Beware of Card Sharks

The guy said: “Pssst.”

I said: “Me?”

He said: “Yeah, you.”

I said: “What?”

He whipped open his coat.

Baseball cards. Dozens and dozens of baseball cards. Every inch of the coat’s lining was covered with baseball trading cards.

The guy said: “You look like a sport.”

I said: “I do?”

He said: “Yeah. The back of a horse race.”

I walked away. He grabbed my arm. He apologized for making a bad joke. He dragged me off into the alley, in case any cops were around.

The guy said: “Take a look at these beauties.”

I said: “No, thanks.”

He said: “You name him, I got him. Mays, Musial, DiMaggio, Killebrew, Clemente . . . “

I said: “No, thanks.”

He said: “I got a Mickey Mantle here, mint condition, one owner, little old lady in Pasadena.”

I said: “What would I want a baseball card for?”

He said: “For your kid.”

I said: “I don’t have a kid.”

He said: “For yourself, then.”

I said: “How much for Mickey Mantle?”

He said: “Let you have it for 2,000 bucks.”

I said: “For 2,000 bucks, I could buy a kid!”

I walked away. He grabbed me by the arm. I grabbed my wallet to see if it was still there.

The guy said: “I got a Nolan Ryan here, priceless! It’s so old, it’s older than Nolan. Five hundred bucks.”

I said: “No, thanks.”

He said: “OK, I got a Darryl Strawberry, rookie season, before he even started getting designer haircuts. Two bills.”

I said: “No, thanks.”

He said: “OK, I got a Billy Ripken here, the one with the filthy word written on the bat. Hundred clams.”

I said: “I said no.”

He said: “You can’t just say no! Nobody can just say no! Have you seen kids today? They can’t get enough! I give them the first one free, and then they’re hooked!”

I walked away. He grabbed me by the arm. I reminded myself to go home and have my arm washed.

The guy said: “What’s the matter, bud? Don’t you like baseball?”

I said: “I love baseball.”

He said: “Don’t you like kids?”

I said: “I love kids.”

He said: “Then what’s your problem? Buy a kid a card! Make him happy for Christmas!”

I told him that I liked Christmas a whole lot better when I could buy some kid a pack of five baseball cards for five cents.

I told him how we used to open the wrapper and then take out the bubble gum and then chew the gum and then wish that we had chewed the wrapper.

I told him how I didn’t much care for the choice of buying baseball trading cards that cost more than my first car.

He told me I sounded old.

He told me that today’s kids treated baseball cards as a hobby, the same way yesterday’s kids saved stamps.

He told me that today’s kids looked at baseball cards as an investment, the same way yesterday’s kids kept piggy banks.

I began to see his point.

I said: “OK, you’ve sold me.”

He said: “OK, so who can I sell you?”

I said: “You got something in a Sandy Koufax, 42 regular?”

He said: “How much you want to spend?”

I said: “What would you say to $5?”

He said: “I wouldn’t say anything to $5. I’ve never even been introduced to $5.”

I said: “How about $25. What can I buy for $25?”

He said: “Atlanta Braves.”

I said: “You mean I can buy any Atlanta Brave’s baseball card for $25?”

He said: “No, you can buy the Atlanta Braves themselves for $25. From me, you can’t buy anything for $25.”

He walked away. I grabbed his arm. He had me right where he wanted me.

The guy said: “For $75, I can let you have a really nice ’61 Don Drysdale, slightly bent in the corners, kind of a nasty coffee stain over Don’s left eye.”

I said: “Too much.”

He said: “OK, for $50, I’d be willing to part with this beautiful ’84 Fernando Valenzuela, with the little mistake on the back that says he was born in Sweden and throws right-handed.”

I said: “Still too much.”

He said: “OK, for $40, I’ve got an autographed ’77 Dave Kingman, never bought, never traded, never requested by anybody, and even the autograph is kind of unique because it’s just a large ‘X.’ ”

I said: “I wouldn’t give you 40 cents for it.”

The guy walked away. He looked disgusted. He stopped. He spat. He turned around. He stared at me.

He said: “You won’t spend $40 for a baseball card?”

I said: “No way.”

He said: “No wonder you don’t have any kids.”