Entry 342: Cooperstown Bound

I'm leaving for Cooperstown, New York tomorrow morning with my buddy RW, who is getting into DC tonight.  We are meeting some other friends there.  I'm looking forward to the trip.  I'm a little bummed that it is the same weekend as my twenty-year high school reunion, but there is a decent chance I wouldn't be able to make it back for that anyway, so at least this way I get to do something fun.  And I do expect it to be fun.  It's a weekend of baseball and baseball history, what could be better than that?  Well, you could also throw in a Hall of Fame induction ceremony for my favorite player of all-time -- that would be nice.

Hey, what do you know?!

Ken Griffey Jr. was Seattle's first great baseball player and the first superstar in any sport who joined a Seattle team while I was a cognizant being, so he has a very special place in my fanboy heart.  I also have an anecdote involving a baseball card of his that I shall share now.  It's short, which is good, because I don't have much time.

Griffey's 1989 Upper Deck No. 1 baseball card was the card in my days of collecting.  It was a super hot commodity, worth around $100, which at that time was a boatload for a 12-year-old.  (It's probably worth less today than it was then, even without adjusting for inflation.  1989 was perhaps the peak of the baseball card bubble.)  I always wanted one, but couldn't muster the funds.

Then one day, this kid down the street had one that he said his dad bought for him in Mexico on a recent business trip (which totally doesn't sound made up, right?).  He wasn't the savviest kid in the world, so I offered him a trade: He could pick any team he wanted, and he would get all my cards of players on that team in exchange for his Griffey card.  However, as a condition of the trade, he couldn't see in advance what cards I had from what teams.  I would bring all my baseball cards out in a box, and then after he picked a team, we would go through it together and every time we came across a player from that team he would get it.

It was a brilliant negotiating strategy on my part.  By adding this extra condition -- one that was completely unfavorable to him, by the way -- it added an element of mystery and wonder.  As a straight up trade, I would never have gotten that Griffey card away from him -- he wasn't particularly bright, but he wasn't a total idiot either -- but by making a game out of it, by tantalizing him with the possibility of what could be, he agreed.

I went inside grabbed as many "good" cards as I could, as quickly as I could, and removed them from my baseball card box (a total weasel move, I admit) and brought it outside.  He selected the San Francisco Giants (my rookie Will Clark card was one I had removed, so I felt pretty good about my underhanded maneuver).  We then went through the box, and I gave him all my Giants cards -- Chili Davis, Jeffrey Leonard, Mike Krukow, Will Clark (non-rookie) and so on.  I got the Griffey card.

Years later, I was getting a ride home from a teammate after lacrosse practice, and when we neared my house he said, "Hey, does so-and-so live there?"  And he pointed to the kid's house with whom I made the trade.

"Yeah," I told him.
"I hate that little fuck!"
"Why?"
"I swear he stole my brother's Upper Deck Ken Griffey Jr. card like five years ago!  He denied it, but he was the only one around when it disappeared.  I shoulda kicked his ass right then and taken it back when I had the chance.  Fuckin' little shit!"
"Hmm," was all I could muster.

I didn't tell him that I had that card.  It wasn't even because I would then be compelled to give it back, and I wanted to keep it.  At that point, it didn't mean all that much to me, and its monetary value had already dropped a lot.  I just didn't want to explain to him how I had gotten it.  I was weirdly embarrassed about it -- as if I had did something wrong.  It's not a very good reason.  I was in no way complicit in the theft.  Had I said -- "What?!  That's crazy!  I have that card.  You can have it back and give it to your brother." -- he probably would have greatly appreciated it.  But I didn't.  I just sat there silently as we pulled into my driveway.

I still have the card.  It's on my bookshelf right now.  I lost touch with the kid who gave me a ride home, but I randomly Googled him recently.  He works for some sort of advocacy group for cancer patients.  I thought about selling the card on eBay and donating the proceeds to a cancer prevention charity, but it's not in mint condition, and I doubt I could get more than $20 or $30 for it.  At that price, it's worth more to me to keep on my bookshelf, as a reminder of one of the many short and ultimately pointless anecdotes that make up my life.