Originally Posted by FrankWakefield
In my early eBay days, and at a point in time where I'd been on Net54 a bit, I won an early 1960s Popcorn card of somebody, a B&W card of no significant value of some player I wanted a card of... I'm at work, and during a break I peak at the auction, and I see I've won. I get home that evening, and after supper I email the seller (who, unknown to me, was occasionally on Net54) asking him if he wanted a check, money order, or what for payment, and I sent him my address. I go to bed. Next day, I get an email from him, saying he didn't care how I paid, and that he'd already mailed the card. He felt he knew me from Net54 and he was confident I'd send payment (I think it was about $4.00, give or take a few cents). I'm reading that in the evening after another workday. I mail payment the next day, and the day after that the card arrives in Kentucky from California. Sometimes we're a trusting bunch...
I think the seller was the same guy who wrote what follows in his initial email to me. I saw it, and I wondered what weirdo ball collector was sending poetry, because at first glance it looked like a poem. It wasn't. And I loved it, commited it to memory. Here goes:
"I like to sit outside, drink beer, and hollar at people.
If I do this at home, the police are called and I go to jail.
But if I do this at a baseball game, I fit right in."
I figure if one of you guys came to Kentucky and joined me in my front yard, roadside, a cooler between us, beer in hand, that as we hollared at passersby we'd last about 15 minutes before the police arrived.
But if we went down to Nashville or up to Bowling Green for a minor league ball game, we could drink beer and hollar at one team, both teams, the umpires, and they'd sell us more beer.
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