The Ever-Changing Market of Trading Cards

I wonder how much my 1989-1990 set of NBA Hoops basketball cards is worth these days. It’s bound to be a fortune. I worked so hard to collect all 336, including the #13, the All-Star Coaches, which had an error on it, making it harder to find. There were good rookies that year—David Robinson, Dana Barros, and Shawn Kemp. I’ve got them all. I got the one of the no-name guy with Michael Jordan wearing a #12 jersey in the foreground—a real find. I’ve got all the checklists and made sure not to actually check anything on them. I’ve even got elusive card #336 itself—Danny Ferry, pictured in a sweatshirt and jeans because he didn’t play that year due to injury.

They’re tucked neatly away ProWings shoebox in my closet, just waiting. Waiting as year after year, moment after moment, their value increases like money in a trust fund. Ever so slowly, the glossy cardboard is gradually, microscopically, turning to gold.

Last time I checked, a year or so ago, the set was worth approximately $5.00. When I collected them 16 years ago, it was worth approximately $5.00. Taking inflation into account, I’ve lost money on the deal. So far.

I’ll keep waiting.

The Wrong WHAT?

I recently invited my coworkers to take a dozen or so boxes of Macaroni and Cheese Lindsay and I had in our food storage. Completely free for the taking. But very few people were interested in them. I literally couldn’t give them away. Upon asking why, I was met with a dumbfounding answer. They weren’t the right brand.

“Excuse me?” I ranted. “Not the right brand? You mean to tell me you have discerned a difference between the Western Family and Kraft varieties of Macaroni and Cheese? And you’re not only willing to pay the ridiculous mark-up for it, but actually refuse a free box of the ‘generic’ version?”

I’m sorry folks, but when you’re stooping down that far, to actually partake of a pseudo-meal of powdered dairy substitute product and uncooked pasta, you have surrendered your right to be particular. You have crossed the threshold. You are no longer a chooser, but a shameless beggar. We’re not talking about which spice blend to include in stuffed quail or which method to use in preparing foi gras. We’re talking about cheap, sleazy, high-calorie and low-self-decency commercial slop. If you really can taste a difference in the Flavorite or Tru-Valu or Kroger brands, please don’t embarrass yourself by saying so, and please, please don’t insult mankind’s propriety by solemnly refusing anything but the “best.”