Author: https://www.facebook.com/travelandleisure/

As a kid growing up in Cleveland, trading baseball cards brought thrills and disappointments to my friends and me.The joy of ripping open a wax pack lasted only seconds before the groans started. A Yankees card—even a Mickey Mantle—typically elicited a “meh” in Cleveland and could end up clipped to a bike spoke—not because Mickey wasn’t great but because he wasn’t ours. We wanted Indians: “Sudden Sam” McDowell, Woodie Held, Tito Francona. Those were the names we were on the hunt for. The rest often landed in shoeboxes, discarded and forgotten long before nostalgia turned many of them into gold.…

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