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#1
10-03-2025, 06:45 PM
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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. passedoutchickmagnet125.jpg 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 Pokémon 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, clichéd 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 Pokémon 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 
__________________
All the cool kids love my YouTube Channel:
Elm's Adventures in Cardboard Land https://www.youtube.com/@TheJollyElm Looking to trade? Here's my bucket: https://www.flickr.com/photos/152396...57685904801706 “I was such a dangerous hitter I even got intentional walks during batting practice.” Casey Stengel Spelling "Yastrzemski" correctly without needing to look it up since the 1980s. Overpaying yesterday is simply underpaying tomorrow.  Last edited by JollyElm; 10-05-2025 at 08:30 PM. 
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#2
10-04-2025, 08:12 AM
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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.
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#3
10-04-2025, 10:59 AM
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Always entertaining Jolly, thanks for posting.
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#4
10-04-2025, 06:52 PM
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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.)
__________________
All the cool kids love my YouTube Channel:
Elm's Adventures in Cardboard Land https://www.youtube.com/@TheJollyElm Looking to trade? Here's my bucket: https://www.flickr.com/photos/152396...57685904801706 “I was such a dangerous hitter I even got intentional walks during batting practice.” Casey Stengel Spelling "Yastrzemski" correctly without needing to look it up since the 1980s. Overpaying yesterday is simply underpaying tomorrow.
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#5
10-04-2025, 06:58 PM
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Quote:
Thanks for the thoughtful content.
__________________
‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ▪ Cubs 1800s-present HOF/stars/notables ▪ Cubs oversized type examples ▪ Cubs autographed cards ▪
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