Before this country was ass deep in a recession things used to be worth something. Things like baseball cards. The reason I know they were worth something? Because I busted my butt every day of the summer mowing lawns and stealing the paper boy's tip money to buy enough baseball cards to build a flimsy cardboard mansion. Of course if you wanted to know what the cards were worth you had to buy a beckett. The beckett really. In my circle of friends the word beckett was more used than "your motha" or "psych", or the phrase "I did your motha', psych!!!". Such innocent times. Then there were the mother of all finds when you opened a pack. The error card. Topps must have been employing glue huffing retarded monkeys at the height of their world dominance in 1988 because there is no other way to explain Cal Ripken wearing a cap with a backwards Orioles logo or Wade Boggs donning a Yankee uniform. (The truth hurts). Now a days we could chalk it up to photo shopping, but back then they didn't have photos or shops in which they could photo-shop things. So how the hell did it happen? A million cards printed correctly and you get a few wrong? I'm not sure, but props to the few jerks that messed with those precious cards every year before they are released.
Also, that Billy Rip card is NOT a photo shop. Check it.
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