I’ve been itching to try something new with my baseball collection lately. Got tired of just staring at the cards, ya know? So I grabbed my old shoebox full of players from the 90s and decided to organize them properly for once.
Starting From Scratch
First thing I did was dump everything on the kitchen table. Cards went sliding everywhere – some even fell on the floor. My wife shouted “Really? Again?” from the other room. Whatever, I kept going. Sorted them into piles by teams first. Yankees here, Red Sox there. Wasn’t even thinking about how dusty the cards were till I sneezed three times in a row.
The Sorting Nightmare
Started trying to arrange them by year, but half these cards don’t have dates printed clearly. Had to squint at the tiny print under their photos. Some had signatures I couldn’t even read anymore. Dug out a magnifying glass like some detective, still couldn’t figure out Griffey Jr.’s rookie card year. Finally said screw it and grouped them by positions instead:
- Starting pitchers in one pile
- Relief pitchers in another
- Catchers stacked sideways so they wouldn’t bend
- Outfielders separate because there were so damn many
Making Progress
Got through about half the box before my back started killing me from leaning over the table. Stood up cracking like popcorn. Went hunting for binders I knew were somewhere in the closet. Found three of them buried under old sweaters. Pages were yellowed and brittle – one tore when I tried putting a card in. Had to run to the store for new plastic sleeves while muttering about wasting my Saturday.
The Final Push
Spent the whole afternoon slipping cards into pages, trying not to get fingerprints on them. My dumb fingers kept messing up the alignment. Had to redo like five pages because cards were crooked. When I finally finished, the binders were so thick they wouldn’t close right. Now they’re stacked on my shelf looking pretty official.
Why Even Do This?
Got thinking halfway through – why do we keep these cardboard rectangles anyway? They’re just pictures of dudes holding bats. But then I found my Cal Ripken Jr. card and remembered waiting outside the stadium to get it signed in ’96. Got punched by some drunk guy who cut in line. Still got the card though.
Turns out what really matters ain’t how neat your collection looks. It’s about finding that Roger Clemens card your little brother stuck gum on back in third grade. The tooth marks are still there, and so are the memories. Now my shelf has three heavy binders collecting dust, but the memories? Those won’t fade.
