I moved it as it's a great thread and I thought more folks would enjoy it here. It can be copied/moved back over, if you prefer?
.

Nope, I'm fine with whatever you wanna do. There are a lot more eyes (to undoubtedly ignore it) on this side of the site. :D

My response to a dealer would be… yeah I get that- but if I buy from you here then you don’t get hit with a 14% ebay fee or more… so let’s make a deal…! Cash is king!

Loved the post. Thanks Darren!

It's an oddly strange little thing, this online community we baseball card collectors make up, so I try to add a little entertainment here and there to get us to laugh at our absurd selves.

I'm glad you guys (I assume) enjoy it!! :D

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I have a wealth of observations to post about a recent show out here, but those sad attempts at humor must be delayed due to the urgency of this Special Bulletin.
Yes, it's a helluva long read, but your CARD SELLING LIFE may depend on it!!!!!!!

Something NEFARIOUS is going on, and if any of you vintage card sellers are plying your trade at The National (or other shows), you have got to be on very high alert!!!!


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1. Steve McQueen tried to warn us...now, it’s my turn
Look, I’m no tin foil hat wearing conspiracy theorist, but this is urgent and the truth needs to be exposed immediately, before the modern table overlords ‘disappear’ you vintage guys like they did to the dealers I’ll mention here!!!!!!!!

We assume vintage show tables are going the way of the dodo due to cardboard evolution, right?
Young collectors love all of the flashy new issues and players coming out each year, so it’s NATURAL for them to ignore the old stuff and push it further aside into oblivion...but what if I told you that there is something completely UNNATURAL about the growth of modern card tables??!!!


Please consider:
The day started innocently enough. The venue was laid out in a giant rectangle. No hidey holes, no way to get lost. You walk the perimeter checking out everything, then make your way down and across the aisles to freely visit each and every table. Easy peasy.

Since the show was a sea of modern cards, I was happy to find port at a trio of vintage tables abutting each other. It was a twenty foot stretch of heaven for the eyes (definitely NOT for the wallet, though) and I stopped to yap a bit with the guys. One of the purveyors was a man I mentioned earlier in this thread with a stack of overpriced 1971 Topps Greatest Moments cards. I even amiably (read: Snarkily) feigned surprise by noting, “Oh, you still have those guys??”

(To be clear, this wasn’t an imagined event. Mr. 1971 Topps Greatest Moments cards was there, and I was there. We vintage guys conversed. No one can tell me otherwise. If God himself came down and said, “Sorry, my son, thine heart is true, but thine words are mistaken,” I would reply, “F*ck thou!! Theyeth wereth hereth!!!”)

Eventually, I bid them adieu (if by "adieu" you mean, “Catch you f*ckers on the flip side!”) and ventured onward to explore the rest of the show.


After spending over an hour seeing nothing but the refractorization of the American pastime as I walked the floor, I decided I needed to revisit my vintage ‘happy place’ and go see those guys again. So, I headed back to the spot where they were - the only part (THE ONLY PART!!) of the venue that was bounded by windows and afforded a view of the outside, with a Dave & Buster’s, a giant parking lot, and the foothills of Mt. Diablo peppering the horizon, but they were nowhere to be found.

That was weird, but let’s be honest, we’ve all lost our bearings at shows and couldn’t find our way back to specific tables we had visited earlier. It happens to everyone, so I casually circled (I guess I should say ‘rectangled’) the floor a couple of times to find them again...but there was still no sign of them. I even started at the entrance and systematically walked the entire show grid, not missing an inch of floor space, but each time I repeated the route, it again returned me to my starting point without passing them along the way.


Now wickedly freaked out, I headed directly to the windowed area to seek answers. Instead of the old, wispy haired gents (with guts preventing them from buttoning their A’s and Giants jerseys) who were here manning the vintage tables earlier, what greeted me now was a pair of metrosexual twenty-somethings - tanned gym rats with blindingly white teeth and outfitted in identically oversized hats with arrow-straight (not curved a millimeter) brims. They looked more plastic than the slabs they were slinging!!!

“WHOA!!!!!! WTF is going on here???????!!!!! Where’d my vintage sellers go????!!!! There is no way in heck they just packed up their tables in the middle of a busy show and left on their own accord!!! Something is wrong!!!!”


And it got scarier. I realized the space that was formerly occupied by three separate tables was now taken up by a single, massive table loaded only with shiny, refractory, parallely toploaders and slabs...without a single vintage card to be seen.


The conclusion is obvious!!! Modern tables are ridding the planet of all the old stuff by (yes, I could say “absorbing,” but no matter how terrified I am, I still want to write with panache, so will instead use) SUBSUMING all of the vintage tables around them!!!!! The vintage tables were devoured by a modern one!!!!! This form of supernatural ageism - preying on the weak and old cardboarded tables alone - is happening right in front of our very eyes, yet nobody talks about it????!!!!! We’ll spend days endlessly arguing about a player’s WAR...but the subject of an EVIL INGURGITATING CREATURE never comes up?????? What the hell, man???!!!!


You can call me crazy, but I swear that the table was...pulsating...almost breathing. It seemed to be...I can’t believe I’m saying this...a LIVING organism!!!!!


Not wanting my fear to let these preternatural predators know that I was on to them, I casually asked (hoping they didn’t notice the Niagara Falls of nervous sweat pouring down my face), “Hey, where’d the vintage guys go who were here before??”

Like something out of Westworld, these trimmed-and-shaped-facial-hair-fellahs responded in a robotic, exacting unison, “We have no recollection of such vendors. We alone have occupied this space all day. You are tired and mistaken, human. Perhaps you need to sit down?”

Then in synchronized form, they paused, angled their heads upwards to process (digitally scan?) the (Mets) hat on my head, and with full-toothed smiles, pointed to the same spot in the case and said in stereo, “Can we interest you in a 2019 Topps Chrome Pete Alonso Refractor Auto? An internet search indicates he currently holds a spot on the roster of the New York Metropolitan Baseball Club, Inc., based in the New York City borough of Queens.”

Having me locked in place with their hypnotic eyes, I couldn’t look away...but I swear my peripheral vision caught a piece of the colorful, circled face of Sal Bando from his 1971 Topps Greatest Moments card momentarily being...I don’t know, regurgitated???...by the table...before being sucked back in again and digested!!!!!


Being frightened to death by pure evil isn’t something you can ever be prepared for, so I decided to imitate Enos Slaughter in 1946 (gee, I wonder if any of his cards were on the ingested tables, but I digress), and immediately took off running and screaming like a maniac, and never stopped until I got back home!!!


Unfortunately, it was only then I realized that the TRUE FACE OF EVIL hadn’t even shown itself yet. By fleeing the way I did, I had left my girlfriend back at the mall!!!
My Gawd, you really think some huge, table-consuming, unearthly card show parasite is scary??? Ha!!! If you wanna see a REAL MONSTER, just piss off my girlfriend!!!!!!!! My God, am I in seriously deep sh*t now!!!!!!!!!


If there’s a lesson to be learned here, I guess you vintage sellers really need to watch your backs!!!!! Oh, and always be sure to get a receipt when you buy a card at a show. That way you’ll be able to prove a dealer was actually there.




Until next time, my fellow non-subsumists!! If you happen to see a seller with a stack of ungraded 1971 Topps Greatest Moments cards, tell him, “Thank God you’re still alive!!!” :D:eek::D

They say brevity is the soul of wit.

Well, if you think the opposite is true, then you’ve come to the right place!!

I'm not going to lie. If you walked The National for four days straight, then had your eyes taped open and forced to watch seventeen reels of home movies from my family’s trip to Fort Ticonderoga, that would take less time than reading this...but hopefully a smile or two will emerge.
Perhaps, you should read a single observation, (call back alert) digest it like a modern table, move on with your life and then come back later to read another one.
Or just ignore the whole thing entirely. Collector's choice!

Here are my (uber-longwinded) observations from a recent show...



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1. The Best Offense is a Good Pretense
It seems that the secret cabal of vendors that we damn well know is working behind the scenes against us collectors, had a clandestine meeting to determine the best defence (wait, why am I suddenly spelling like a Brit?) against the constant barrage of complaints about every single dealer’s crazy, museumic (is that a word?) pricing.

• The meeting notes from their conspiratorial conference must’ve stated very matter of factly:
No matter what the complaint is about pricing, simply respond with, “Of course, it’s a LITTLE (yes, use the word “little,” not the more precise “abundantly exorbitant times a million”) more expensive than other comps, but...(wait for it)...IT IS VERY STRONG FOR THE GRADE!!”


I can’t even count the number of times I heard that specific phrase, or a derivative thereof, during the show:
“A killer example for the grade!”

“There’s no 3 out there with corners as good as this one!!”

“That ain’t no 5, it’s a five plus plus plus!!”

“I’d sell my wife to find a better 7 than this guy!!” (In all honesty, a simple look at his huge gut told the world he’d happily sell her just for a bag of mini donuts, so that didn’t tell us much.)


They all said the exact same thing, and it didn’t matter if someone was actually questioning the price on their slab, they just kept repeating this mantra over and over again.
If you had to do a shot every time you heard someone say it, you would’ve wound up in the drunk tank before your first lap around the floor was half-completed.


One modern table guy even intimated to me, “We all know that many tens are so much better than other ones.”
We do??

Under my breath, I muttered at one of them, “Again with the ‘strong for the grade’ claim? Who are you, Arnold Schwarzengrader?!”

The funny thing is, not a single crazily-priced card I was shown by these phrase-wielding sellers looked to be a supreme example for the grade - quite the opposite.

Bottom line...it’s time to establish a new TPG called Charles Atlas Grading (CAG).

I even came up with a slogan you’re free to use:
“If your card isn’t in an Atlas slab, then it’s weak as a chump for the grade...and so are you!!!”



2. An Excuse to be Touched by a Young, Hot Angel (not really)
This is so minor that everyone will say, “Get a REAL problem, buddy!!,” but I urge you to follow my lead...

The front table was staffed by young women handing out wristbands (for us to affix ourselves), but I took a stand and reached out my arm and (referring to the wristband) asked, “Could you please put that thing on for me? I’ll probably make it too tight and cut off my circulation.”
(I’ve done that before, so it wasn’t a lie.)

A happy smile followed with, “Sure, lemme get that for you.”

Dirty old man, right? No frickin’ way!! A smart young (apparently, only to myself, so continue reading) man!!

Here’s why:

• What’s the worst thing about a card show? (The crowd screams, “STUPID PRICES!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!")

• Whoops...what’s the SECOND worst thing about a card show?

Of course, it’s hurriedly trying to get that frickin’ wristband on in time.

After paying admission, but before you can enter, you only have one ‘free’ hand to work with and you have to turn into a juggling circus performer as you attempt to keep all the crap you’re bringing inside - bags, clothing, hard cases, reading glasses case (oof!), food and drinks, and perhaps also fumbling to get your change into your pocket - from falling to the floor while you desperately try to find the edge of the adhesive section with your fingernail and get that damned thing attached to your other arm.


Wouldn’t it be helpful if they provided a few tables off to the side so showgoers could take a moment to put down their stuff and attach their wristbands??
NOOOOO, what an outrageous idea!!!!!!
Instead, they make it the live action version of those subway videos from Japan you run across, where city workers shove the crowds onto the trains so the doors can finally be closed. (Yes, that’s a reach, but I’m trying to make a point.)


Doing it my way, you avoid all of that, because it only takes a split second for her to put it on for you. A split second well spent - no delays and now it’s show time!! Plus, no need to seek out a garbage can to throw out that pesky little peeled-off segment, because she has it, not you. Ain’t your problem no more!!

Of course, (call back alert) we could avoid all of this by just stowing everything in a large backpack to free up our hands, but where’s the fun in that?


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3. Chairing is Caring...No, It’s Not!!!
The first table I stopped at had the usual assortment of boxes and binders and slabs (“Oh my!!!”), so I was casually standing there taking it all in (my ‘Collectorism’ for this is Table Tilt - the stationary pose of standing still at a dealer’s table with your head angled slightly downward as you examine all of the items there) when the vendor suggested that maybe it would be good if he got me a chair. Thanking him for his hospitality, I said there’s no need, and didn’t think much of it.

But...merely minutes later, I was engaged in the same activity at a different table, when the guy there immediately came up to me and said, “Let me find you a chair.”
Looking around, I thought, “Why is everyone from the get-go treating me like I should be in some “I’ve fallen, and can’t get up!!!!” commercial airing during the afternoon soaps??”

Later on, and directed specifically at no one but me, a dealer said, “I got a couple of chairs at the ready.” (I guess he forgot to tag on, “...for a Methuselah-looking motherf*cker like you!!“)

This was the most seriously high ‘dealer to chair-offer ratio’ I had ever encountered. Why was everybody trying to be an usher?? All of these overtures came unsolicited, so what was I missing??

In the end, I wasn’t sure if like a restaurant host, they were just saying, “Sit down and stay a while!!,” with the hope I’d put a few bucks in their coffers by ordering overpriced jalapeño poppers and cocktails, or was it that I looked like my stasis pod malfunctioned last night and suddenly aged me thousands of years like Stewart in ‘Planet of the Apes’???

The jury’s still out.

This depressed me so much that I needed to take a moment and sit down.


But then it got even worse...


4. The Reading Glass is Half-Empty!!!
Pulling out a 1972 Topps #32 Cleon Jones ‘In Action’ card to give a look-see (it’s crazy hard to find without a tilt), and bringing the beloved Met closer to my eyes, I exclaimed to no one in particular, “Crap!! Need my reading glasses!” (Which I had recently started bringing along to use for close-up inspections.)
The couple working the table reacted with a good natured, hearty chuckle. Instant friends (Spoiler alert: that changes).

I said, “I still can’t believe I need these things sometimes. It’s all brand new to me, and it’s such a frickin’ bummer.” (Yes, people my age talk like that.)

(The WTF moment commences now...)

The lady, who looked absolutely ancient to me, grinned and said, “Yeah, my time is also going to be coming soon in a couple of years, as I had a hard time even reading the expiration date on the paprika (she pronounced it “pah-prick-uh,” with no slight hesitation between, or stress placed on, syllables, and not “pah—PREE—kuh” like normal people) jar last night. Right, hon?” (as she looked to her hubby to confirm her story).

My brain shrieked, “Coming soon???!!! Wait, aren’t you years, even DECADES older than me??? Shouldn’t MY gradual vision loss be following YOURS, not the other way around???!!! I can’t possibly be older than you, you crypt-keeper-resembling crone!!! I still have my youthful, boyhood glow!!!”

(Oddly enough, her husband was clearly much younger than she was, so maybe they have a ‘sugar momma’ thing happening, but hell if I know.)


She was then able to hammer my coffin shut for good with a final, “You should go to Bath & Body Works in this mall. I think they carry those chains that hold your glasses around your neck when you’re not using them. You know...attached like a necklace, so you won’t lose ‘em??”


It’s a rare occasion when I’m rendered speechless, but holy heck did she inadvertently (God, I hope to hell it was inadvertent!!!) do a number on me that I won’t ever forget.
When exactly did I become a “back in my day” saying, canasta-playing, butterscotch-carrying, sweater-smelling-of-mothballs-wearing, old biddy who plans on spending my final years down in Florida kind of person???!!!


5. Mourning Has Broken...My Heart
Like placing the Thanksgiving turkey in the middle of the table so all can gaze upon its magnificence, so do Willie Mays cards always occupy the center spots of cases out here as reverential moneymakers. Sadly, those middles sure got a lot girthier after his recent passing, with a ton of cards being added with (Surprise!! Surprise!!) monumentally inflated prices.

One guy had every single card in his display - all HOFers big and small - with ‘loud’ price stickers attached to them, except for the now overabundant number of Willie Mays cards clogging the middle. He purposely removed the stickers from those. Everything else still had (literally and figuratively) large prices showing, but the "the Say Hey Kid" cards were devoid of such trivial indications.


I cut to the chase and very politely (swear!) said, “You clearly want people to ask about these cards, so you can gauge their interest during this sorrowful time and then invent an obnoxiously high price on the spot...to see if they will bite, right?”
In a theatrical pretense, he frowned, shrugged his shoulders and spread his palms-up hands out in an exaggerated gesture of, “Who-ooo...me??” (Although this was real life, I swear there was a ‘sarcasm’ emoji floating beside him.)

When I asked why he did that, a self-satisfied grin appeared as he scoffed, “You know what they say about hot ironing, don’t you??!!”

Uh...I assume he was trying to trot out the standard, old time blacksmithing maxim, “Strike while the iron is hot,” but he seemed to be referring to pressing a dress shirt, so you won’t look like a schmuck at your friend’s bar mitzvah (true story).

Being none too fond of this guy to begin with, I replied, “Yup, my mother says it sure makes the wrinkles in a skirt go away,” and left him with a puzzled look on his greedy face.


6. The Great Progressinator

Da Vinci...Edison...The Wright Brothers. Innovators??? Ha!!!! Mere tinkerers.

For my money, the title of history’s greatest groundbreaking mind goes to the dealer who made my eyes give him a standing ovation when I saw his booth. He (get ready for an overuse of adverbs) purposely had all of his ‘bargain bin’ storage containers illustrously on their sides, wonderously spilling out waves and waves of toploaders marvelously cascading across his tables. What an ingenuously engaging set-up!!!


There were scores of excited teenagers...(whoops, since I’m so old now, I guess I should say “young whipper-snappers”)...surfing through the massive waves of shiny cards, building huge stacks to separate the ‘seen already’ from the ‘unseen yet,’ and smaller (closely guarded) piles of ‘keepers’ to the side.
‘Twas an absolute beehive of activity. When a kid would leave, the proprietor would then ‘re-spill’ the left-behind stacks into and around the large bins.


I said, “This is sick!! What a cool set-up!!”

He smiled hugely, and said, “Thank you very much!! It is, right??!! There’s barely any really old stuff, but every card you find is only a buck!!” (Wait...was this yet another person implying that I look ancient...AND was that buck comment a dig to call me cheap???)

Like Alexander Fleming accidentally discovering Penicillin by stumbling across contaminated Petri dishes, he told me how he unintentionally tipped over one of his tubs while loading up his SUV for a show and had an incredible ‘aha moment’ (being an Archimedes fan, I would’ve called it a ‘eureka moment,’ but let’s not quibble), and he knew right then and there how he was going to start setting up his tables from now on!!


I should’ve snapped a picture earlier, but only got this one very late in the day, so it’s lacking the impressively eye-catching, beginning-of-the-show spillover, but it clearly illustrates that he sold a crapload of cards, because those things started off being fully packed...


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He joyously added, “I want to patent the idea!”

I laughed and told him, “Call your booth ‘Spillage Village,’ or better yet, ‘Spilladelphia.’”

The smile disappeared, “No way! It’s gotta reference one of OUR teams!!!!!”

(Well, excuse the f*ck out of me for trying to help. I won’t even bother suggesting ‘Overflow Montana’ or ‘Buster Flowzie.’ Would those references be local enough for you, ya creep??!!)


As morosely as the interaction seemed to end, he still gets my rubber bin stamp of approval for his advancement in the cardboard sciences.

Reality check: I assume some “Alexander Graham Bell wasn’t the first to invent the telephone!” decryer will chime in to say, “I’ve seen plenty of dealers doing that same thing for years. It’s nothing new!!,” but I’m sticking with it. It was mah-velous.


7. Prologue: The C.H.O.M.P. (Creepy Hordes Of Munching People) Factor
As a complete aside, when the lunchtime pangs of hunger kicked in, it was time to take a break and meet up with my girlfriend for some grub.

I have to say it. Next to the ungainly nerds (no offense, making fun of dweebs is never cool, because the moment you have a problem with your phone or computer, who’s going to be your best friend?) digging through the modern stuff, coupled with the waves of balding middle-aged men with fat rippling through their stretched to capacity, sweat-stained shirts looking through the old stuff at card shows, is there a more repulsive group of people anywhere in the world than what is seen stuffing their faces in a mall food court?? No frickin’ way!!! BLECH!!!


Anyway, after overpaying like Dean’s Cards for the privilege of eating a footlong hero (yes, it’ll always be a “hero,” not a “sub” or “hoagie” or “grinder” or “torpedo”), I decided to cruise back towards the cavernous former Forever 21 store that served as the show’s venue.


On this short walk is where our tale commences...



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8. Gunfight at the OaKland Corral
(This entire ‘event’ took a mere handful of seconds, and would mean nothing to other humans, but the enduring and misguided passion we have for our teams makes us baseball fans an entirely different animal.)

As I strode back, the mall’s drab, industrial-gray floor covering in front of me suddenly became empty...deserted, like the street outside the saloon in a movie western. Out of nowhere, a lone, silhouetted figure appeared in the distance and slowly began making his way towards me...with something green on his head. Are keys jangling in his pocket...or is that metallic clicking sound coming from a pair of spurs????? Wait, did a tumbleweed just roll past the entrance to Sephora???!!! What’s making those terrifying and echoing sounds...are there rattlesnakes in this shopping center????!!!!


(Cue the infamous Clint Eastwood movie “waaah wah waaah waaaa-aaaah” sound effect.)


Finally coming into focus and stopping a mere ten paces away, this buckaroo looked about the same age as me and he was proudly wearing an old Oakland A’s hat. It wasn’t some newer thing from the ‘Bash Brothers’ years. No, sir, its well-faded and weathered green and yellow told me it came from the 1973-era A’s!!!
Channeling Indiana Jones, I woefully grumbled, “Why’d it have to be the 1973 A’s??” As I stood there in my faded blue, 1973-era Mets hat.


His quick glance at my head told him exactly who my team was, and he nearly imperceptibly squared his shoulders to face his enemy (I’m sure I mirrored his movement to also face MY enemy).

As my brain growled, “This mall ain't big enough for both of us!!” I imagined spitting a gob of tobacco juice at his feet.
Sadly, it was all just an act. Since I’m the only Mets fan west of the Pekos, I was alone. No one would be galloping in to help me circle the orange and blue wagons.


Both he and I recognized this for what it was, an unavoidable duel between hated adversaries. It was high noon in front of the Hello Kitty store, but we both knew full well that my Mets had already lost this gunfight over a half a century ago in The World Series...4 games to 3.
He didn’t need a Colt ‘Peacemaker’ in his holster to prevail. The only thing he needed was already hanging inside whatever ballpark the Athletics call home - signage boasting “1973 World Champions.”


When 1973 comes up, my thoughts go to Raquel Welch, Pam Grier’s funbags (no offense, I’m obviously referring to her purses), and Ann B. Davis as Alice (yeah, sometimes my freaky tastes veer towards the matronly, but I won’t apologize for that). That’s what real men think about, but this guy wasn’t pondering delicious 70’s babes...his reverie told me he was off thinking about Darold Knowles and Bert Campaneris and Reggie, about Willie Mays losing balls in the sun, and about his boyhood hero, Joe Rudi, playing flawlessly even though the blinding rays in Oakland made it feel like those long ago games were being played on the surface of Mercury.


I searched his eyes for a hint of compassion, maybe a little, “It’s all right, buddy,” to ease my pain, but he offered nothing. Not even bothering to meet my eyes, he only proffered a deliberately slow and knowing tip of his green hat to say, “Eff you and your Big Apple losers!!! 'Miracle Mets,' my ass!!!!”
He was silently laughing out loud as a smirk filled his hate-filled soul. I guess there are none so loud as those who will not speak. (Whoa!! Someone call Bartlett's and get that quote in the next edition!!)


As he happily walked off into the sunset (literally, the store was called “The Sunset Emporium”), I was left with the last vestiges of my masculinity destroyed by his yellow and green stagecoach rolling over me.
I never stood a chance...you can’t change the past.


9. Epilogue: The H.O.W.D.Y. (Hotties on Walls Delighting You) Factor
As the dust settled (see what I did there?), it was time for me to do the ‘walk of shame’ and mosey on back to the show. I was feeling as low as a horse hoof in mud (ibid.), but then a saving grace appeared. Everywhere I looked, the same, oft-repeated poster of a trio of soaking wet, racially diverse, gorgeous ‘fillies’ who were falling out of their skimpy bathing suits was visible. Don’t reckon I can tell you what in tarnation these ads were trying to sell to people, but gazing at them made my diminished testosterone levels shoot up faster than a buzzard on a carcass!!!!


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10. The Apparent Unimportance of Nothingness
A young guy was doggedly trying to sell his card to a dealer, and he kept referring to the prices on his phone with choruses of, “They always sell for $125. Always! I want $125 for it.”

The reply was, “I’ll give you $80, and that’s being generous.”

“But it always sells for $125. Be fair! I need $125.”

After a few rounds of this same conversation were repeated and in the books, the seller finally said with exasperation, “Only $80. Let’s see if you can grasp this. What does this card sell for?”

“$125. See?” (as he showed him his phone.)

“Okay, so if I buy it from you for $125, what price can I sell it for?”

“I told you!! $125!! Every time!!”

Pausing a few moments in the hope that enlightenment would enter the kid’s brain, he asked, “Do you really not see what I’m getting at???”

Now mumbling to himself, the kid huffed and puffed and stormed off.


Looking for support, the seller remarked, “This is my job. The boy wants me to buy his card for $125 and maybe I can re-sell it for $125, but probably less. No profit. Nothing!! He can’t grasp that simple concept...and he thinks I’M the bad guy?? When did they stop teaching basic economics in school??”
I commiserated, “You can’t teach common sense.”


11. Would You Like an Order of Despise With That?
As a pair of guys were happily digging their way through some bins, I could tell that one of them was brand new to the vintage game. His buddy kept explaining the differences in Topps designs to him, and would test his newfound knowledge by pulling out a 1959 common and asking, “What year is this one from?”

The other guy thought for a moment and replied, “It’s the knothole layout. You said the 58’s have the empty colored backgrounds, like this one (as he pulled a 1958 card from the bin)...so it’s from ‘59, right?” (And the crowd roars!!!!!!)

Exclaiming, “Very well done!” I gave him a fist bump. (Both were really good guys, so we got to talking about all sorts of things.)

Being all giddy as they pored through the final toploaders in search of gold, they readied their stack of ‘keepers’ to buy. The more ‘expert’ of the two enthusiastically focused his smile on the serious, bespectacled seller and said, “Wow, all of this is incredible!!! It’s obvious you’ve been a COLLECTOR for a long time!!”

With an unmistakeable contempt in his voice, and seemingly ready to rap the guy’s knuckles like a yardstick-wielding nun yelling, “Sinister!! Sinistro!!” at my left-handed sister in Catholic school (TMI), the seller dismissed him with a corrective, “No I’ve been a VENDOR a long time!” As if to separate his lordly self from the common riffraff of the regular collecting community.

Note to self: Revise Chapter One, Page One of ‘The Idiot’s Guide To Selling Baseball Cards’ to include, “Always display derisive scorn towards highly-spirited customers.”


12. Random Funny Moment
As I was checking past sales data on my phone BOOM!! the site went down. I hit refresh and hit refresh and hit refresh again, nothing. So I held my phone up high...I dunno, to ‘try to reach’ the Wi-Fi or whatever and get a signal.

Don’t think everyone’s completely reliant on their phones at card shows??

At the very moment I did this, people as far as the eye could see, everywhere across the floor, were all suddenly holding their phones up in the exact same frickin’ manner, suffering the same indignity of having their Wi-Fi taken away.

In the old days, people used to hold their hands up to the heavens for Jesus, now they do it to see what an SGC 5 1963 Topps Manny Mota RC should sell for.


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13. Meet Me in the Middle...of Park Place and Fort Knox
While waiting to chat about a pair of Jim Palmer rookie cards, I stumbled into a fascinating negotiation unfolding in front of me.

A pair of guys - seemingly a lead negotiator and a ‘bag man’ with the money - wanted to reach a deal on a variety of slabbed cards (I couldn’t see the grade numbers) spread out on the glass display. The two main prizes were a 1950 Bowman Jackie Robinson and a 1957 Topps Mickey Mantle. Among the other things were a few overly-colorful modern cards with blue Sharpie signatures on them - ‘hot’ autographed rookie or chase cards or something.

Back and forth they went in a spirited and respectful manner, with the buyer time and again offering a (very large, but still too low) number, and the seller (while explaining his pricing and punching numbers into a calculator) countering with a (slightly reduced, but still much) higher number.

At one point (referring to the Robinson), he said, “This is literally the cheapest you can buy this card for in this grade anywhere on the planet. I checked. You can search your phone as long as you want, there isn’t a lower one on this great big, spinning, blue beach ball.”
(Quite poetic!!! Wonder if back in the day he was using his student loan money to buy cases of 1990 Score cards while studying for an English Lit degree, but that’s pointless conjecture.)


Finally, the talks reached the point where the two sides were close enough (metaphorically, their beer bellies were bumping each other) that the end game was imminent. Holding out his hand to shake, the buyer said in a hopeful fashion, “Meet me in the middle??”

Let me say this: When I ask a dealer to ‘meet me in the middle,’ it’s when I only want to pay 50¢ for a 1972 Topps Moe Drabowsky card he wants a buck for. I will say, “Seventy five cents?” If he comes back with, “I’ll let it go for eighty,” my reaction would be, “That’s too rich for my blood.”
So, take a wild guess what the ‘meet me in the middle’ price was here??
It was a “Holy guacamole!!!” (ugh, I can’t stand avocados) inducing $17,300!!!!!

YOW-ZA!!!!!

With the seller accepting the deal, (earlier, it was agreed that this would be a cash transaction) a perfectly uniform stack of one hundred and seventy three newly minted (or is it “printed”?) $100 bills was slid across the table.
It was like a scene out of a heist film, and I expected the seller to say, “The serial numbers are non-sequential, right?”
He handed the stack to his assistant who then disappeared somewhere. Returning only seconds later, he gave a subtle nod to indicate the cash was the correct amount (did he have a currency counting machine hidden back there???), and the sale was finalized with more handshakes.

Whatever the opposite of a monied collector is, that’s who your humble correspondent is, so this transaction was so above and beyond what I’m used to that it was very cool to behold.


14. California...The World’s Mental Asylum
Complete randomness here, but how about a last minute giggle?

Driving back home from the venue, we spotted something that would be quite odd to anyone not forced to deal with the daily lunacy of The Golden State.
A guy was pedaling his bike down a heavily trafficked (shouldn’t that be spelled “trafficed”?) street with, whaddaya know, a giant German Shepherd casually standing without a care in the world on his head and shoulders.

This is a waaaaaaaaaaaay zoomed in part of the only photo my girlfriend was able to snap out of the passenger side window (from a very far distance) as we turned off of the road, so at least we got something...

Attachment 629452


(Editor’s note: I did say, “WTF!!,” and whipped a uey to wait at the light, so we could get back on that road for a better picture of the dynamic duo, but the intersection was a mess and by the time we returned to pursuing our quarry, POOF!!! they had vanished just like my youth. You always regret the pictures you don’t take.)

Want further lunacy? Do I even have to mention that although it was a balls-blistering two thousand and forty three degrees out, the bike rider was dressed from head to toe in thick, fully black (heat absorbing) winter gear, as if he and Lance Arf-strong (thank you, I’ll be here all week) were headed up to Squaw Valley for a weekend ski getaway????




Until next time, my fellow table tilting dueling collectors!! :D


Darn it, I hope there are no typos in thing. Where did I put my damn reading glasses??

I can't say I read it all, but OMG Lance Arf-strong is unsurpassable.

Darren, loved your account, up to your high standards. The bike rider with his canine buddy was priceless. The only thing better would have been the pooch pedaling and the guy standing on his back. Might happen, California, you know.

I wonder if it is only a matter of time before those dealers, who use wives or girlfriends as an enticement to visit their booths, go all in and have pole dancers performing on-site. I can envisage a scenario whereby the girls finish their shift and are looking for a gratuity. They are not looking for dirty Washingtons or abused Lincolns they want your high grade cards. Pity poor Fred, who came to the show with the intent of having his super nice '57 Brooks Robby graded, a Xmas present from his wife and now somewhat aroused, slipping his prized card into the generous cleavage about 2" from his nose. I can image the discussion when he got home:
Ethel - " Well, I hope you dropped off Brooksie for grading."
Fred, - "Yes, my little sugar plum at PSA". "Should be ready in about a month."
Ethel - " That's good". "I'm worried about that little nick in the upper left corner." "You know, I wiped out about all my savings to get you that card and i sure hope it gets a high grade.
Fred - Arghhhh (quietly)

Yodes, everything we talk about here on Net54 gets immediately out into the collecting 'community,' as we all have seen.
Here's hoping the next time I'm sitting on the floor eating like an animal, because the venue had no lunch seating, I'll be able to gaze at bodacious dealer-adjacent 'entertainers' as I scarf down my overpriced gruel!! :D

Attachment 650009

With a magnificently huge American Flag calling everyone up the stairs, I knew I was in for a great time!!

Here are my (very long and hopefully semi-fun-filled) observations from a recent show...



1. Elementary School Business Class
Seeing the exuberant crowd at the entrance told me this was going to be a busy show, with a lot of enthusiasm in the air. I don’t bother with the silly ‘health of the hobby’ talk (it’s like talking about the weather), but it is worth noting that there were a lot of kids with their dads lined up waiting to get in, with many of them toting their small suitcase ‘safes’ on wheels, ready to wheel and deal. Born negotiators...baby sharks, I guess. (I have since learned that juvenile sharks are called “pups.”)



Attachment 650010


2. Your Hat’s on Backwards for You...Which Means it’s Now on Correctly
Keith Richards said, “You don’t find a style. A style finds you,” and we all know that the exact same ‘style’ had found all of the modern card ‘bros.’ They live by the (un)stylish credo of “Get a flat brimmed hat a size or two too large and always wear it backwards!”

But this time around, I don’t believe I saw even a single dealer ‘bro’ with his hat on backwards. Not a one!
I guess Kenzo Takada (whoever the heck he was) knew what he was talking about when he opined, “Fashion is like eating, you shouldn’t stick to the same menu.”



3. Speaking of Hat Size, it’s a New Criterion for HOF Voters
If you enjoy enthusiastic (and random) baseball card chatter, there’s simply no better place to be than among the bargain bin diggers, and this show lived up to the promise.

Making his way through masses of 1970s/80s cards, a guy in a Reds hat was piling up a stack of cheap Johnny Bench cards as he and his buddy talked about the best catchers of all time.
The mentions of Campanella, Berra and Carter were heavy, and out of nowhere, one said, “Gabby Hartnett!!,” which was an odd turn.
But to the Reds fan, no one other than Bench mattered: “He was the ultimate player on both offense and defense. A million Gold Gloves, Rookie of the Year, World Series MVP, a pair of regular season MVPs. The greatest of all-time!!”

His buddy replied, “Sure, people always talk about how great he was. I get it, but I just can’t get past his huge head.”

As his friend gave him a surprised “WTF are you talking about??!!” stare, he explained, “My mom started buying me cards in 1983. Donruss. There were like three different cards of him...and all showed his freaky, gigantic head.
It scared me...I had nightmares about it. I was just a kid!!” (Wow, talk about an odd turn.)

Pulling a card (1974 Topps All-Star Catchers) from his friend’s pile, he exclaimed, “Look at the size of that head!! The photographer couldn’t fit it in the viewfinder. Look at this one with Yastrzemski (he pronounced it “Yuh-SKREM-ski”)!!
It looks like he could fit Yaz’s head in his mouth like a lion!!! I will never get past the size of his head. It’s just not natural. It’s all too much.”

Holy crap, this guy has some issues!!! “Dr. Phil?? Calling Dr. Phil!!!!!!”

But is he wrong? I researched the cards he mentioned and there may be validity to at least some of his crazy noggin phobia...


Attachment 650004



Attachment 650006


4. Randomly Odd Bathroom Moment
Me and another guy happened to reach the bathroom door at the same time, just as a maintenance man rolling his large mop and bucket of cleaning solution exited after a janitorial job supposedly well done.

Heading towards the two urinals (no, idiots, we weren’t holding hands), both of us stopped on a dime. The floor wasn’t newly cleaned, it was the standard tidal basin of disgusting pools of yellow everywhere with discarded bits of toilet paper thrown into the mix.
The only way to possibly reach the toilets was to do that guy version of hopscotch where each jump targeted a ‘safe’ dry spot on the floor.

My fellow pissee looked at me and exclaimed, “Wasn’t he (the janitor) just in here mopping five seconds ago???!!! What did he actually do????!!!”

Ick!!!!

If this was The Sopranos, I guess this would be called a card-show no-show job.



5. Table Wife or Table Strife?
Approaching a lady at a table, I was wondering if I should talk to her or wait for her husband/dealer to return, and asked, “Can I make you an offer on these (cards)? Believe me, I’m not breaking the bank here, so you won’t make enough money to take a Caribbean vacation or anything, but it’s something.”

With definite shades of Golden Girl, Blanche Devereaux, she replied dead seriously, “Why...would you care to accompany me to the Caribbean? Is that part of your little offer, doll?”

Listen, you always hear about coyotes, rattlesnakes and bigfoots (I seriously doubt that grammatically speaking it would be “bigfeet”) in California, but man, the most dangerous animal out here is definitely the card show cougar!!!

She was so straightfaced that I couldn’t tell if she was being serious...and I was painted into a corner, so I remained calm and didn’t take the bait. An eternity passed as the clock ticked away (in reality, only a second probably passed)...when she suddenly guffawed so loudly it made me jump.
“My hubby wouldn’t give me up that easily!!! No way...but maybe if you bought a bunch of the expensive stuff he might!!!!!!!!” As thunderous belly laughs roared out of her jowly face, shaking the walls and frightening the guys looking through the boxes of cards.

Of course she was kidding!! Of course. Stupid boy, I should’ve known. I mean, who uses an expression like “care to accompany me”???

(Strange side note: Whereas I pronounce it “car-a-BEE-in” — with the third syllable stressed, her reply was “cuh-RIB-bee-un,” an entirely different pronunciation. That alone should’ve told me we weren’t speaking the same language.)


Here’s a pair of AI-generated pics of this good time lady and me living our best lives at the beach...


Attachment 650005

My possible future as her boy toy was derailed. Oh, what could have been. :(



6. The NFC Championship Game
This is an NFC town. Didn’t see any (now Las Vegas) Raiders hats or jerseys, but as usual there was a sh*t-ton of Niners hats to be seen, so I kept casually walking up to people to cheerfully ask, “Hey, who are you rooting for tomorrow, Washington or The Eagles??”

Yowza!! Who knew there was an infinite number of ways to convey, “I don’t give a goddamn flying f*ck about that!!!!” in polite society?

A few examples:
• “Who the heck cares??!!!!”
• “There are no other teams, only the Niners!!!”
• “Are you out of your mind??? Why would I care???”
• (A guy’s young son with confusion) “The 49ers aren’t playing. The season’s over.”
• “That’s a dumb question. I hope they both lose!!!!”
• “Next season can’t come soon enough.”
• “Man, how bad did the Cowboys get??” (Just a tad bit off-topic.)

I had a whole thing written about the AFC Championship game, but since my Bills once again went down, I deleted it. It was all about how everyone on planet Earth wants the Chiefs to lose. Alas.



7. Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign
Man, this guy speaks my frickin’ language...


Attachment 650007


I kept wanting to go up to him and ask if he would literally tell me what “AF” stood for, to see how much enthusiasm he’d add to those two words (the strength of one’s cursing ability is very important to us native New Yorkers).
However, he was busy the entire time (clearly doing something right), with his chairs forever being occupied, so I didn’t want to urge him to curse loudly in front of potential clients. Not a really good business model.

But as a young, case-wielding guy left his booth, I asked how he did with his negotiations. “Was the guy willing to pay as far enough into “AS EFF” territory as you wanted?”

“No, it was low ball. NOWHERE NEAR a good amount. He didn’t care about the comps I showed!!!” (I guess he thinks the sign should read “NNAF”???)

I let it slide that I can guarantee the comps he used were cherry-picked to only show his cards in the most (new word?) expensivest of lights, while ignoring all of the data that said otherwise.



Attachment 650011


8. The High Price of Craigs
Said it before, but it bears repeating. Dealers gotta do some surveillance if they want to make sales in a competitive environment.

I saw a PSA 8 1966 Topps #543 Roger Craig prominently displayed on a table at a very silly price and glanced at it for a few moments, because I love high numbers and due to his time in Brooklyn and being an original 1962 Met, I have a particular fondness for Craig.

After moving on to a neighboring table, I saw sitting before me in plain sight the very same (newly graded) card in a PSA 9...for less than half the frickin’ price of the first one in an 8!!
Its sticker still had an ‘unreasonable’ number on it, of course, but in chatting up the dealer it became apparent he treated people fairly and enjoyed the back and forth of the bargaining process.
In the end, I was happy to take Rog home after securing a nice deal.

(Side note: the only PSA 9 found listed on eBay is a $500 BIN. Yowza!! Not exactly what I paid for mine.)



Attachment 650013


9. Trapped in a Plastic Prison of His Own Making
Many collectors bemoan when a seller says, “Well, I have X amount in this card, so...” while telling you how much he wants for it. Quite a common occurrence, and I witnessed a slight deviation of it...

A guy had tons of PSA slabs for sale, nicely ordered in a multitude of two sided boxes. All had cert numbers starting with a 9 (and undoubtedly numbered sequentially), so he himself had obviously sent them off to be graded very recently.
The cost of grading his inventory is unfathomable to me...mind-numbingly so.

Checking my phone for reasonable comps, I asked about the excessive prices on a couple of mid-grade cards, and he told me in no uncertain terms that his prices were FIRM.
“It cost me so much to get them graded, and those (the cards I asked about) came back lower than expected, so it screwed up my cost basis. My hands are tied. I just can’t sell them for less...sorry.”

At least he was polite.



10. Yelp Me if You Can
I asked another dealer how his day was going, and he replied, “Can you let me know? How am I doing? Are my prices reasonable?”

Since he was looking for a review, I surveyed his set-up and made a sweeping hand motion to point out how many people were digging through his stuff, and said, “Dude (sometimes the word “Dude” just slips out of my mouth for some reason), if you have price tags on all of your cards and people are STILL assembling piles to possibly buy, you’re doing fine. Otherwise, they’d run for the hills. Well, since this is a mall, I guess by “hills” I mean running to Victoria’s Secret to stare at pics of scantily clad models, but I digress. In the baseball card world, people staying at your table like this is a four star review!!”



Attachment 650012
(Yes, this is obviously a fake pic meant to emphasize a point.)


11. Parker Bros.
I don’t ever recall seeing a single Dave Parker card eminently displayed on a dealer’s table before.
He’s usually found and overlooked in the bargain bins, probably because his cards go from 1974 through the 80’s...not exactly a ‘valuable era.’

But as a new Cooperstownian(?), that changed dramatically. His stuff occupied some prime real estate positions in a bunch of cases - mostly his rookie card and the occasional 1978 Topps with a sticker on the holder loudly screaming out, “MVP!!!!”

You know how you’ll pass a modern guy’s table replete with the shiny stuff, but he’ll also have one or two random old cards mixed in with them?
This time, the fraternal order of dealers were all playing the same game, because the majority of these older cardboard ‘guest stars’ were junk-era Dave Parker cards at huge mark-ups!!

Wouldn’t anything more than ten cents apiece be too expensive? Too bad you couldn’t pay for them with Monopoly money.



12. De-Cancel Cultured
I ran across something that really cracked me the eff up. And as I laughed, someone said, “What???” So I turned and showed him this...


Attachment 650008


The dealer told me he used to show that card to people to give them a good laugh. “I find the best customers are the ones who like to laugh.”

I offered, “As long as they’re not laughing at your prices, right?” (Hey-ooooh!!!)

He continued, “But the last few years with cancel culture? It’s obviously funny, because it looks like her...but to the wrong person? They’ll have their internet warriors attack me for no reason.
I’m retired and don’t have the energy for that junk, but I don’t care anymore!!”

“Oh, are you a Phil Collins fan??” (His empty gaze told me my reference flew over his head.)

A couple of other guys asked what we were talking about, so I showed them the card, too, and they frickin’ loved it!!!
One said he wanted to buy it just to have, but he didn’t want to deprive the dealer of using it as a showpiece to entertain people.

(Side note: I have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to buy the same card, grab a Sharpie and copy what this guy did and pretend it was his own ‘brilliant’ idea.) :eek:

He said, “I don’t like her dumb dancing, so I’ll have my 25 Facebook friends accompany me in canceling her down!!! Ha ha ha!!!!!” (Wait, did he really just use the word “accompany”???)

Since he was so happily cracking himself up, I didn’t have the heart to explain that his terminology was waaaay off.



13. Gathering the Magic in Pokémon Town
There was an entirely separate and seemingly closed to ‘outsiders’ corner area of the show that I somehow stumbled into. It was dedicated to Pokémon and other modern stuff.
As I stepped into this beehive of activity, it was like a scene from ‘The Amazing Race’ where the contestants have to quickly complete a tough task while running around a crazily crowded, loud and energetic foreign food market.

I was overhearing all sorts of different Asian dialects in the air, as everyone was yapping away in (I assume) Japanese, Chinese and definitely Korean (my girlfriend’s mom is from there).

My assumption is a language app like Rosetta Stone must’ve been running a special on eastern tongues, because there was an abundance of people of all races/skin colors fluently negotiating in, I don’t know, Cantonese(?) or something, in a highly spirited fashion with their Asian counterparts.
Their accents seemed perfect.

Since I know nothing about the modern stuff, I was a stranger in a strange land, and the whole thing was wild to behold...and not a Topps card to be seen by this wandering gaijin.


Speaking of accents...in hindsight, it's really too bad I wasn’t able to secure that Caribbean vacation with the table lady, because if there was ever a word that was meant to be mellifluously over-pronounced by a joyously happy, dreadlocked Jamaican man, like this gentleman, it would be “Poké-MON”...

Attachment 650003

(You can hear him gleefully saying it to you in your head right now, can’tcha?)




Until next time my fellow yago kadeu sujipga!! :D

This is friggin' hilarious , you made me laugh more than once, something hard to do these days, thanks for sharing ! :)

Oh, so you're the person who read the post?
I thank you!
Just figured it must've been someone from my family. :D

(That's my way of saying that although the site has really gone down a wildly argumentative road, I'm still trying my damndest to provide a bit of entertainment.) :D:eek::D

Are you suggesting that wild arguments aren't entertaining?

If so, I've got a bone to pick with you!

Attachment 650434

Since no one is reading this thread anyway, how about a further (new word) Elonganation of it with additional bonus material (so even more people can ignore it) for no one else’s amusement, apparently, but my own...




Attachment 650435

1. Me and ‘Mize,’ a Cardboard Lunchtime Love Story
Hitting the jam-packed food court, we ended up at a long-ass, rectangular table that looked like a centerpiece of a Viking feast with 100 awful-looking people gnawing on the roasted bones of game as they knocked tankards of ale together.
(However, the difference is I doubt the Vikings were asking each other if their fresh kill was gluten-free.)

A group of guys next to us were regaled in the standard baseball card collector wear, so I asked (more of a statement than a question), “You guys here for the card show?”

With exuberance, “We sure are!! It’s (sounded like he said) Mize’s first time!!!”
Then, of course, they made hack jokes about him being a virgin...to my unamused face.

Turning to the Mizester, I asked, “How’d it go? Was it what you thought? Get any good stuff?”

He said, “Honestly, I’m so out of place. Everyone here could be my grandchildren. I’ve barely seen any old stuff, you know the cards I collected as a kid, and everyone here is so young.”

Then I saw his tell, the thing so many people do when their focus suddenly shifts to your face to judge how old you are to know if you’re both on the same (new word) ‘age-length’ to understand whatever reference he’s going to make.
(It was actually kind of a compliment this time. I’m worn down and growing older by the day, so the fact he didn’t immediately say, “Present company excepted,” and really had to look me over to see if I was nearly as old as him, gave me a needed lift.)

“The cards I loved the most are 1973, 1974 and especially the colorful 1975s. The A’s ruled the world!! My friends and I were trying to track down George Brett rookie cards the entire summer. So many great memories!”
(He might’ve noticed me smirking, because I damn well know that no one THAT SUMMER was tracking down Brett rookies, that came much later on. I even mentioned this offhandedly in a video I still need to finish up, but didn’t want to be rude.)

After chatting for a bit and before saying goodbye, he somewhat defeatedly added, “We just stopped for lunch, but we’re going back in. I haven’t bought anything and was really thinking this would be the live version of eBay. You know, with every cool card out there. A feast for the eyes.”

Trying to meet their hackiness, I said, “More of a starvation diet for the eyes, am I right??”
No reaction whatsoever. Bummer. The only thing I heard was the smacking lips of a thousand food court fatties.

Like the ‘January Gym People’ who join up to fulfill a New Year’s Resolution, but quickly stop going after a week, I highly doubt I’ll be seeing my buddy, Mize, at a show anytime soon.



2. A Noob’s Guide to Crazytown
While taking in the wild action of the modern card sector previously mentioned, I approached a busy dealer (who thankfully greeted me in English, because I don’t have Rosetta Stone) and asked, “What simple advice would you give someone who knows nothing about Pokémon cards that would help them begin collecting them?”

He said, “Undoubtedly, collect the first “hundred and fifty” (in researching it afterwards, I believe he meant 102) from the first release of 1999-2000, a couple of years after the Japanese version. It’s called the BS (I chuckled) or “Base Set.” From there you just lose your mind and have no clue what’s going on. You simply can’t keep up.”

I don’t wanna keep up. Still have no interest in them whatsoever.


Attachment 650433


3. Bookmarks and Birthmarks
It seems the newest highly-touted ‘innovation’ at many tables this time ‘round was basically a bookmark to save your place while you thumbed through the packed rows of toploaders and slabs in a dealer’s box...and the sellers didn’t hesitate in bringing it to your attention.

It was reminiscent of the oft-told joke (it’s not really a joke, is it?):
Q: “How do you know someone’s a vegan?”
A: “Because they won’t stop telling you they are.”

When yet another seller was crowing about this great advancement in table management, he had the audacity to instruct me on how to use a bookmark, like I was a little kid, and I sat there puzzled.

First of all, I had my own (what I call a) ‘spot marker,’ which I’ve used for years RIGHT IN MY FRICKIN’ HAND (I generally cut up a large and useless - since attics are virtually non-existent out here - postcard mailer about attic clean-ups), so I was already doing exactly what he was ‘teaching’ me to do...right in front of his face! That was effin’ weird.

Secondly, (perhaps a little bit aggressively) I barked, “I’ve been using bookmarks to save spots ever since I stole one of my mom’s decorative ones to mark the ‘best’ pages in a Playboy that my friend and I liberated from the stash under his older brother’s bed!!” (Whoa!! TMI!!)

His slight hesitation told me visions of naked woman were suddenly dancing in his head, “Oh, sorry. It’s just that they’re carefully curated (never heard a card dealer use that term about a box of cards before) and in numerical order, but so many people just screw it up instead of paying attention to what they’re doing. It’s nothing personal.”

Perfectly understandeable. Okay, he’s a good guy after all.



4. Highs Jump
At the same guy’s table was a box of stunningly beautiful 1972 Topps commons, but the numbers abruptly (and expectedly) stopped with the upraised arms of Rudy May’s #656.

One guy asked, “You don’t have any high numbers here?”

“No, those are on eBay.” (With an unspoken, “Where they’ll actually sell at nice prices.”)

And here came a very telling exchange. “Wouldn’t they sell if you had good prices on them here?”

The dealer chuckled, most likely thinking about how cheap (to him personally) the general showgoer is, and said, “Good one.” :D


Attachment 650432


5. What’s Your Sign (Literally)?
Walking up to this gentleman’s table, I was very honest and told him, “I’m just looking for laughs, so I gotta say your sign is quite non-specific...it might indicate you’re paying high amounts with that “BUYING (big space) UP TO 90%," but it doesn’t explain what those words mean.”

So I rattled off a few questions:
• “Are you buying up to 90% of all the cards shown to you?” (Shook his head no.)
• “Are you negotiating to buy cards, but 9/10 of the way through your pitch, you’ll just stop and move on to something else?” (My application of math in this instance seemed to confuse him.)
• “Is it 90% of book value, whatever that is these days?” (Shook his head no.)
• “90% of comps?” (Shook his head no again, which is weird. Wouldn’t it have to be one of those two things?)
• “90% of what the collector’s mom says they’re worth?” (Smiled.)
• “Or are you only buying trimmed cards? Get it? They’re missing a 1/10 piece?” (A glum look.)

Overall, he chuckled along with me, but it was time to stop beating a dead horse and I moved on...still ignorant of what “90%” stood for.


Attachment 650430


6. Jamaalpractice
I ran across this card (it’s Warriorsville out here, says the sad Knicks fan) and come on now!!! It is definitely a finalist for the worst Hall of Fame rookie card of all time.
If this was a beauty contest, ‘Silk’ would be advancing to the swimsuit competition.


Attachment 650431


Is it even up for debate? Look at it!!

In general, the photograph itself is an engaging mid-game shot, but no way does it belong on the front of a card. There are three players stuffed together, and the person whose card it is has the least amount of presence.
He’s scrunched between two Washington Bullets (with one, of course, being Wes Unseld, who appeared on about 90% of all basketball cards produced by Topps in the 70’s), and if the photo was snapped a microsecond later, Wilkes would be completely blocked out by their big bodies, as he stands obscured in the background.

The scene captured is like when one of my drunk friends would try to get back into the bar near closing time and a pair of massive bouncers would say, “Whoa!!! Hold on there, fellah!!” (Don’t recall many people speaking like cowboys in New York, but you understand the point.)

Plus, with the ball in the foreground rocketing towards the viewer, whenever someone picks up this card, his first inclination is to DUCK!!!!!
There is also the fact that the card features his birthname, Keith, so it’s not even truly a Jamaal Wilkes card.

A big-time airball on this one from Topps.




And that's all she wrote!! If a man named Mize asks you for a ‘spot marker’ while thumbing through your 1975 cards, tell him I miss him. :(