Foul Ball

So, in September of 2010, I made a very important decision in my life. I borrowed money from a friend and bought an engagement ring for the love of my life. Nevermind that we'd only been dating two months at that point, or her illustrious past, I was in love. She said yes.

Fast-forward to today. October 21, 2011. Roughly two months ago I found out my fiancee had been having an affair with her married boss (who was expecting twins on the way). Yesterday, I decided to treat myself with the money I got for selling her ring on EBay. I bought the 1949 Bowman Jackie Robinson rookie card. Stunningly beautiful piece of American history. Aside from a Babe Ruth card, the holy grail for me and my previously active baseball card nerd-dom.

EBay then made a suggestion that changed my life.

W514 set. Produced between the years of 1919 and 1921. Outfielder for the Philadelphia "Quakers", of the National League. Player by the name of Cactus Cravath.

He was going for less than $10, so I bid on him. Then, EBay suggested more from this set, including Ty Cobb, Pep Young, Wally Pipp, Tris Speaker, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Babe Ruth, and Clark Griffith. Beautifully but hastily painted portraits of ball-players from when baseball was a rogue's game. Before steroids and amphetamines. Before corporate sponsorship and multi-million dollar contracts. Before Joe Buck.

So, I started bidding on them. And as I did so, I realized something.

I needed a hobby.

The betrayal and breakup of the one relationship I believed in more than any other needed a fill for a void. Random sex wasn't going to do it (because it's hard to have random sex, as it turns out). Alcohol and drugs could only be temporary fixes (but...fixes all the same). Home improvement worked for about a day or two before I shocked the shit out of myself. I needed something more solid, something that could occupy my every economic decision. Something that, frankly, was cool as hell and could replace "getting married" in importance.

So, fuck it, I'm going to collect the full 1919-1921 W514 baseball card set.

Why?

Mostly because I stole this idea from another blogsite. Check it out for yourself, here it is. A site about a guy who decided to collect the complete set of 1949 Bowman baseball cards. Including (and this is how I found out about this, to circle the square), the 1949 Jackie Robinson rookie card. Anyway, great site.

So, what's the difference between his site and mine? He's a professional. I'm just some guy who thought he was about to marry the love of his life, only to find out I was one of two loves of her life, and decided to drown my sorrows in the quest of getting every card in the 1919-1921 W514 set. And, now I'm going to blog about it.

So, why this set? Why not any other year and any other set of cards or why not just go on a vacation to some place with exotic Asian or Caribbean ladies? I'll do that. But, just not now.

The 1919-1921 W514 set. Twenty-six future Hall of Famers. Seven of eight "Black Sox" players, including Shoeless Joe Jackson. Babe Ruth. Ty Cobb. Rogers Hornsby. Cactus Cravath.

(Cactus Cravath, by the way, is best known for being the player whose career home run total was surpassed for the first time by George Herman "Babe" Ruth.)

But, baseball, man. For everyone who complains about its length, there are a million purists who realize the strategy, history, tomfoolery, skill, trickery, athletic abilities and zen that go into a single 9 (or more) inning baseball game. A game with Civil War origins. Undeniably American, in that it draws heavily from foreign ball games. Played during World Wars, depressions, civil strife, labor disputes (well, not 1994) and terrorism. A game dependent on both team and individual player. The greatest.

If baseball can't make you feel better, you must be a communist.

So, I'm going to write about my quest, and anything else related that comes up. Hope to entertain and educate along the way. Hope to at least provide a means to write about my recovery through baseball cards.

Oh, and Shoeless Joe Jackson deserves the HOF.

Pip pip bitches...