Performer: Jerry Cantrell
Songwriter: Jerry Cantrell
Original Release: Boggy Depot
Year: 1998
Definitive Version: None
The first SportsFest, which
I attended in Philadelphia in 1998, was a great show. It might not have been as
great as the National in Anaheim in 1996, but it was close.
My best acquisition was a
1957 Roy Campanella and Rocky Colavito for $25 total (book value $250). I also
added a 1957 Frank Robinson for about $20 and a few other tough cards at a huge
discount. I even met Roy Firestone and was able to compliment him on his
singing.
Finally Sunday came—the last
day of the show. I was leaving early, shortly after noon, so I had time to
drive the nine hours back to Columbus. In the morning, I headed over to the
show and, as I had the past two days, parked on the street behind the
convention center. The parking was free, and you can’t beat free.
I made a final round to a
few tables and headed back to the car. I had one more errand—add Frank
Robinson’s signature to the barrel of my Hall of Fame bat—joining Hank Aaron,
Al Kaline, Harmon Killebrew and Eddie Mathews. After that, I’d head home.
I tossed the bookbag on the
passenger seat next to the boombox I brought to listen to old Steve and Garry
tapes that I was recataloguing. I suppose I could have put it in the trunk, but
the trunk was full with other purchases and my suitcase, and I wasn’t going to
be gone long.
I got the autograph and a
handshake and was back to my car maybe a half-hour later. When I got back, a
couple of Asian gentlemen were looking and pointing at my car. What the heck
are they looking at? How about a car burglary?
The passenger side window
had been smashed out, and glass was all over the sidewalk and street. I was
pissed, and it actually took me a few seconds to fully grasp the gravity of the
situation: Everything on the passenger seat was gone. The glove compartment was
open, and Debbie’s cellphone, which I took in case of emergency on the road,
also was nowhere to be seen.
I felt an arrow pierce my
heart. The cellphone was the least of my worries; I would just cancel the
service, or rather Debbie would do it. The boombox was a loss, but a bigger
loss was the tape that was in it at the time. The Steve and Garry tape, from a
1989 show, was, in fact, irreplaceable.
And then there was the crusher—my
bookbag. Normally, all the thieves would have gotten was a want list, a Beckett’s
and some pencils. I take that back. Normally, they wouldn’t have gotten my
bookbag, because I almost always kept that with me at a card show, but I saw no
need to carry it around with me like a pack mule while I waited in the
autograph line. It was not one of my better decisions.
The reason it was a big deal
is I had a Tom Seaver autographed baseball and a couple of other purchases that
have since been lost to time, but worse—and totally unlike me—I had put all my
good cards in one of the pockets. I usually kept those with the rest of any
cards I purchased, which were safely locked in my trunk and still would have
been if I hadn’t been so careless.
But this time, I kept them
in my bookbag, so I could have them with me at all times, in case I wanted to
look at them. In other words, I lost every card that I bought that weekend that
was worth more than $40, including all the aforementioned 1957 cards.
Nothing else was missing,
including the stuff that I had lying out in the open in the back seat. It was
an obvious smash-and-grab job, and all I could think was if I had put my
bookbag in the back seat, let alone the trunk, the thieves wouldn’t have taken
it.
I was frantic. I walked
around a bit, hoping beyond hope that the thieves opened the bookbag, found
nothing of value to them in there and tossed it, but no luck. I didn’t want to
wander too far with my car now open to anyone who walked by, so I didn’t make a
huge reconnaissance mission.
My breath came in gasps, and
I thought I was going to be sick. I now had to go to the police.
(To be continued ... again)
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