As of late, I stumbled my way back into baseball card collecting. Nothing major. Just some wistful pack-opening coupled with some looking through the cards I collected as a kid. A few days ago, I managed to score a cheap box of 1989 wax packs from ebay. As a kid, I would’ve killed to have an entire box, to be able to open all the packs, smell the gum before setting it aside, then go through all the cards I’d pulled.

So as a grownup, I got myself a box. Surprisingly, at least to me, most of the gum was still intact. I don’t dare try it, but I’m willing to bet that it tastes the same—cardboard that disintigrates upon contact with liquid. Namely, once it’s popped into your mouth. It wasn’t tasty as a kid and I’m certain it isn’t tasty now.

As for the cards I pulled, I still wanted to get the onces I lusted after as a kid. The cards that every card-collecting kid lusted after in my kid-days. One major card was Jose Canseco. You wanted that Canseco card and you wanted that Canseco card bad. Of course, I never pulled it, and never managed to hoodwink another kid in a trade. However, you always pulled the other, worthless at the time, bash brother Mark McGwire. And I pulled Mark McGwire. Of course, now the McGwire card is much more sought-after than the Canseco card. Oh, the irony. Canseco copped to taking steroids in a book he wrote and manages to point fingers at other players as well.

Finally, as a grownup, I managed to pull the coveted Canseco card. Do I care that its money value is next-to-nothing? Nope. The kid inside me is cavorting with glee. Glee, I tell you. Glee. You hear that, fuckers? Finally, I have a Canseco card and you can’t have it!. Excuse me while I go prance around the room for a bit. [this is where you imagine me prancing... actually, on second thought, don't do that. it'd be more than a bit weird. for both of us.]

Ahem.

Back to my post.

The box also revealed a gamut of baseball memories as a kid growing up in Georgia. You see, I lived forty-five minutes north of Atlanta. In those days, the Atlanta Braves lost. All the time. All the time. At least they were consistent with it and didn’t get your hopes up just to dash them like the Red Sox. Yes, I love the Sox, but they were heartbreakers. With the Sox, you couldn’t help but get a little hope. No matter how pessimistic you were (or are and wll continue to be), somehow the Sox manage to instill hope. I have no idea how. Even during the late innings, you find yourself hoping, though you damn well know better, for them to make a comeback if they’re behind. Conversely, if they’re ahead, even if they’re well ahead, you aren’t confident of a win until the Very Last Out is Called. My husband, ever the optimist and a Sox fan only by marriage, had no idea of this sort of pessimism. With the Sox ahead by seven runs in the eighth inning, he confidently announced:

We can change the channel now. The Sox are going to win.

tbc…

Categories: baseball