Time was kids could buy a package of baseball cards for a nickel or less, including a piece of bubble gum.
Baseball was the only professional game of consequence from one end of the nation to the other, and the object was to collect cards with pictures of your favorite players. Trades rivaling those of major league general managers were pulled off between two kids lying on a seldom-made bed or under a shade tree.
A Mickey Mantle easily was worth three or four less famous players, and only then if the trader got players of his favorite team. The Athletics arrived in Kansas City from Philadelphia in 1955, and it took a fistful of A’s players — mostly retreads and ones on their last professional leg — to pry loose a Mantle or Sandy Koufax or Willie Mays.
Cards were of value only from a fan perspective.
Many were riddled when they were fastened to a bicycle’s frame with a clothes pin and positioned just right so its edge caught the spokes as the wheel turned. The faster you pedaled, the more the bicycle sounded like a motorcycle.
Collector interest fell proportionately with maturity — remember puberty? — and moms, on the outlook to unclutter junior’s room, often tossed boxes of cards into the trash.
Then, an economic phenomenon occurred: Baseball-card collecting surged in a new direction. Thirty-somethings remembered the cards they had as kids, found many were valuable and were distressed to learn ones they thought were tucked away in a dresser drawer were worm fodder.
The issue of price guides also increased a card’s value. Shops and mail order houses sprang up to cash in on card sales.
The holy grail was — and is — the 1952 No. 311, Mickey Mantle’s first Topps card. Today one in pristine condition fetches as much as a new car; an authentic one on eBay is priced at $19,000. Investors, who may not know a fielder’s choice from a base hit, put cards such as the hallmark Mantle and those of other Hall of Fame players in the same category as gold and art.
For years Topps was the king of cardmakers, with Fleer and Donruss slowly cutting into its market. Today I’ve no idea how many manufacturers there are, and a single pack of some not-so-special cards fetch $5 or more.
The troublesome outcome is that kids who should collect baseball cards just for the fun of it are more concerned about how much this or that card is worth. The financial aspect has stolen a little bit of kids’ youth, and is happening more often in too many venues.
Kids have only a short time to be carefree and innocent. It’s a shame to put dollar signs in the way.
‘Gotta Mantle, you wanna trade?’ (column)
