Not long ago, I was taking an extended cab ride with a coworker. We had one of those really chatty cabbies who clearly liked telling total strangers his entire life story. During his autobiography, I just played with my phone, but my coworker would occasionally engage him, because she's polite and probably didn't want the conversation to be completely one-sided and awkward. At one point, the cab driver mentioned that he collected wrestling memorabilia. As it turned out, my coworker's husband collected the exact same thing. Then, apparently noticing that I'd been silent for the last ten minutes, she turned to me and asked if I collected anything.
"Comic books," I said, and the conversation soon turned to something else. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really don't collect comics anymore. I mean, I read comics. I don't throw them away when I'm done with them. But I don't exactly collect them anymore, either.
That didn't used to be the case. It used to be that I would go to one of the small comic book shows out in Tysons Corner or wherever, specifically to try and fill in holes in my collection. The problem is, there was only a certain number of comic book series that I had any interest in--and don't get me wrong, it was a lot, but definitely not unlimited--so there were only so many holes I could fill before my only option would be to start collecting new series just to create new holes.
I decided against that, so as of a few years ago, I'd more or less completed my comic book collection. At least, to the extent I could without devoting a small fortune to it. While I'd love to have a complete run of Batman and Detective Comics, issues that came out before the 1980s tend to be a bit pricey. Issues that came out before the 1960s tend to be really pricey. Plus, it's nice not to have to worry about the condition of things anymore. I don't even want to think about how obsessive I was as a teenager about the differences between "mint" and "near-mint." Now, when I do make a decent investment in a comic book, it's for sentimental reasons, like a favorite Joker story or the first appearance of a favorite character.
This has left a...I really don't want to use the word "void," because that sounds pretty fucking sad. But that's sort of what it is. If you spend years having a collector's mentality and no longer have anything to collect, that creates a void in your life. I mean, if you put too much time, money and effort into it, collecting can become a frightening obsession. But if you put just the right amount, it gives you something to do on a slow weekend or a fun way to get an occasional endorphin high.
So I decided to once again start collecting something. Not with the same fervor that I used to collect comics. More of a casual thing. And there were a few conditions I put on it: 1) It had to be something small. I have enough crap in my apartment without adding additional tonnage to it. 2) It had to be something less geeky than comics. No action figures or anything. 3) It had to be something I found at least semi-interesting. I wasn't going to start collecting stamps or coins just for the sake of collecting. 4) It had to be relatively inexpensive.
I finally settled on baseball cards. They're easy to store, and as with comic books, I like the fact that I can tailor the hobby to suit my particular interests. Rather than try and collect every baseball card out there, I'm just going for two subsets of the baseball card market: Pitchers (since I find that aspect of the game far more interesting than hitting) and Nationals players. There's every possibility I'll get bored and quit one or both of these, but for now I'm enjoying it.
I also decided to learn more about the baseball card collecting industry. And you know what I found? It's ten times more confusing and fucked up than the comic book industry on its worst day.
Suppose you wanted to read a Superman comic. There are about four of them that come out in any given month, but they're all published by DC Comics and they all feature the same character. Now imagine if there were two or three comic book companies publishing Superman comics, each with their own version and each with multiple titles coming out each month. Which one do you get? That's sort of the problem I ran into with baseball cards.
Topps is unquestionably the premiere brand. But there's also Upper Deck. And Panini. And Bowman. But Topps owns Bowman, and releases rookie cards through that company/brand. But I guess they're not technically rookie cards, they're "First Bowman cards." Because Topps also manufactures their own rookie cards. In fact, right now, Topps is doing a limited giveaway of Stephen Strasburg's rookie card. But if you can't get one of those, you can get another version of Topps's Stephen Strasburg rookie card in a few months. How can there be two rookie cards? I dunno.
There are even cards featuring players from when they're in high school. The Bryce Harper card is apparently a hot commodity at the moment.
"Comic books," I said, and the conversation soon turned to something else. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really don't collect comics anymore. I mean, I read comics. I don't throw them away when I'm done with them. But I don't exactly collect them anymore, either.
That didn't used to be the case. It used to be that I would go to one of the small comic book shows out in Tysons Corner or wherever, specifically to try and fill in holes in my collection. The problem is, there was only a certain number of comic book series that I had any interest in--and don't get me wrong, it was a lot, but definitely not unlimited--so there were only so many holes I could fill before my only option would be to start collecting new series just to create new holes.
I decided against that, so as of a few years ago, I'd more or less completed my comic book collection. At least, to the extent I could without devoting a small fortune to it. While I'd love to have a complete run of Batman and Detective Comics, issues that came out before the 1980s tend to be a bit pricey. Issues that came out before the 1960s tend to be really pricey. Plus, it's nice not to have to worry about the condition of things anymore. I don't even want to think about how obsessive I was as a teenager about the differences between "mint" and "near-mint." Now, when I do make a decent investment in a comic book, it's for sentimental reasons, like a favorite Joker story or the first appearance of a favorite character.
This has left a...I really don't want to use the word "void," because that sounds pretty fucking sad. But that's sort of what it is. If you spend years having a collector's mentality and no longer have anything to collect, that creates a void in your life. I mean, if you put too much time, money and effort into it, collecting can become a frightening obsession. But if you put just the right amount, it gives you something to do on a slow weekend or a fun way to get an occasional endorphin high.
So I decided to once again start collecting something. Not with the same fervor that I used to collect comics. More of a casual thing. And there were a few conditions I put on it: 1) It had to be something small. I have enough crap in my apartment without adding additional tonnage to it. 2) It had to be something less geeky than comics. No action figures or anything. 3) It had to be something I found at least semi-interesting. I wasn't going to start collecting stamps or coins just for the sake of collecting. 4) It had to be relatively inexpensive.
I finally settled on baseball cards. They're easy to store, and as with comic books, I like the fact that I can tailor the hobby to suit my particular interests. Rather than try and collect every baseball card out there, I'm just going for two subsets of the baseball card market: Pitchers (since I find that aspect of the game far more interesting than hitting) and Nationals players. There's every possibility I'll get bored and quit one or both of these, but for now I'm enjoying it.
I also decided to learn more about the baseball card collecting industry. And you know what I found? It's ten times more confusing and fucked up than the comic book industry on its worst day.
Suppose you wanted to read a Superman comic. There are about four of them that come out in any given month, but they're all published by DC Comics and they all feature the same character. Now imagine if there were two or three comic book companies publishing Superman comics, each with their own version and each with multiple titles coming out each month. Which one do you get? That's sort of the problem I ran into with baseball cards.
Topps is unquestionably the premiere brand. But there's also Upper Deck. And Panini. And Bowman. But Topps owns Bowman, and releases rookie cards through that company/brand. But I guess they're not technically rookie cards, they're "First Bowman cards." Because Topps also manufactures their own rookie cards. In fact, right now, Topps is doing a limited giveaway of Stephen Strasburg's rookie card. But if you can't get one of those, you can get another version of Topps's Stephen Strasburg rookie card in a few months. How can there be two rookie cards? I dunno.
There are even cards featuring players from when they're in high school. The Bryce Harper card is apparently a hot commodity at the moment.
They also do chrome versions of cards. (This practice, I'm somewhat familiar with, from back when comics would routinely use gimmick covers, including chrome ones.) But hold on! There are also various versions of the chrome cards with different colored borders and refractors. What's a refractor? I'm not sure. I'm also not sure what a "SuperFractor" is. But apparently "fractor" is worth a lot or money, as--again using Strasburg as an example--a one-of-a-kind Strasburg SuperFractor card just sold for $17,000. Meanwhile, I'm trying to think of a single comic book that's come out in the past 30 or 40 years that's worth $17,000, and I'm drawing a complete blank.
Topps also releases various types of baseball card. Like, there's one that takes current players and renders the images on their cards as if they had been made back in the 1940s. And then there are "Opening Day" cards, Series 1 and Series 2 cards, etc.
The most mind-boggling, though, is eTopps. This is both the best and worst thing I've ever heard of, and since it seems to somehow make money out of nothing, I have to think there's some way to apply this idea to the U.S. economy and get us out of the recession. Basically, eTopps will release new cards online. (Not even a regular Topps cards. Specially-designed eTopps cards, which seem pretty worthless to me, but whatever.) People bid on them, like an IPO of a stock. Then you own the card, and can do whatever you want with it, from getting it delivered (for a fee) or sell it on eBay (for a fee) or just let Topps hang onto it for you, making your "collection" mostly virtual. Topps sets supply. Topps sets demand. And everyone else provides the revenue streams. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how this works, but I'm convinced this is the greatest con ever created. A perfectly legal and, I guess, mostly ethical con. But still, a con.
So, anyway, I guess I'm a baseball card collector now. A few years from now, after I've picked all the low-hanging fruit, I'll be faced with the decision of whether or not I want to invest money into older, harder-to-find cards. But for now, I'm just enjoying getting back into the collecting game. It's a sickness. But a fun sickness.
Topps also releases various types of baseball card. Like, there's one that takes current players and renders the images on their cards as if they had been made back in the 1940s. And then there are "Opening Day" cards, Series 1 and Series 2 cards, etc.
The most mind-boggling, though, is eTopps. This is both the best and worst thing I've ever heard of, and since it seems to somehow make money out of nothing, I have to think there's some way to apply this idea to the U.S. economy and get us out of the recession. Basically, eTopps will release new cards online. (Not even a regular Topps cards. Specially-designed eTopps cards, which seem pretty worthless to me, but whatever.) People bid on them, like an IPO of a stock. Then you own the card, and can do whatever you want with it, from getting it delivered (for a fee) or sell it on eBay (for a fee) or just let Topps hang onto it for you, making your "collection" mostly virtual. Topps sets supply. Topps sets demand. And everyone else provides the revenue streams. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how this works, but I'm convinced this is the greatest con ever created. A perfectly legal and, I guess, mostly ethical con. But still, a con.
So, anyway, I guess I'm a baseball card collector now. A few years from now, after I've picked all the low-hanging fruit, I'll be faced with the decision of whether or not I want to invest money into older, harder-to-find cards. But for now, I'm just enjoying getting back into the collecting game. It's a sickness. But a fun sickness.
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