The First Sports Bar, Or: How I Learned To Stop Caring And Love Baseball Cards

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I’m 33 years old and I should be retired by now. As an impressionable and extremely lazy 11 year old, The Guy Behind The Case (official title) at the baseball card shop assured me this would be the case.

If everything had gone according to plan, I would have paid this months cable bill with a handful of Donruss ’89’s from that one factory set I still had laying around.

Instead? I’m pecking at keys, with boxes of Bobby Bonilla rookie cards in the darkest corner of my most unfrequented closet.