Upper Dreck

I got my first complete set of baseball cards for Christmas when I was eight years old, Topps, 1987. I was enthralled. For a budding baseball nut it was the greatest gift. Eagerly, I removed them from their tidy, numerically ordered box and carefully, oh so carefully placed them in their individual plastic sleeves for display. I spent hours, staying up late in bed, memorizing stats, batting stances and wondering how the A's could have such ugly uniforms. Naturally, I cherished the Twins cards the most, gripped as I was with the fervor that accompanied their first World Series championship. Puckett, Hrbek, Gaetti, Brunanski, Lombardozzi, Gagne, all were heros in my little corner of the world.

I would collect cards for another five years, and acquire three more complete Topps sets. In the early 90s, the hobby began to change, becoming less about the sheer thrill of finding my favorite player and more about what the card was worth. Beckett, and their absurdly detailed price-guides commercialized and tainted a collector's purity that I never recaptured. I found myself buying cards of players I didn't even know, let alone like, from teams I despised, and all because the market value had risen. It was like entering a nascent business management course when all I wanted to do was chew chalky, brittle gum and stare at the freaky delivery of Dan Quisenberry.

Suddenly Topps was competing with Upper Deck, Fleer, Donruss, Bowman, and Stadium Club, all vying against each other for 'premium' inserts, cards with sparkles, printed on heavier stock with glossy, professional photography. Nobody bothered with gum anymore, since it would stick to the card, and lower its value. A pack cost over four dollars. All the assholes in my school became attracted to it, not for any real love of the game, but because of the cruel, elitist thrill it gave them to have the biggest, best, most valuable collection. Unsurpringly, I, along with many other disenfranchised kids, grew up and left the hobby.

Now, I've learned that Topps, in agreement with MLB, has reached a collector's exclusivity to produce cards. Contrary to the author's opinions in this article posted on Slate: http://www.slate.com/id/2224864, I'm optimistic that by reducing the glut of producers, and the flashy expensiveness that made the card market a grotesque obsession for wealthy adults, children may once again find the hobby enjoyable, for the right reasons, Beckett be damned.