There is a wealth of knowledge in my neighborhood. Retired accountants, bankers, lawyers, brokers, and doctors – men and women. I learn something new every day or benefit from their expertise when they assist the HOA on contract negotiations. They might help save money on insurance, zoning, or investments, for example, to keep our annual costs down. I often wish I had skills like this, but my media background doesn’t necessarily apply. What do I have to offer? 

Sadly, my chief interest and wealth of knowledge these days seems to be baseball cards, for what it’s worth. It’s like going full circle back to childhood and skipping all those years of doing business. In the back of my mind is the hope that I uncover something valuable, but maybe all that matters is that it makes me happy. I keep thinking of my childhood neighbor, who hit me square in the forehead with a rock, requiring stitches. He was a little older and had an impressive assortment of baseball cards and enviable knowledge. As he and his mother came to see me in bed after the accident, they brought me a box of unopened baseball cards as an apology. I’m sure it was the mother’s idea! It took all the pain away and made me want another hit in the head. The baseball cards are long gone but the scar is still there. 

Baseball cards tell a story and finding them like a treasure hunt. I have about ten massive binders of them, carefully organized by team and player. All of them are valuable to me, regardless of condition or worth. They bring back memories and inspire me to learn more about the history of the game. I have several neighbors that feel the same way. I spent yesterday afternoon with one of them, who made it his business. For many years, he was a distributor for Topps, the major brand in baseball cards that has bought out everyone else. They are currently capitalizing on the current resurgence of the hobby, that also extends to all other sports, video games, celebrities, and even Disney. 

He eventually established his own trading card business, having recently sold it, but keeping an active role while in his 80’s. I wanted to drool when he showed me a recent shipment of classic cards that he bought for resale. We’re headed to a local card show today, but just to look, and not as an exhibitor, as is his norm. He’s off to the National Sports Card Convention in Cleveland next week. I wish I had the mad money to attend and participate, but I continue to get satisfaction on a smaller scale, by hanging with neighbors like this. No different than when I was a kid. 

If I had an extra quarter growing up, I’d hop on my bike and head to the nearby grocery store to buy five packs of cards (5-cents each). All was right in the world, as I’d sit on the curb and open them like a Christmas package. Back then, they also contained a flat, pink, slab of bubble gum, so the scent became associated with the cards, as I’d begin to organize them once I got back home, sometimes putting together All-Star teams. Then, we’d get out the Whiffle ball and bat to play Home Run Derby as our favorite player. I’d imagine myself as Mickey Mantle, until I found a new hero, Sherm Lollar. These days, I’d be Kyle Schwarber or Shohei Ohtani at the plate. 

I’ve been striking out a lot recently while participating in what they call “Card Breaks,” sharing the cost of buying several boxes and paying to keep the cards of the team of your choice. I’m not willing to invest in the higher-priced Dodgers or Yankees, so I tend to stick with the lower-priced White Sox or Cubs. Naturally, all the more desirable autograph and relic cards never seem to come my way. I prefer the random draws, but luck is never in my favor, so I’m still stuck with the less desirables, but content with the Hope.