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Last summer I started seeeing someone who is really perfectly matched for me in almost every way. She is from upstate (Utica) NY, is a huge fan of sports, particularly football, and especially the Bills. She loves pizza, beer, dogs, and fun. She is beautiful, smart (CPA), financially comfortable (works for a hot startup here in Austin with stock options, makes more than I do, etc), does not want kids, and is not crazy. We mesh really well. Yet even though she knows a ton about sports, and even won her cash fantasy league this year (thank you Vince Wilfork for getting a big finger on that kick to score a block and the extra point she needed for victory), maybe more than me especially from the last few years after I cut cable and the Eagles playing Michael Vick made me almost completely dissociate from the NFL, she never collected anything. Common different between men and women, I guess, but after a couple trips with me to the cardshop she got hooked. Now almost every day there is some excuse to go to Target to get something and maybe a couple packs of Contenders or something. She's been buying Topps Chrome blasters and building a set through packs, although that's slowed down as she sees the low ROI on trying to find singles that way. And she loves going to most of the card shops. It's all so new to her, she doesn't care about rookies or rarity or autographs and whatnot. Find her a pretty Marcell Dareus card and she's happy. However, she just had a monster hit that sent her over the moon: a redemption for a gold refratctor autograph of Denard Robinson, #/10, I believe. And it looks like he signed his cards so I'm optimistic she'll actually get it if she redeems it, although I've explained to her the nightmare of Topps' redemption scheme.
A couple months ago, I casually mentioned that a big card show in Houston was coming up. Before I could say it was on Valentine's day and I'd just zip over and back (it's a 3-hour drive), she immediately said,"I'll go!" Then I told her when it was and she immediately started planning a whole weekend in Houston, which is a city where she lived for several years and loves. She booked us a beautiful flat through AirBnB and started Yelping for cozy dinner spots and craft breweries. Then she looked at the Tristar website and saw they had autograph guests. Then she saw Jim Kelly's name and lost her ****. She looooooves Jim Kelly. She loved his leading her Bills to 4 SBs, she loved that he really adopted the western New York region, she loves that he's started his foundation (www.HuntersHope.com) to fund research in Krabbe disease, and she loves that he's been so strong in his own health nightmares. Yet here he was, coming to Texas, and she could meet him and get his autograph. I think if I told her I had decided instead to take her on a trip to Paris, she would've declined.
Friday, the 13th, comes, we both take the day off work to get a reasonable start on the trip, and it all starts falling apart. She has a 15-year-old chihuahua, Sparkles, whose health has started declining lately. Waking up later than planned, I find that Sparkles, who normally sleeps in the bed with us, has wet the bed. A lot. She is on a heart medication that causes her to generate a lot of fluid, but she has never done that before. So ok, get the sheets in the washer, but it hasn't soaked through to the mattress, seems ok. And Sparkles is fine, otherwise. We get on the road about 2 hours later than planned, but we can still make it to Karbach brewery mid-afternoon and have a fine afternoon drinking. We get about 10 miles down the road and a warning light comes on her dash,"Tire needs air NOW!" Taking the first off-ramp, sure enough, the right rear tire starts lugging. Fortunately, we drift to a stop right in front of Southern Tire Mart. Unfortunately, they do not have the right size tire to sell her. But their road service guy pit-stops us and throws the donut on in about 3 minutes (I could've done it, obviously, but the guy had a pneumatic pump on his truck, so why not?). They send us back up the road, where there is a Firestone and a Walmart right nearby, and there are about 16 other tire shops right around there. I've been to that Firestone, they take forever to do anything. The Walmart isn't much better, but we can at least browse the junk and kill time easier. That was a fatal error. Even though there were only 2 cars ahead of us, the 2.5 hour estimate the clerk gave us meant nothing. 2.5 hours later, our car hadn't budged, and the sole tire mechanic was hacking away at a shredded tire, trying vainly to pry it off the rim, like something out of Idiocracy. Our car was not going to be repaired here. So we just bought the tire and drove back to Southern Tire, who slapped it on in about 15 minutes. Southern Tire Mart. Good guys, in my experience. And the Walmart recently got rid of all their cards, so we couldn't even rip any packs.
So, back on the road! The rest of the trip was uneventful until we hit the outskirts of Houston, where about 4 million cars are on the road. Creeping down 290, we eventually made it to Karbach. Very nice! We go to a lot of breweries, and there are some amazing ones here in Austin, but Karbach was really good. I don't like IPAs and hoppy beers in general, but their Hopadillo is very pleasant, and their Barn Burner was extremely drinkable. But since she was driving and we hadn't made it to the flat yet, Erin gave me her last ticket and I traded it along with my last one for a 9-ounce poor of something they call "Rootbeer #3 ," which I gather is their Hellfighter stout, but they brewed it with root beer. Oh. My. God. Pure chocolate flavor, except for also pure coconut oil flavor. Completely smooth and creamy, and so thick you could frost a cake with it. And it was strong despite all the flavors. Even that small glass made me feel slightly unmoored. Unavailable anywhere except for the keg or two they made to serve at their place (I think, it was so loud I couldn't exactly make out what the bartender was saying), it was easily one of the 3 best beers I've ever had, and I really can't think of what might be better.
Proceeding down to our rental in the Montrose area, we actually found a spot to park right near the house, which turned out to be a rarity. After establishing ourselves there, we headed out to see what the area had to offer. Erin was smart enough to book a place within walking distance of a great beer bar called the Hay Merchant. Did I mention Erin loves beer? They had maybe 75 beers on draft, including Austin stuff you can't even get in Austin. Jester King Gottlandsdricka, on draft, are you kidding? Two flavors of Karbach Hellfighter? What the what? So we ordered at the bar while waiting for a table, which opened up soon enough, and we had some good food (my chicken parm sandwich was fine, nothing amazing, but Erin's noodle bowl was delicious), and I had 4 more Hellfighters. Soooo gooooood. Wandered back to the flat, crashed real hard for the night. Friday the 13th curse ended.
Next morning, we woke to exchange Valentine's presents in bed, which was niiiiiice. Then search out breakfast. Our hosts had stocked the flat nicely, and I prepared French press coffee, but we needed food. We Yelped up some likely spots, but once we got there we found 1-hour minimum waits. So ditched that idea and grabbed Kolache Factory on the way to the show. Even though Kelly wasn't signing until Sunday, I was itching for card-buying gluttony, and I just knew all the cards I most desperately wanted were getting scooped up every second by other less-deserving, stupider people.
The show itself is frustrating and expensive. In the middle of the sprawling stadium complex with the football stadium, the sad, decommissioned Astrodome, and a large convention center, it costs $10 to park, and even then you have to walk for what felt like a half-mile to get to the hall where the card show was, at the far end. Then admission is $12 a person. Anyway, in we went for Erin's first real immersion in cardarama. She loved it. She spent hours digging through box after box looking for singles to complete her chosen sets, and for whatever other cards and ephemera called her name. She got some great deals, and was able to complete her Contenders set, which I think is pretty amazing given how little organization most dealers have for base cards. I did a little more mining and was able to compile a stash of Chromes out of one dealer's quarterboxes, and now she is down to about 10 cards for the set. And she was just amazed by all the memorabilia, the helmets, the jerseys, old programs and books, and just how pretty much anything with a sports logo or relationship is saved, cataloged, and collected. Erin has become wise in the ways of ebay, and I gave her some quick tips in haggling show prices, but I was a bit worried she might blow her cash on the first things she say. But she was very frugal and always willing to wait and look around and ask my opinion on things. She did fine.
For my part, I really didn't buy a lot, but what I did was great. One of my main goals this year is to complete my 1955 Bowman set, which I started in 1993. I can usually find at least a couple cards at these shows, but finding EX+/- cards at reasonable prices is harder than it seems. These big shows draw big dealers, with big prices. I think I'd have an easier time completing the set in NM+ condition than EX, at proportionally better prices. But one guy really came up big. Uncle Dick, I think was his name. He had binders organized by set with very fair prices, and usually several copies to choose from. I got 14 of the 19 high number cards I needed from him for under $150, which included several umpires and other notables (a sharp copy of Don Mossi still cost $17). My other interminable vintage project is 1941 Play Balls, and I could've picked up a few, but pricing was way more than I wanted to pay. $200 for a Doerr, even one that looked pretty close to NM, was not in the cards. I could not find any really nice Frank Thomas cards and no Sizemore cards to speak of. And I could not find a single Museum Edition autograph card from any year anywhere. That was disappointing. Even the modern high-end rarity guy, who I've bought some from in the past and once again had an amazing selection of modern high-end rarities, had none. Grumps, I am stuck on progress there.
Leaving for the day, we vowed to get back early the next morning to complete our searches and get the Kelly autograph. Plus, I found out there was a major Magic the Gathering tournament going on in the very same complex, so I'd want to pop up there for that other vice. We stopped at an apparently legendary barbecue place called Goode Co. Erin broke her vegetarianism for the first time since I've known her to get the turkey, while I got the stuffed baked potato. It was great. Then we went to a Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shop, which, according to their website, serves White Russian, my all-time favorite flavor. It had been discontinued in pints about 25 years ago, but they resurrect it occasionally in shops. This was going to be it. I was seriously considering negotiating for purchase of a whole container. I couldn't believe how much anticipation I was feeling as we entered the shop, having the chance to sate a 25-year itch for this damn ice cream. BUT! Denied. I looked at the flavor list on the board, then each individual container, then at the pint freezer, and found no White Russian. In vain I asked if they had it, and the girl looked at me blankly and then said she didn't think they made that anymore. BUT IT'S ON THE WEBSITE!!!!! I was crushed. I went ahead and got a scoop of Lonely Island, but it was as ashes in my mouth. White Russian, why do you haunt me?
Valentine's dinner was another source of slight frustration. If Erin has a flaw, it's being indecisive. Leading up to the trip, I had asked no less than 4 times if she had a favorite spot for dinner so I could make reservations, anywhere she wanted. She gave me at least 6 different answers, usually including the option to "just see what we feel like" at the time. As a result, we were left driving around various neighborhoods looking for someplace that A) was open, B) was well-reviewed, C) serves her vegetarian choices, and D) didn't have an insane wait. We stopped at a bar called the Maple Leaf, which is apparently Canadian- and hockey-centric, with about 6 TVs showing different games.
As an aside, I have to once again vent my irritation with the shoot-out method of deciding games. Who had the bright idea to play the 60 minutes, then play overtime, and then finally settle the game by NOT playing the game? Ridiculous.
The bartender and Maple Leaf was very cool and helpful in picking out places to go. Brennan's down the street, is supposedly one of the best restaurants in the city, but you need to wear a jacket, which I wasn't. Around the corner was Artisans, another 4-star place. But the phrase "$170 per plate" was floated, and we both demurred. The weekend had no budget, but we keep our feet on the ground. Lots of other choices, but calls found waits again of over an hour, so we decided on this place called Piola. It was OK. Erin liked her wine, and, while the food didn't knock either of us out, we were hungry and last-minute beggars can't be choosers. Was nice and cozy and not too cold on the patio, watching all the couples go by all dressed up and looking far swankier than we could take the effort to be. Then stopping in at the Hay Merchant again on the way back to the flat for another Hellfighter or two (two).
Sunday morning we weren't messing around. Getting out of bed, getting packed, not forgetting anything, we were out the door by 10. Kelly signing at 1130, we weren't even bothering with looking for sit-down breakfasts, just pop in at a Starbucks. Park, pay another friggin' $10, then another friggin' $24 to get into the show. If you're paying $99 to get an autograph, plus another $35 to get him to write 5 friggin' words, shouldn't you be able to walk into the friggin' door for free? I wasn't paying it, but Erin was buying an autograph for herself and one for her brother-in-law's birthday. Completing my sweep of the hall, I could still not find any of my players, and no Museums and no Play Balls, but I did find 2 more Bowmans, just need 3 more, and I hadn't yet hit the dealers who carry the too-nice cards yet. Killing time, digging through this box and that, admiring some customized memorabilia (sugar skulls painted with team colors and logos, and is that an actual skull?), considering whether or not it would be a good idea to get that signed 24"x36" framed photo of JJ Watt with his face all bloody to hang in my living room. 1130 comes and goes, and no announcement for Shotgun Kelly's signing. Eventually I look up the schedule, and duh, he doesn't sign till 130. I go to the high-end vintage guys. Between the 2 of them, I can only find 1 more card I need, a Jim Konstanty. The guy has a $15 copy and a $20 copy. As a high number Yankee, I'm not going to find a much better deal, really, so I decide to go for the $20 one because it's appreciably better, and at this point I couldn't quibble over $5. But in comparing them, I notice the $20 one is significantly shorter. In fact, I'm fairly certain it was trimmed, as the different in centering is such that the cheaper copy shows the wood grain pattern borderline with a bit of the next card. So I save $5 by buying the un-altered card. I am too tired to bring it up with the dealer, but I hope no one gets rooked by that. Two to go.
Time for Kelly's signing comes up. Erin unpacks her autograph tickets and the jerseys. We get in line. She is excited. Like twitching with excitement. She pulls off her sweater to reveal her vintage Kelly uniform t-shirt. She is looking around, impressed with the items people are getting signed: helmets, authentic jerseys, cards, posters, artwork. One thing that really catches her eye is a Hall of Fame helmet with dozens of sigs on it already. Tristar keeps the signers segregated from the rest of the show, and since I'm not an autograph guy, I rarely get to see the impressive people that come through there. So it's a treat for me to see Ozzie Smith right there next to Bob Gibson. I mean, that's Ozzie Smith! Right there next to one of my all-time favorites, BOB GIBSON! And crap, that's JIM KELLY! I'm going to meet Jim Kelly. I grew up in Philadelphia, so I'm an Eagles guy, though like I said I've lost my connection with the Vick thing. But I went to Syracuse University and Syracuse is largely a Bills town, so I got to see the Bills every week while they peaked through their 4 consecutive Super Bowls. They had so many great teams, with great players, and though Kelly was not Montana or Young or Marino in stats or rings, he was an all-around great QB. Then his personal issues are something that made me sad, though without the real personal connection Erin has with him. So it was exciting for me to meet him, but Erin was practically vibrating. When she gave him the jerseys to sign she could barely talk, it was hard for her to get out what the inscriptions should say. Luckily Jim was really cool and friendly. The bro-in-law's jersey was supposed to say,"To Rob, Happy 38th Birthday" but Jim upgraded it to "Big Rob, Big 38th". And "To Erin" somehow changed to "Sweet Erin." WTF, Jim? We thanked him and drifted away. Erin was truly floating, and agitated like a Belieber. So sweet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Last minute card-shopping, trudging back to the car, navigating Houston's highways and biways, finding a spot to eat, then the 3-hours cruise back home for joyous reunion with our dogs, dreading getting back to real life today.
Great show, great weekend. I'm disappointed once again I didn't try to meet any fellow FCBers there, or see if I could help people find rarities they are looking for, but there's another show this summer. I am really looking forward to it.
A couple months ago, I casually mentioned that a big card show in Houston was coming up. Before I could say it was on Valentine's day and I'd just zip over and back (it's a 3-hour drive), she immediately said,"I'll go!" Then I told her when it was and she immediately started planning a whole weekend in Houston, which is a city where she lived for several years and loves. She booked us a beautiful flat through AirBnB and started Yelping for cozy dinner spots and craft breweries. Then she looked at the Tristar website and saw they had autograph guests. Then she saw Jim Kelly's name and lost her ****. She looooooves Jim Kelly. She loved his leading her Bills to 4 SBs, she loved that he really adopted the western New York region, she loves that he's started his foundation (www.HuntersHope.com) to fund research in Krabbe disease, and she loves that he's been so strong in his own health nightmares. Yet here he was, coming to Texas, and she could meet him and get his autograph. I think if I told her I had decided instead to take her on a trip to Paris, she would've declined.
Friday, the 13th, comes, we both take the day off work to get a reasonable start on the trip, and it all starts falling apart. She has a 15-year-old chihuahua, Sparkles, whose health has started declining lately. Waking up later than planned, I find that Sparkles, who normally sleeps in the bed with us, has wet the bed. A lot. She is on a heart medication that causes her to generate a lot of fluid, but she has never done that before. So ok, get the sheets in the washer, but it hasn't soaked through to the mattress, seems ok. And Sparkles is fine, otherwise. We get on the road about 2 hours later than planned, but we can still make it to Karbach brewery mid-afternoon and have a fine afternoon drinking. We get about 10 miles down the road and a warning light comes on her dash,"Tire needs air NOW!" Taking the first off-ramp, sure enough, the right rear tire starts lugging. Fortunately, we drift to a stop right in front of Southern Tire Mart. Unfortunately, they do not have the right size tire to sell her. But their road service guy pit-stops us and throws the donut on in about 3 minutes (I could've done it, obviously, but the guy had a pneumatic pump on his truck, so why not?). They send us back up the road, where there is a Firestone and a Walmart right nearby, and there are about 16 other tire shops right around there. I've been to that Firestone, they take forever to do anything. The Walmart isn't much better, but we can at least browse the junk and kill time easier. That was a fatal error. Even though there were only 2 cars ahead of us, the 2.5 hour estimate the clerk gave us meant nothing. 2.5 hours later, our car hadn't budged, and the sole tire mechanic was hacking away at a shredded tire, trying vainly to pry it off the rim, like something out of Idiocracy. Our car was not going to be repaired here. So we just bought the tire and drove back to Southern Tire, who slapped it on in about 15 minutes. Southern Tire Mart. Good guys, in my experience. And the Walmart recently got rid of all their cards, so we couldn't even rip any packs.
So, back on the road! The rest of the trip was uneventful until we hit the outskirts of Houston, where about 4 million cars are on the road. Creeping down 290, we eventually made it to Karbach. Very nice! We go to a lot of breweries, and there are some amazing ones here in Austin, but Karbach was really good. I don't like IPAs and hoppy beers in general, but their Hopadillo is very pleasant, and their Barn Burner was extremely drinkable. But since she was driving and we hadn't made it to the flat yet, Erin gave me her last ticket and I traded it along with my last one for a 9-ounce poor of something they call "Rootbeer #3 ," which I gather is their Hellfighter stout, but they brewed it with root beer. Oh. My. God. Pure chocolate flavor, except for also pure coconut oil flavor. Completely smooth and creamy, and so thick you could frost a cake with it. And it was strong despite all the flavors. Even that small glass made me feel slightly unmoored. Unavailable anywhere except for the keg or two they made to serve at their place (I think, it was so loud I couldn't exactly make out what the bartender was saying), it was easily one of the 3 best beers I've ever had, and I really can't think of what might be better.
Proceeding down to our rental in the Montrose area, we actually found a spot to park right near the house, which turned out to be a rarity. After establishing ourselves there, we headed out to see what the area had to offer. Erin was smart enough to book a place within walking distance of a great beer bar called the Hay Merchant. Did I mention Erin loves beer? They had maybe 75 beers on draft, including Austin stuff you can't even get in Austin. Jester King Gottlandsdricka, on draft, are you kidding? Two flavors of Karbach Hellfighter? What the what? So we ordered at the bar while waiting for a table, which opened up soon enough, and we had some good food (my chicken parm sandwich was fine, nothing amazing, but Erin's noodle bowl was delicious), and I had 4 more Hellfighters. Soooo gooooood. Wandered back to the flat, crashed real hard for the night. Friday the 13th curse ended.
Next morning, we woke to exchange Valentine's presents in bed, which was niiiiiice. Then search out breakfast. Our hosts had stocked the flat nicely, and I prepared French press coffee, but we needed food. We Yelped up some likely spots, but once we got there we found 1-hour minimum waits. So ditched that idea and grabbed Kolache Factory on the way to the show. Even though Kelly wasn't signing until Sunday, I was itching for card-buying gluttony, and I just knew all the cards I most desperately wanted were getting scooped up every second by other less-deserving, stupider people.
The show itself is frustrating and expensive. In the middle of the sprawling stadium complex with the football stadium, the sad, decommissioned Astrodome, and a large convention center, it costs $10 to park, and even then you have to walk for what felt like a half-mile to get to the hall where the card show was, at the far end. Then admission is $12 a person. Anyway, in we went for Erin's first real immersion in cardarama. She loved it. She spent hours digging through box after box looking for singles to complete her chosen sets, and for whatever other cards and ephemera called her name. She got some great deals, and was able to complete her Contenders set, which I think is pretty amazing given how little organization most dealers have for base cards. I did a little more mining and was able to compile a stash of Chromes out of one dealer's quarterboxes, and now she is down to about 10 cards for the set. And she was just amazed by all the memorabilia, the helmets, the jerseys, old programs and books, and just how pretty much anything with a sports logo or relationship is saved, cataloged, and collected. Erin has become wise in the ways of ebay, and I gave her some quick tips in haggling show prices, but I was a bit worried she might blow her cash on the first things she say. But she was very frugal and always willing to wait and look around and ask my opinion on things. She did fine.
For my part, I really didn't buy a lot, but what I did was great. One of my main goals this year is to complete my 1955 Bowman set, which I started in 1993. I can usually find at least a couple cards at these shows, but finding EX+/- cards at reasonable prices is harder than it seems. These big shows draw big dealers, with big prices. I think I'd have an easier time completing the set in NM+ condition than EX, at proportionally better prices. But one guy really came up big. Uncle Dick, I think was his name. He had binders organized by set with very fair prices, and usually several copies to choose from. I got 14 of the 19 high number cards I needed from him for under $150, which included several umpires and other notables (a sharp copy of Don Mossi still cost $17). My other interminable vintage project is 1941 Play Balls, and I could've picked up a few, but pricing was way more than I wanted to pay. $200 for a Doerr, even one that looked pretty close to NM, was not in the cards. I could not find any really nice Frank Thomas cards and no Sizemore cards to speak of. And I could not find a single Museum Edition autograph card from any year anywhere. That was disappointing. Even the modern high-end rarity guy, who I've bought some from in the past and once again had an amazing selection of modern high-end rarities, had none. Grumps, I am stuck on progress there.
Leaving for the day, we vowed to get back early the next morning to complete our searches and get the Kelly autograph. Plus, I found out there was a major Magic the Gathering tournament going on in the very same complex, so I'd want to pop up there for that other vice. We stopped at an apparently legendary barbecue place called Goode Co. Erin broke her vegetarianism for the first time since I've known her to get the turkey, while I got the stuffed baked potato. It was great. Then we went to a Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shop, which, according to their website, serves White Russian, my all-time favorite flavor. It had been discontinued in pints about 25 years ago, but they resurrect it occasionally in shops. This was going to be it. I was seriously considering negotiating for purchase of a whole container. I couldn't believe how much anticipation I was feeling as we entered the shop, having the chance to sate a 25-year itch for this damn ice cream. BUT! Denied. I looked at the flavor list on the board, then each individual container, then at the pint freezer, and found no White Russian. In vain I asked if they had it, and the girl looked at me blankly and then said she didn't think they made that anymore. BUT IT'S ON THE WEBSITE!!!!! I was crushed. I went ahead and got a scoop of Lonely Island, but it was as ashes in my mouth. White Russian, why do you haunt me?
Valentine's dinner was another source of slight frustration. If Erin has a flaw, it's being indecisive. Leading up to the trip, I had asked no less than 4 times if she had a favorite spot for dinner so I could make reservations, anywhere she wanted. She gave me at least 6 different answers, usually including the option to "just see what we feel like" at the time. As a result, we were left driving around various neighborhoods looking for someplace that A) was open, B) was well-reviewed, C) serves her vegetarian choices, and D) didn't have an insane wait. We stopped at a bar called the Maple Leaf, which is apparently Canadian- and hockey-centric, with about 6 TVs showing different games.
As an aside, I have to once again vent my irritation with the shoot-out method of deciding games. Who had the bright idea to play the 60 minutes, then play overtime, and then finally settle the game by NOT playing the game? Ridiculous.
The bartender and Maple Leaf was very cool and helpful in picking out places to go. Brennan's down the street, is supposedly one of the best restaurants in the city, but you need to wear a jacket, which I wasn't. Around the corner was Artisans, another 4-star place. But the phrase "$170 per plate" was floated, and we both demurred. The weekend had no budget, but we keep our feet on the ground. Lots of other choices, but calls found waits again of over an hour, so we decided on this place called Piola. It was OK. Erin liked her wine, and, while the food didn't knock either of us out, we were hungry and last-minute beggars can't be choosers. Was nice and cozy and not too cold on the patio, watching all the couples go by all dressed up and looking far swankier than we could take the effort to be. Then stopping in at the Hay Merchant again on the way back to the flat for another Hellfighter or two (two).
Sunday morning we weren't messing around. Getting out of bed, getting packed, not forgetting anything, we were out the door by 10. Kelly signing at 1130, we weren't even bothering with looking for sit-down breakfasts, just pop in at a Starbucks. Park, pay another friggin' $10, then another friggin' $24 to get into the show. If you're paying $99 to get an autograph, plus another $35 to get him to write 5 friggin' words, shouldn't you be able to walk into the friggin' door for free? I wasn't paying it, but Erin was buying an autograph for herself and one for her brother-in-law's birthday. Completing my sweep of the hall, I could still not find any of my players, and no Museums and no Play Balls, but I did find 2 more Bowmans, just need 3 more, and I hadn't yet hit the dealers who carry the too-nice cards yet. Killing time, digging through this box and that, admiring some customized memorabilia (sugar skulls painted with team colors and logos, and is that an actual skull?), considering whether or not it would be a good idea to get that signed 24"x36" framed photo of JJ Watt with his face all bloody to hang in my living room. 1130 comes and goes, and no announcement for Shotgun Kelly's signing. Eventually I look up the schedule, and duh, he doesn't sign till 130. I go to the high-end vintage guys. Between the 2 of them, I can only find 1 more card I need, a Jim Konstanty. The guy has a $15 copy and a $20 copy. As a high number Yankee, I'm not going to find a much better deal, really, so I decide to go for the $20 one because it's appreciably better, and at this point I couldn't quibble over $5. But in comparing them, I notice the $20 one is significantly shorter. In fact, I'm fairly certain it was trimmed, as the different in centering is such that the cheaper copy shows the wood grain pattern borderline with a bit of the next card. So I save $5 by buying the un-altered card. I am too tired to bring it up with the dealer, but I hope no one gets rooked by that. Two to go.
Time for Kelly's signing comes up. Erin unpacks her autograph tickets and the jerseys. We get in line. She is excited. Like twitching with excitement. She pulls off her sweater to reveal her vintage Kelly uniform t-shirt. She is looking around, impressed with the items people are getting signed: helmets, authentic jerseys, cards, posters, artwork. One thing that really catches her eye is a Hall of Fame helmet with dozens of sigs on it already. Tristar keeps the signers segregated from the rest of the show, and since I'm not an autograph guy, I rarely get to see the impressive people that come through there. So it's a treat for me to see Ozzie Smith right there next to Bob Gibson. I mean, that's Ozzie Smith! Right there next to one of my all-time favorites, BOB GIBSON! And crap, that's JIM KELLY! I'm going to meet Jim Kelly. I grew up in Philadelphia, so I'm an Eagles guy, though like I said I've lost my connection with the Vick thing. But I went to Syracuse University and Syracuse is largely a Bills town, so I got to see the Bills every week while they peaked through their 4 consecutive Super Bowls. They had so many great teams, with great players, and though Kelly was not Montana or Young or Marino in stats or rings, he was an all-around great QB. Then his personal issues are something that made me sad, though without the real personal connection Erin has with him. So it was exciting for me to meet him, but Erin was practically vibrating. When she gave him the jerseys to sign she could barely talk, it was hard for her to get out what the inscriptions should say. Luckily Jim was really cool and friendly. The bro-in-law's jersey was supposed to say,"To Rob, Happy 38th Birthday" but Jim upgraded it to "Big Rob, Big 38th". And "To Erin" somehow changed to "Sweet Erin." WTF, Jim? We thanked him and drifted away. Erin was truly floating, and agitated like a Belieber. So sweet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Last minute card-shopping, trudging back to the car, navigating Houston's highways and biways, finding a spot to eat, then the 3-hours cruise back home for joyous reunion with our dogs, dreading getting back to real life today.
Great show, great weekend. I'm disappointed once again I didn't try to meet any fellow FCBers there, or see if I could help people find rarities they are looking for, but there's another show this summer. I am really looking forward to it.
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