Jose Cardenal and the Shakespearian Tragedy of buying cards from the 1970s.

 

I like the image on this 1976 Jose Cardenal card.

            It’s crisp. It’s sharp. It’s a nice close-up of Jose holding the bat in his Cubs uniform. The design of 1976 Topps has always been one of my favorite designs as well. They left a good amount of room for the player photo, but were still able to get creative with the color border. That double bar design really stands out for me. And even more than Topps’ 1973 brand, I think 1976 gets that little player cartoon right as well.

            Topps finally mastered clearer action shots in 1976.

            And this might be in my Top 10 favorite cards of all-time.

            In fact, I’d put 1976 Topps up there as one of my favorite designs of the 1970s, and quite possibly one of my favorite Topps Baseball designs of all-time.

            There’s a simplicity to it.

            1976 is a classic baseball card.

            1976 is probably why I’m a big fan of these.

            But.

            And there’s always a “but” here on Junk Wax Jay.

            1976 Topps, that Jose Cardenal card in particular, are a part of one of my most embarrassing scenes ever in The Hobby.

            Even more embarrassing than this one.

            Let’s start at the beginning of this sordid tale, shall we?

            You collectors remember being a kid, right? Especially a kid that has a little bit of money that’s burning a hole in his/her/their wallet, and the fire can only be quelled by buying some cards. A pack. Maybe some singles at a local LCS. Whatever gets the money out of your wallet and the cards into your hand. Those days when capitalism smelt like wax, cardboard and gum.

            It’s a great feeling.

            But it can lead you down a dark path.

            When we were kids, it seemed like card shops were popping up everywhere. In malls. In some dude’s basement. In the suburb I lived in, we had a lot of strip malls. Those low-rise sets of buildings all strung together. Usually there’d be a laundry in one. A mom-and-pop pizza joint. Maybe a chain pharmacy. Some independent tax guy with a little cash for a legit store front.

            And then a card shop.

            We had this one card shop in a strip mall right past where Frankstown Road met Duff Road, and the glorious McDonald’s beckoned us for an after card shop treat. It wasn’t really a card shop per se. The guy sold jewelry. Gold chains and the like. He’d obviously added the card stuff to try and latch on to the current zeitgeist. As I remember him, the proprietor of the jewelry/sports card store was a short, seedy man with a pencil-thin moustache. He wore sunglasses indoors and had a toothpick in his mouth. Had too many buttons on his shirt open.

            Or Tony Clifton 

            

           Or maybe that’s how I want to remember him.

            Seedy.

            Sinister.

            Mr. Sinister.

            This “card shop” was a lot closer to our homes than heading out to the mall, so it was easier to convince mom to take us to the shop and sit in the car and read, while we pursued our happiness, indulged our bubble-gum bliss. And the card shop wasn’t much. Mr. Sinister had some product under showcases. The ubiquitous cards of retired heroes that he'd dug up from his own collection, or pilfered from some widow while ripping her off of her family heirlooms. The cards none of us could afford. I remember he didn’t have current product. There were no Topps, Fleer or Donruss packs for us to buy. No cards of current stars.

This was a jewelry store fronting as a card shop, after all.

If this guy had distribution channels it wasn’t with the card companies

More like some guy named Vinnie or Tony who carried around black briefcases full of jewels.

But what Mr. Sinister did have, and what was equally intriguing to us kids back then, was shoebox after shoebox of commons from the 1970s.

I don’t know if younger collectors have a fascination with older cards. I don’t know if there are young collectors out there. Or what constitutes an older card these days.

2001 Topps is twenty years old.

Does this look ancient to you?

When we were kids, and I say we, because my brother and Miller were with me on this fateful, embarrassing day (let’s say it’s 1985), cards from the 1970s were only six to fifteen years old. We were all born in the 1970s. At least two of us had memories from the 70s. The 1970s felt tangible yet distant at the same time.

The cards from that era; they were something we could have.

This guy's legend was still tangible.

Hell, I'd seen him play...and not just in a Naked Gun movie.

It didn’t matter if they were star cards or commons, we wanted those 1970s (and 1960s and 1950s). I remember going to Mr. Sinister on different occasions and going through box after box, pulling out cards from the 1970s that just looked cool, having no real clue who the players were. There were stats on the back. I’d figure that one out later. Then I’d have a small pile of 1978s. Or 1977s. Cards that were maybe a dime a piece at the time.

I learned a lot about baseball from buying those older cards.

And Mr. Sinister? I wouldn’t say he was kind or benevolent. He looked unused to kids being anywhere near his store. Annoyed at times. I don’t know who he thought he was attracting by opening up his shop to sports cards. I’d say, at best, he was tolerant of us. Cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he’d slowly get up to fetch whatever shoebox of baseball lore we wanted to look through next.

He was a faceless lacky.

The conduit to our pleasure in commerce.

Until he didn’t want to do it anymore.

I was Mr. Sinister’s breaking point. Truthfully, I don’t even know what caused it that day. Maybe I had extra money and wanted to peruse more. Asked to look at more boxes than I should’ve. It was the summer. It was hot. Mr. Sinister’s store didn’t have air conditioning and his toupee looked flat and wet. It was hot enough that my mom was inside the shop, instead of waiting in the car.

What happened was simple.

I asked to look at another box of cards.

Mr. Sinister said no.

I was taken aback. Not in a pompous, privileged way. It’s just us kids weren’t used to being told no when it came to buying cards. Not by guys at card shows. Not by the poor clerks in the American Coin who we terrorized on a regular basis. Not by guys like Mr. Sinister. 

No? What was no? No didn’t exist when there was money involved. They didn’t tell you no in line at the Giant Eagle supermarket. No one said no in the kid’s clothing section of Kaufmann’s department store. What in the hell did this guy mean by saying no?

Mr. Sinister said no.

Mr. Sinister said I’m done.

I showed him my fistful of crinkled bills, just in case he forgot what a functioning and fruitful capitalistic system looked like.

Mr. Sinister pointed to the small pile of cards that I had selected.

He said you’ve been in here for almost an hour, and maybe you’ve spent a buck.

You kids are done.

Done? I thought. An hour? I pieced together time. Maybe it wasn’t the heat. Maybe my mom was in the store because she’d been wondering what was taking us so long. Maybe Mr. Sinister looked haggard because he’d been pulling down box after box of cards for three kids armed with little more than pocket change.

Miller and my brother were standing there like they'd been waiting on me.

I looked down at my cards and there was the 1976 Jose Cardenal on top.

But, I said, looking up at Mr. Sinister.

You’ve been here long enough, my mom said.

Et tu Brute!

Done, Mr. Sinister said.

But, I said. My lip began to quiver. Just one more box?

The 1975s?

The 1974s?

I don’t think I got to see the 1979s.

Done.

It hit me that I wasn’t going to get to look at anymore cards that day. That the small pile I had selected was it for me. Jose Cardenal? Who in the fuck was he? I couldn’t not understand the strange turn of events. That turncoat, Mr. Sinister? Didn’t he understand? Money talked. Bullshit walked a marathon. I had money. I was a paying customer. The customer was always right. Right? Now go and fetch me another goddamned box of cards!

Done.

What happened next was out of character for me. I was a fat kid and usually acted accordingly. I was wallpaper. I didn’t try to stand out. But that day I could feel it coming. The anger rising. The bile. The violent hatred I felt toward Mr. Sinister and his cheap, two-bit, half-assed card shop, pawned jewelry, whatever, strip-mall storefront. I wanted to lash out. Wanted to tell that greaseball the suck it. But I couldn’t. I could lash out the only way an eleven-year-old was able to when confronted with belligerent adults.

I began to cry.

And whine.

And stamp my feet and throw a tantrum.

And demand.

I demanded he show me another box of cards.

Mr. Sinister was unmovable. My mom embarrassed. My brother and Miller; their mouths were agape at the Shakespearian tragedy playing out before them. I was hauled into the car. I wasn’t even allowed to buy the cards I had selected. So long Jose Cardenal.

I was left to sit in the front seat and cry, while my mother went back in that bastard’s store, so that my brother and Miller could pay for the cards that they’d selected. I was left alone with my misery and anger and embarassment. I think I vowed then and there to burn that goddamned fake-ass card store to the ground.

I sure as shit was never stepping foot in there again.

            We drove home in complete silence save the whimpering from my self-pity.

            We didn’t even stop at the McDonald’s that so prominently stood at the intersection of Frankstown and Duff.

            That was my fault too.

            There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul will pity me.

            And I spent the rest of the afternoon alone in my room.

           If we can escape my shame for a moment, I do want to stress how much I realty love the 1976 baseball card set. I’m enamored with its simplicity. I seem to like it more and more each time I see it. To some collectors 1976 pales, and is probably one of the least exciting sets of a pretty colorful decade. And other than Dennis Eckersley, there isn’t much of a rookie class; though Ron Guidry and Willie Randolph are no slouches. To each their own.

            But the 1976 set has some great stuff.

            It has this guy’s last card.

            And the second cards for these three hall-of-famers.

            Last spring, I ended up finding a 150-card lot of 1976 cards and thought what the hell? So I’ve started slowly piecing together the set. Buying some star cards on the cheap. A few commons here and there. I’m hoping to get to a card show early next year, and maybe there I’ll get some more of them in bulk. Buy that Jose Cardenal for old times’ sake.

            Only this time…no drama.

Thanks for reading! Happy collecting!

If you'd like to learn more about the 1976 Topps baseball card set, you can do so HERE

If you'd like to learn more about the career of my boy, Jose Cardenal, you can do so HERE and HERE

NEXT FRIDAY:  I'm going to celebrate the release of 2021 Topps Update....but talking about 1987 Fleer.