Although not in Cooperstown (yet?), Munson is a bonified HOFer to us New Yorkers, and his �71 card is a first ballot Cardboard Hall of Famer. It�s an incredibly magnificent split second in time captured forever,
and the All-Star Rookie trophy coupled with his autograph rising from the dust makes the image worthy of a spot in The Louvre...or at least prominently displayed on a wall inside a participating Applebee's.
(Damn!! I could really go for some sizzlin� fajitas right now.)

I bring this up, because it was the source of a surprisingly cantankerous interaction...

The problem with the card is it�s an absolute bear to find one decently centered. The rare examples that DON�T have Dobson (pun intended) sliding off the side of the card have big premiums attached.

So, when I asked a dealer about his extreme pricing on a Munson centered as badly as the one pictured, he acted like I went into his fridge and scarfed down the leftover chicken parm sammy he was saving for a late night snack,
�What are you talking about?? My price is perfect!! It�s really hard to find centered! Do you even realize the prominence of a centered Munson??!! How hard it is to find one?? Do ya??!!�

Hoping his own absurdity would dawn on him, I gave him a moment, but he remained stone-faced, so I explained, �Sure, everyone knows that, but yours is completely OFF-CENTERED!�

The bitter and baffled expression on his face plainly told me he couldn�t understand where I was coming from. It practically snarled, �And...what exactly is your point??!!�

His excessive pricing was based on nice centering, but the card was centered awfully...and I�m the one who�s out of line here?? This guy�s a pink stick of gum short of a full pack!

Freud would�ve called it �cardboard transference.� This patient was taking his extreme emotions for a well-centered card and delusionally applying them to a terribly centered one.
In the end, I guess I should�ve mirrored ole Sigmund and just walked away with, �You know, buddy, sometimes a card is just a card.�

inflatabletubeman80.jpg

12. The Rising Tide Lifts All Sunk Costs
Trading vintage cards at a show can be a near-impossible feat. Even if you�re able to find a willing dealer, there�s always the unwritten rule that you must in effect �lose� so he can �win� the deal.
Sellers are there to make money, plus they�ll tell you their time and travel, table fees, etc., must also be factored into the equation.

A good strategy for wannabe traders is to bring along cards that you�d be willing to take a bit of a �loss� on in a trade, because you originally got them for much less than what they�re worth now.
It opens more doors, because as you fall on your sword and allow the dealer to claim victory, you haven�t really been defeated in the swap.

It doesn�t mean you should just give stuff away, but if you can get close enough to what value you would settle for, then you�re in a good position to bring home something you want more than the card you�d be surrendering.

Let�s mathematicize it: If you recently bought a Mays for $300, then that card is STILL �worth� that amount, so there�s no point in trading it for anything that costs less.
You could�ve just used the original $300 to buy the card you�re now getting in the trade AND had money left over.

But if you acquired that �Say Hey Kid� a while back for $100, then you can allow yourself to wiggle more than one of those inflatable dancing tube guys outside of a car dealership to grab a card you want.

Which leads into this drawn out tale to end our time together...

humphreybogart1973kaline40.jpg

13. Body Language and the Single Man
(I have no idea why marital status came into play here, but the title seemed to work.)

With the trading principle outlined above in mind, I brought along a sweet card (that I got long before its value skyrocketed) to see what I could score for it.
This put me in a very strong negotiating position...or so I thought.

After asking a dealer with a luxurious spread of Topps beauties if he would perchance be interested in trading, he offered a reserved dismissal of, �Ummm...sometimes.�

Body language interpretation:
He clearly assumed I had the same junk everyone tries to push on him at every show. Cards that they not only completely overvalue, but which are slated
to become nothing but unsold dead weight sitting in his cases forevermore...so the answer is a big, fat no.
(That�s a lot to read from two words and implied punctuation, but it�s right on the money.)

However, when I instead broke out a PSA 7 1973 Topps #280 Al Kaline �With Bandage� (it�ll always be Band-Aid to me) card, he reached for it and declared,
�Ooh, this is a nice one!!,� but then immediately caught himself. (Sort of a �Doh!!!� moment.)

(Editor�s note: I should point out for the non-Topps-era crowd, this variation is one of the most valuable cards from the 1970s.)

Body language interpretation:
If his face was an enthusiasm elevator, he hit the button for the penthouse, but immediately knew he made a mistake with his exuberance and tried to hit the �tamp it down� button instead. The wheels in his head
began spinning to try to come up with a way to �correct� his overenthusiasm and devise a scheme to get my Kaline for nothing. In other words, �How can I rip this guy off?� (No offense to any dealers...but you know it�s true.)

After a moment, he settled on what I assume he felt was the best route to take, �Look, it�s a nice card (yeah, buddy, I saw your reaction), but it�s not...ummm...OFFICIALLY the error card, because they didn�t put it here
on the...uhhh...inscription (I assume he meant �label�). Some people think it�s a hot card, but...ummm...at most I will trade you is a tenth of what you think it�s worth and that�s doing right by you. Sound good??�

Body language interpretation:
He was awkwardly fumbling his way through trying to convince me that the lack of two words, �With Bandage,� meant a 90% reduction in value?? What kind of crap math is that?
And see how he used �some people� to disassociate himself from the silly fools who find the card valuable? Ha! Nice attempt, sir.

I reacted with surprise, �That�s it? Just ten percent?! You�re kidding, right???�

�No, all that matters is what it says,� he told me as he tapped the slab, �and this one says it�s the...ummm...NORMAL Kaline, NOT the error, so I have to sell it as the regular card. I have no choice.�

No body language interpretation required:
Even supported by those wonderful harmonies, I didn�t need Glenn Frey to tell me about this guy�s lyin� eyes. He was singing a lyrical ballad of bullsh*t.

Reaching out to induce him into handing my card back, I said, �You�re not saying it ISN�T the variation, right? It clearly is. PSA never listened to us when we wanted them to put it on the (I hit the word rather hard) �inscription.��

Body language interpretation:
For someone claiming it�s worthless, he sure was holding the card close to his person. If he wasn�t interested, wouldn�t he automatically hand it back, since it does nothing for him?
He was grasping it tighter than how my grandma clutched her rosaries in the front pew on Sunday mornings.

�No, it�s the error, but I have to sell it as a regular �73 Kaline, because that�s what the graders say it is and...ummm...that�s all a buyer will pay for it. No bones about it.�

Body language interpretation:
His feigned earnestness was farcical. We all know that within minutes of landing this �worthless� card, it would be spotlighted in the center of his display
with a Sharpie-written sign screaming �RARE ERROR!!!!� and a many-many-thousand-dollars price tag on it. No bones about it, my bony frickin� ass!!!!

It was time to go on offense, so I said, �Okay, ten percent, right? Let me look through your cards and see what I�m interested in.�

Body language interpretation:
A glint of a smile flashed across his face and disappeared as he patted himself on the back for winning this, I guess, showdown.
But he should�ve been checking MY body language, the slick grin coming to my face. Silly man, you think you can play a game on me and I�m not going to play one back on you?

So after briefly perusing his slabs, I came back very positively with, �Okay, to me �Mr. Tiger� is worth forty thousand bucks, so 10% of that...move the decimal...I believe is four grand, right? I can work with that.�

Instantly annoyed, he reacted, �No, no, no!! It�s not worth close to that amount!!� (This time his speaking wasn�t interrupted by hesitant, time-buying �ummms� and �uhhhs.�)

With my hands out to my sides in a look of �DOY!!,� I laughed and said, �Good, we agree!! Because that�s exactly what I was going to say about your silly ten percent offer.�

(A final note: Although this dramatized-for-effect retelling paints a contentious picture, the actual back and forth was much more �playfully interactive.� Swear.)

Until next time, my fellow ~~collectors~~ grandma lovers!! Always remember, blue cheese (or �bleu cheese� for the snobs) isn�t a topping to be ignored, people, it�s a way of life!!!

Kutcher55 · #4 10-04-2025, 08:12 AM

Super entertaining read Jolly. I appreciate your innate understanding of the motives of weasel-dealers and your willingness to call them out. You�re a true champion for the aging vintage collector who frequents these shows and witnesses the nonsense described in your writings. As far as the Bonds jersey goes, I once saw a guy wearing an Aaron Hernandez jersey at a Celtics game and this was long after Hernandez had been exposed as a murderer. I actually got a chuckle at it before admonishing myself for my lack of sensitivity.

Casey2296 · #5 10-04-2025, 10:59 AM

Always entertaining Jolly, thanks for posting.

JollyElm · #6 10-04-2025, 06:52 PM

Dammit, so many of the 'line breaks' look ridiculous, but when I try to fix them, it only worsens the problem. I guess whether or not the layout looks awkward is dependent on how wide your screen is, so there's not a lot I can do. Oh well.

(Yes, I realize I'm just talking to myself here. Time to go eat some wings as I hope for a Bills victory tomorrow.)

BioCRN · #7 10-04-2025, 06:58 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by JollyElm

Dammit, so many of the 'line breaks' look ridiculous, but when I try to fix them, it only worsens the problem. I guess whether or not the layout looks awkward is dependent on how wide your screen is, so there's not a lot I can do. Oh well.

(Yes, I realize I'm just talking to myself here. Time to go eat some wings as I hope for a Bills victory tomorrow.)

They look fine of a laptop and desktop...which seems to be a dying breed of internet interface.

Thanks for the thoughtful content.

Kutcher55 · #8 10-04-2025, 08:12 AM

Delete

Kutcher55 · #9 10-04-2025, 08:13 AM

(Delete)

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