At Angels Stadium this last weekend I ended up in one of the team stores to get something. At the cash register, the evil monsters had the ultimate impulse buy for the twelve-year-old Paul trapped (screaming, I suspect) inside this 69-year-old carcass.
I haven’t bought baseball cards in YEARS! But there they were, and unlike fifty-seven years ago, I didn’t have to go mow lawns, shovel snow, or scrounge through the bushes along a busy highway for discarded Coke bottles with a $0.02 refund on each in order to get a couple of packs. I had a credit card, and I wasn’t afraid to use it!
Today’s cards are a far stretch from the cards of the early 1960’s in terms of color, design, and quality. Nonetheless, what I wouldn’t give to have my original set of cards back (long ago sold off by my mother at a garage sale).
I was pleasantly surprised to get a Mike Trout card right off the bat. Perhaps that’s a good sign!
They’re great to look at and read through, takes me right back to my pre-teen days and some of my fondest memories of those days. I’m not sharing too many details about the world of 2025 with 12-year-old Paul – he was fresh out of Catholic school and hadn’t even learned to swear yet (a story for another day) and would be tragically ill-prepared to deal with all that we’re hip deep in.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 