Baseball Cards - America in Your Hand

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Baseball Cards - America in Your Hand

. Tuesday, July 21, 2009



Shit yes, I'd like gravy with that.

A few weeks ago, the lady and I went down to my beloved Tennessee to see yet another of my college friends get married. The best thing about Southern weddings? They're all catered by barbecue restaurants. It's a state law or something. The second best thing? Stopping at Cracker Barrel. Nowhere else can you gorge your fat pie hole with enough food to sate Marlon Brando for less than 10 bones. You get your food in 10 minutes or less, you can get okra, sweet tea, and country fried steak, and then buy Moon Pies to cap it off. It's enough to make a Yankee pancreas cry.



Every time a Chicagoan orders a vegetarian entree, this plate of food strangles a lab monkey.

But the real point I mean to make is that they still sell baseball cards. Notably, the Topps 1960 edition. New timey players with that old timey look. Do they make these things solely to please 20-something bloggers with a hankering for biscuits and gravy?

Step back into your childhood, after the jump.





Childhood and adulthood brought together in a way that doesn't include an ironic t-shirt.

Either way, I had to have them. Sure, I'm an adult with my own money, but I needed to acquire these in a legitimate manner. So naturally, I walked up to my girlfriend with two packs and said "will you get me these? Pleeeeease?" And motherfucker if it didn't work. Difficult as it may have been, I waited until I was home to the comfort of my coffee table to open them.



Baseball card gum and Matt Sinatro. Someone read my letter to Penthouse.

First thing, I noticed a good news/bad news thing. Yes, there was gum, but it was WRAPPED! SACRILEGE! And without the taste of card ink, staleness, and wax wrapper soaked in, you could actually taste the crappy gum. I call this a wash. What really piqued my interest was the fact that I got a Cubs card. Now, just like when I was a kid, all I cared about was getting the Cubs cards. And it just so happened to be Matt Sinatro, the sexist member of the Cubbies, and 8th sexist first base coach of all time according to the Museum of Baseball Erotica. Let's breathe that in a little more.



Awwwwwwwwwwwww, yeah.

Ah, that's the stuff. Poor Rothschild and Trammell, sharing space with a legend like that. Anyway, after that it was a lot of Dodgers, Orioles, and Red Sox. I achieved no further Cubdom, which was a shame. But that's not to say the experience wasn't excellent on its own. For example, I got a signed (for real!) Buddy Gilbert card.



Who is Buddy Gilbert? Fuck you, that's who. I got me an autograph.

The capper? The next one. Oh, you got a Geovany Soto card? Tough shit, I got A MOTHERFUCKING MISSILE!!! KAPOW, MOTHERFUCKER!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!



Also in the series - the Washington monument, trains going into tunnels, big cucumbers.

So I didn't get D.Lee, A-Ram or Kosuke. All that means is I need to buy more packs. Hopefully the next one has Sweet Lou, Carlos Zambrano, and THE MOTHERFUCKING H-BOMB! I love baseball.

1 comments:

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Susan

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