A Brief Essay on the History of Modern Baseball Card Collecting

I posted this originally on my sister-blog: http://bbcrecollections.blogspot.com/

Note: For the purposes of this commentary, the term modern shall represent the Topps Era from 1952 until present.

I was born in the winter of 1975, and my father preceded me in January of 1940. At the impressionable ages of 12, we both stood on the precipice of two major eras in the history of baseball card collecting, the years 1952 and 1987. My father witnessed the dawn of the hobby: the birth of Topps; the emergence of Mickey Mantle; the pure innocent joy of collecting. I on the other hand, retrospectively bore witness to the sunset of the hobby: the market saturation; the price guide; the business of collecting. Both of our childhoods were filled with the love of the game, and its illustration on a printed piece of cardstock. However, our perceptions of cards were tragically divergent; where his focus was on the card itself and mine was on the card as well, but also its worth.

In my opinion, this assigning a monetary value to a childhood memento is responsible for the death of baseball card collecting, and I place blame directly on my father’s generation. However, I believe my generation, through the use of responsible free trade and proper direction, is capable of resurrecting the hobby for our progeny’s enjoyment. To do this, I maintain we must understand our errors.

In the infancy of modern baseball card collecting, the cards served as a primary means of delivering the relative novelty of stick chewing gum. While chewing gum had been used prior to 1952 by the likes of Goudey Gum Co. and Bowman Gum, Inc., cards were previously distributed with tobacco products, a decidedly non-kid friendly product. With the introduction of the 1952 Topps trading cards, the market began the trend of focusing on children using cards with vibrantly colorful fronts depicting their diamond heroes, statistic and biographical data laden backs, all wrapped in wax and served with a stick of bubble gum for the reasonably low price of 5 cents per pack. To me, I cannot think of any product prior to baseball cards that was intentionally marketed to children, save for candy, and with the advent of television around the same time period, the conditions were ripe for the modern baseball card industry to begin.

Over the next two decades, there was little change in the world of baseball cards. Even the price of a pack remained at 5 cents for nearly 20 years, until prices were raised to 10 cents per pack in the late 1960s. The only change of significance was that sets became larger; consequently more series were introduced. From 1952 to 1973, cards were typically issued in 132 card series over the course of the baseball season. Due to this marketing method, we are faced with our first signs of supply and demand in the baseball card world. As the baseball season headed toward the pennant race, the final series released tended to not sell as well as the release’s earlier series, thus Topps printed fewer cards (or destroyed them). Since public demand was lessened, supply was reduced accordingly to maintain the market price (5 to 10 cents), and to prevent a market surplus.

In 1974, the standard set was now printed in one single series, thus eliminating the short supply issue of previous year’s sets. For the remainder of the decade prices increased slightly, until 1981 when the market was expanded to include two new brands, Fleer and Donruss. With the market now supporting three brands, the supply increased two-fold and the demand apparently increased accordingly until the beginning of what is now commonly referred to as the Bad or Junk Wax Era.

In the mid-1980s, the baseball card collecting world began to feel the effects of the first generation of collectors from the 50s and 60s, now referred to as Baby Boomers. I surmise that these past collectors, who now had sources of disposable income, were trying to recapture their past. As many children had done, their baseball cards were loved to the point of ruin, which in my opinion is the badge of a good baseball card. Cards were used in flipping games, placed in bicycle spokes, glued to paper, tucked in back pockets, marked on and rearranged to reflect a favorite player’s new team, and usually ultimately thrown out when the child left home. Yet, sometime in the mid to late 80s, cards were no longer played with and stored in shoe boxes wrapped in rubber bands, they were stored in acid-free, UV protective plastic sleeves preventing damaging oils from children's fingertips ruining the cards...

Now armed with financial prowess, memories of childhoods long gone and a desire to escape the ever complicating world, I think the Boomers tried to evoke their faded pasts by recollecting their old heroes. This influx of demand and money, coupled with the shortening supply of older cards due to wear and tear, trash can happy mothers and short printed series, sent the value of vintage cards skyward. With this new market of vintage card collecting came the arrival of the price guide and dealers. Essentially baseball cards became a private or capitalistic commodity, sold not through department stores and pharmacies, but through entrepreneurs catering solely to baseball card collectors through shows and storefront businesses.

Not coincidentally, I think the manufacturers (i.e., Donruss, Fleer and Topps) noticed the increased demand and influx of capital into the hobby, and began to overproduce their products to supply the dealers, thus creating a draining market surplus. Shortly thereafter, the market again increased with the introduction of Score in 1988 and Upper Deck in 1989, as well as smaller brands like Sportsflics, etc.

With the launch of Upper Deck, I think many collectors unfairly blame the company for the ruin of the hobby due to their use of premium card stock, glossy finish and holograms. While it is true that other manufacturers developed spinoff products to compete with Upper Deck, such as Topp’s Stadium Club, Donruss’ Leaf, Fleer’s Ultra and Score’s Pinnacle, thus drastically increasing the base price of cards while outpacing the demand with a vast surplus of products, it is my opinion that the private monetization of baseball cards is what put the hobby on its deathbed.

Finally, in 1994, the MLB strike effectively killed the hobby, and in some ways created conditions for a rebirth. After The Strike, demand waned considerably, and manufacturers accordingly reduced their set sizes, but did not reduce their wide variety of products. In response to the diminished interest, card companies began to diversify their products even more and focused on niche markets. No longer could a collector vie solely for a hand collated base set because now packs included inserts, such as “upgraded” base versions, relics and game-used materials. With these premium inserts and fancier base cards, prices outpaced those a child could afford. Long gone were the days of 5, 10, 50 or even 75 cent packs. Packs now sold in the 2 to 5 dollar range for 5 or 6 cards, thus effectively ending the hobby for children to reasonably amass a collection. Only the die hard adult collectors with disposable income can safely wade through these troubled waters.

Thus, this finally brings me to the end. Money, greed and private capitalism turned an innocent hobby from a child’s game to an adult industry. Yet, I still see a glimmer of hope for my children. I firmly believe changes are on the horizon. Online auctions have begun the change from capitalism to free market trade, straight trading appears to be coming back due to blogs and message boards, and the manufacturers have been reduced to two (Topps and Upper Deck) thus reducing the gluttony of products. While I will not hold my breath waiting for the insane number of parallel sets, inserts and relics to disappear, I have hope affordable base sets will be in our near future. If not, I have plenty of old cards to help my children build sets from, and I am more than willing to help fellow collectors finish their dreams.

If I learned anything from the demise of the baseball card industry, it is that a baseball card is only monetarily worth what someone else will pay for it, yet its personal worth is priceless.

Doc T

Autumn Moon

Of late, my dreams have been extremely vivid and I have been remembering every detail. Last night, I dreamed of strolling through a field with Analee very late in our lives, and while we walked hand in hand, I recited a poem to her:

Autumn Moon

In the light of the Autumn Moon
Your heart spoke to me
Whispered sweet secrets of a future
Beyond outstretched fingers
Yearning for a home
Where we reaped a harvest
Of smiles and giggles
From mouths that would one day
Be haggard and worn
When we were but a branch of a tree
With our memories long forgotten
Yet I will remember where to find you
Beneath the light of the Autumn Moon

Introspective Essays: Part 1 - The Hatchling

Recent conversations with Ana have had me reflecting as to whom I am, and how I got to where I am. These following essays are my contributions to a better understanding of myself, my past, my future and my interpretation of the human condition. Please note this will likely be a deep insight into my heart and mind that no one, save a select few, have ever heard. I doubt this will be pretty and may be surprising to some, but I’ve learned through much introspection that I do not care what I perceive others think.

Disclaimer: By no means is my story to be taken as advice, only a guide to help individuals make their own decisions. In order to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent alike, names will not be used.

Part I – The Hatchling

After a first semester at Purdue University that had me dating several young women, from an obsessive, to an old flame who was like an unyielding pilot light in a wind-swept furnace, to an unbeknownst-to-me engaged upperclassman, I found myself exactly where I began my first days of college, alone. In February of 1995, and in the never ending pursuit of fulfilling the desires of a young man, I met, through a matter of coincidence and happenstance, a young woman, L.

L was a breath of fresh air to me, as she was different than any other woman I had ever dated before. We both had similar personalities, senses of humor and intellectual interests. I could venture to say that for the two of us it was instant puppy love. After several nights of endless conversation and little sleep, we soon found ourselves to be an item as the second semester was quickly ending.

In retrospect, as the summer-break loomed, this ideally should have been the end of our relationship. I say this as we were both very young with a world full of opportunities that lay in front of us, but I believe we were blinded by the sense of being wanted. We were succumbed to the ever powerful lure of teenagers in love.

As summer came, I left for an internship in Los Angeles and L stayed in Indiana. Thus we diligently and religiously kept in contact over that summer to preserve that young flickering flame. When I returned for my sophomore year, we quickly picked up where we had physically left off the year prior. While the fall semester progressed we became more inseparable, to the point where our friends felt slighted and my individuality became blurred.

Soon, I fell into my crutch-like ways of depending on L to guide the ship and I following her footsteps.

(For back story, I surmise that I basically went to Purdue because my father and brother had gone there. In my mind, Purdue was the only option and in reality, I had applied only there and Rose Hulman as a back-up. This was regardless of the academic scholarships I had received from New Mexico State University and Penn State University. And as I entered Purdue’s College of Engineering, I was required to declare my intended major of Chemical Engineering, which trail had already been blazed by my brother.)

Early in my second year, I learned that Chemical Engineering was not suited for me, or vice versa. In hindsight, I am amazed that I personally decided to leave that academic field for my own reasons, yet I am not surprised that I quickly relied on L to find my new calling of Civil/Environmental Engineering. (As an aside, I am truly interested in the field of Environmental Engineering, but perhaps as I frequently realize due to job related challenges, it is not my calling – this will likely be expounded upon in Part 3). So, it could be coincidence or my flaw of following that I ended up in the field I still practice today.

In addition to my changes in academics, I eventually began to lose my own extracurricular persona. Being smitten and eager to spend as much time with L, I joined many social and service groups that she either already belonged to or was thinking about joining. In essence, I was tailoring my beliefs and personality to fit someone else’s agenda.

I now recognize that my actions were wrong, and that part of the relationship was completely my fault. Altering one’s self to be more “attractive” to one’s partner is not how a relationship should be based. Your partner should take you as you are, therefore I shouldn’t have changed myself to maintain the relationship. I should have left the relationship to maintain my identity (This thought will likely be played again in Part 2, but from my interpretation of another’s point of view – as an FYI, I’ve learned a lot by letting those I’ve loved go, and by being the loved one that was let go).

Eventually, another summer had passed, and then it almost seemed like we spent more time apart than together. For a few summers, I was interning in Los Angeles, and L became part of a cooperative program where she was working in Indianapolis for a semester, then in school the next, etc. Although we had been dating for almost three years, I would suspect the last two years we were only physically together for at most half that time.

If it wasn’t for my need to be wanted, and not to be alone or “looking”, I don’t think the relationship would have survived. I believe we both functioned well without each other because to me there was always that feeling of security because I had a “relationship net” to catch me if I fell. And since we did not see each other often, when we were together, our times were great. It was like we were catching up, reconnecting or cramming lost time into a finite space.

Using this on-again, off-again method, I believe we extended our relationship far longer than it should have lasted, which eventually became my personal downfall. Graduation was coming and the deep dark abyss of the future was looming large on the horizon. To be honest, I was scared to death of what I was going to do after graduation. I had nary a clue of what I wanted to pursue, so I fell on my fatal flaw, I turned to footsteps that had gone before me.

My father and brother had both attended graduate school, so that became a given for me. My next action on an August evening in 1997 signaled the worst singular decision I have ever made in my life (Yet, in a cause and effect way, it has eventually led to my greatest triumphs…). Desperate to avoid venturing into the unknown post-graduate world alone, and what seemed like taking the next logical step in a relationship, I asked L to marry me (My brother had married a lovely woman at a young age, why couldn’t I?). L gleefully accepted and an unstoppable force was soon set into motion that neither of us could derail until it came crashing down in an unfathomably painful end.

At that time, I thought I had figured it all out and that I was the envy of all my peers. I knew my career path and I had a fiancé, but in reality, I hadn’t made these choices because I let the situation choose me. I was too frightened to end a long term relationship, so I asked her to marry me. I was too scared of the post-graduate unknown, so I let my father, brother and L’s choices lead the way.

Both L and I decided to attend graduate school, and after graduation, I moved down south to attend Texas A&M for my master’s, while L finished up her bachelor’s degree due to her co-op work (I was offered positions at Clemson, Texas, Texas A&M and Purdue, and how much do you want to bet that A&M was not my first choice?). Yet again, L and I were separated by a vast distance, but this time our communication was no longer as diligent as our early love days.

While in Texas, I met a lot of people. Some good guys, some questionable. Some nice women, and some unbelievable beautiful ones. For the first time in a long time, I had a good time alone, but there was always my safety net. Before long, the wedding day was fast approaching. Soon winter break was upon us, and I was in Indiana for our wedding day. When L and I met again, I couldn’t quite place it at the time, but it just didn’t seem right. I think both of us knew subconsciously that this was a bad idea, but like I said, the unstoppable forces were in motion. Invitations had been sent, dresses hemmed, reception halls booked and meals catered. A lot of non-refundable money had been spent and I thought I needed my safety net, so to my mind, the dye had been cast.

L and I were wed on December 27, 1998 rather spectacularly with the church adorned in Christmas regalia; however, frankly, I remember little or none of the actual day. After a much underutilized honeymoon to the south coast of Spain (Malagá, Fuengirola, etc. – My word would I like to relive that trip!), we began our married life deep in the heart of Texas. Like most young couples, I think we experienced the tribulations that were to be expected. What I did not expect was the vast difference of how it used to be with us seeing each other in cycles, to us seeing each other every day. This leads to my firm belief that all engaged couples need to live together for at least 6 months, regardless of perceived religious beliefs and feelings from parents (That alone probably would have woken L and I up to the fierce reality of our relationship).

To dull a razor sharp knife I sometimes still feel in my back, I will politely redact most of the end of my and L’s relationship. To be brief, L chose a unilateral course to end our marriage with no regard to how I felt. There was no counseling, no opportunity for me to voice my opinions; she ended the marriage on her terms alone.

In conclusion of Part 1, L and I had plenty of good times during our 5 ½ year relationship, and when I remember L, I choose to remember those times, and not the times that drew the final curtain.

To which I ask, should we have married? I would respond a resounding no. Was it all her fault? No, I share responsibility for not following my head and heart, and yielding to guilt, perception and my inherent desire to not be a failure.

Yet, I learned a lot about myself, relationships and overall human nature from our marriage, which next led to my unprecedented period of independence and self reliance that inexcusably and somewhat inevitably brought me right back to my fatal flaws.

An Epiphany

Yesterday was a bad day. I would venture to say that "bad" is quite an understatement.

This week has been an epiphany for myself. I won't bore with details, but if you give me an adult beverage, I am sure I'll pontificate.

Alas, here is a paraphrased snapshot of a conversation I had with Ana last night:

"Work is work. Work does not define you. A man is measured by his devotion to his family and his community. When you die, your headstone will not read 'Devoted State Employee.' It will read 'Beloved Husband, Father and Grandfather.'"

Sometimes words cannot describe how much Ana and our child(ren) mean to me.

A Brieft Encounter at the Beaufort County DOT Terminal

Long time, no post.

Yesterday, I traveled to Little Washington out in Beaufort County for an express review meeting. It was a beautiful day for a drive, and frankly I needed the time away from the office. As I rumbled down 264 in my beat up F350 Truck, I noticed a peculiar number of convict crews out and about in their green uniforms, cleaning up the litter from our careless motorists.

After my express meeting, which was a laborious 2.5 hours (however, it all went well from all sides represented), I headed to the Beaufort County DOT to fuel up the state car and be back on my merry way to Raleigh. I pulled up to the pumps and noticed one of the convict buses getting some diesel.

As I got out of the car and began fiddling with the gas key card, I nodded to the Guard fueling the bus, then heard someone say "Dude. What's up Chad? It's been so long, bro. We should go catch some gnarly waves. Awesome!" I smiled, and realized one of the convicts was commenting on my Hawaiian shirt I was wearing.

He kept right on cracking jokes and poking fun at me, and I could hear the entire bus hooting and hollering. I kept a pretty grim face now, and looked over at the guard. He shrugged, and kept on pumping fuel.

As the joking kept rolling, I motioned to the guard and pointed at the bus. The guard gave me the ok sign, and I said...

"I wear Hawaiian shirts because I don't look good in green."

I heard a roar of laughter from the other convicts, then I heard the guy who had been cracking on me yell "What did you say??"

Time to get in the car and roll back to Raleigh.

That exchange made my day.

Cruise Chronicles: Imagination Day 3 - Moderation Tastes Better

On the third day, we awoke to calm, tranquil seas as our ship was easing its way to the dock at the island of Grand Turk. Having been at sea for two days, I was glad to finally be back on terra firma. Not because sea sickness was having its way with me, but because I was adding a new country to my list (Spain, Mexico, Bermuda, Bahamas and now Turks and Caicos)! Also, this stop was the halfway mark and Ana’s emergency exit to the United States. Prior to leaving on the cruise, we wanted an itinerary that included an airport mid-way through the cruise in case Ana was too homesick for Kendal to continue. Our original plan was to cruise to Bermuda, where I had a lovely time back in June of 2005, because they have a direct flight to Raleigh, but that cruise was too long for Mama to stomach (8 days, 7 nights, compared to our more modest 6 days, 5 nights).

Finally moored to the dock, Ana and I were some of the first people off the boat thanks to early nights and earlier mornings. We were greeted to a comfortable 80 degree day, and not a trace of humidity in the air, as well as the traditional Tax and Duty free shop you conveniently had to walk through to get on the island proper. But, it really didn’t feel like we were on the island because the port had recently been constructed by Carnival Cruise lines and had all the trappings of a tourist spot. We dallied for a moment in the shops and then found our excursion “director” who collected our tickets and led us to our bus. Like all island destinations, Ana and I are suckers for a good snorkel. That being said, Grand Turk is world renowned for its scuba diving and magnificent reefs. So on to the bus we went, where we were of course greeted by another Haitian driver. Let’s recap from the first bus experience: 1. Say something unintelligible; 2. Drive haphazardly to our destination; 3. Say something unintelligible; 4. Say in perfect English “I am not an employee of the cruise line…”; 5. Hold hand out for tip. Rinse and repeat.

I am not an employee of the cruise line, but I play one on TV

That unpleasantry completed, we stood on Governor’s Beach eager to snorkel and relax, but not before we got the worst welcome and snorkel instruction in the history of mankind. The girl wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, and spoke with an accent so thick you could slice it. At one point it was bad enough that someone in the crowd asked her to repeat herself. So, she started all over from the beginning. Egads, woman! At least we’d snorkeled before and were familiar with the equipment…

We grabbed some chez lounges and walked down the beach some to a nice shady spot with a magnificent view of the ocean. The water was teal blue until about 200 yards out, where the water went a stunning deep blue. We’d known prior from my nerdy internet research that the ocean floor dropped off to a depth of 7,000 feet just off shore! Our instructor reiterated this fact and told us “Don’t go swim out der man, or joo go down to da bottom.” Apparently the laws of physics don’t work 600 feet offshore.

Having secured our perfect spot, we walked down the beach a few hundred feet per the instructor’s direction to a rocky location on the ocean floor. As we arrived, people were milling around in circles wondering where this mysterious rocky spot was. Someone said they’d walked down the beach and back and saw no rocks to be spoken of. Well, I thought, did you perchance happen to notice the rocks beneath the waves? For one, you cannot snorkel on land, so the rocks would be in the water, and two, were you expecting Gibraltar to be poking out of the surf beckoning you to explore her crags?

Our Pristine View on Grand Turk

Bemused, I donned my gear and was braced by the not-so-equatorial cool waters. Meanwhile, Ana was stowing our packs near a nice, elderly woman who had no intention of getting into the water, and who was quite alarmed at the number of sunburned people from our ship. I guess a long previous day at sea with innumerable drinks served in coconut shells, plus the fact most people can’t reach the middle of their backs, made for some startlingly painful looking sunburns. I believe the Crayola name for it is magenta.

Ana and I swam around the reef, and personally, I was not too impressed. Most of this reef had long since died (probably because of the straight piped toilets to the bay!) leaving little habitat for fish. We saw a few neat schools here and there, as well as some shipwreck debris (i.e., mast timbers, a rudder and I saw a pot! Ooh, a pot). However, nearing the end of the snorkel, Ana spied a rather peculiar looking fish that was camouflaged with the sea floor. Ana approached the fish for a picture, and all of a sudden its tail fanned and revealed a beautiful shade of purple, most likely warning Ana to keep her distance. Unlike Ana’s previous wildlife encounter with a Road Runner in Anza Borrego, she respected the fish, took its picture and swam away. Good thing she did, as the fish was a Scorpionfish, which has poisonous barbs running down its spine…

We eventually made our way back to our lounges, where I decided to redeem our tickets for our complimentary rum punch. Woo hoo, free drinks! Not really, as they were included in our excursion price, and I wouldn’t exactly call them drinks. They were served in 4 ounce Dixie cups filled to the brim in ice, and more watered down than the ocean in front of us. Unsatisfied, I made my way back to shack, and asked for a Turk Head beer, which is the national beer of the Turks and Caicos. I read about this beer prior to the trip, and was jazzed to knock another beer off my list. I was not unsatisfied this time. The beer was like a hepped up version of Corona, both crisp and refreshing, yet with a punch. Also, their government warning is unlike the States, where alcohol hurts babies and wrecks lives. Their motto is “Moderation Tastes Better.” I like that. Also, a funny thing happened when I ordered a beer, he gave me a half empty capped bottle. Um, no. He gave me another and this one was ¾ full. Um, no again. Finally, he gave me a full to the top bottle. Apparently they have bottling issues at the brewery, or it was the fact that they were all reusable/refillable twist offs, which I have never seen before. Eh, when in Rome.

Turk's Head Beer

Returning back to our spot, I was dismayed to find that some ditzy couple had parked their lounges right in front of us. The beach was at least a half mile long, and these two numbnuts blocked our view! I imagine I need to lighten up, but you know I didn’t. They got into the water, and while Analee was back snorkeling, hunting for worn glass, I moved their seats. Soon after, another couple asked me to watch their stuff while they snorkeled a few hundred feet down the beach. “Sure” I said, but heck, I’m on vacation and not going to be tied to my seat while they frolic, just so I can protect their packs of Marlboro Reds. I watched them walk down the beach, and once they got in the water, I joined Ana to help her hunt for glass and seashells. No one was ever the wiser.

Once Ana got a good collection of glass, enough to make a trivet or tile, we boarded the bus back to the ship. Rinse and repeat. We quickly showered, changed clothes and went to the Lido deck for a fast lunch where instead of hitting the buffet, we decided to try the made to order deli. Being a sucker for a sandwich, I was salivating for a hot pastrami on rye. While we waited our turn, the girl in front of us wretched and open mouth coughed all over the food station! Luckily our food was already prepared and grilling, but this hooch didn’t have the decency to cover her skank troll mouth before hurtling unknown diseases onto the condiments. Grossed out, I managed to eat my lunch, and we made our way back to the island for some shopping.

Our Ship at the Grand Turk Dock

We went from shop to shop, but always seemed to return to this one shop that specialized in pearl/coral necklaces. Ana found a beautiful pearl necklace, but being the fashion butterfly, she had to have matching earrings. She set the staff on a wild chase to find earrings to match the pearl necklace, but amazingly they had none to offer. They tried to get her to buy some earrings that somewhat matched, but my SATC girl would have nothing of it. Right about this time, I realized that Mother’s day was on the horizon, and that although we agreed the cruise would suffice as a gift, I knew this not to be true. I had to keep my eyes peeled for a gift, and to find the time to buy one without her knowing…

From here, we sauntered over to the Jimmy Buffet Margaritaville Bar. Ah, commercialism. The place was packed with scantily clad patrons, and the pool was a venerable sea of skin and sexed out drunkards. Not exactly my spot, nor a place for my pregnant wife, yet, I wanted another Turk Head beer. We finally were served at the bar, and low and behold, they didn’t carry Turk Head. One would think a Grand Turk bar would carry the national beer, but heck no. Eh, when not in Rome.

After a few more shops and another run through the pearl necklace store, we went back to the ship and Ana napped for a few hours while the ship sailed to sea. I ended up watching some horrid Scooby Doo cartoon about Vampire Rock, but at least it was in English. Awake from the nap, we received our tickets for the Previous Guest Party in the Dynasty Lounge, where I once again took full advantage of the free bar. I think that evening I partook in a witches brew of red wine, a margarita, a martini, some blue concoction and a whiskey sour. I’m sure my liver and stomach had thought I’d lost my mind.

Feeling like a kite in a strong breeze, we met our tablemates for dinner in the Spirit Dining Room. During dinner, we found out that our tablemate, Cary, whose wife was coincidentally named Carrie, was chosen via a karaoke contest to be the Elvis Presley impersonator during the Friday after dinner show. Cary told me they were holding the Frank Sinatra and Elton John auditions that night, and maybe, just maybe if I had enough free drinks in me I’d be game to give Old Blue Eyes a run for his money…

For dinner, I dined on:

• Salmon Truffle – disgustingly presented, but tasty
• Caesar Salad
• Caribbean Jerked Pork Loin
• Some desert – I had had a lot of free drinks, so my mind is a little fuzzy on this one.

After dinner, we retired to the Dynasty Lounge for a Gameshow Trivia event, and settled in for another rousing dance routine until…”Oh God, did the boat lurch? Oh man, I don’t feel so hot. Did the boat hit an iceberg?” The Revenge of the Witches Brew hit me. Oh, and that witch hit me hard. I quickly made a staggered path to our room to flop into bed. Old Blue Eyes crown would remain safe from this usurper, and apparently, moderation does taste better.

Day 3 Towel Creature...Hmmm

UP NEXT: Cruise Chronicles: Imagination Day 4 – Heaven on Earth

Cruise Chronicles: Imagination Day 2 - In Search of Gilligan's Isle

Prior to going on the cruise, Ana and I wanted to watch each sunrise. Too make a long story short that never happened. Not because we weren’t awake (our internal clocks are set to a waking baby at 6 a.m.), but because our bed was soooooo comfortable. Having fresh high thread count sheets every day, your bed made in the morning and turndown service at night spoiled me rotten. Plus, breakfast served in bed with the deep azure Caribbean Sea splashing outside your window made for some lazy mornings. Each morning started with a light breakfast of bagel, lox and cream cheese with coffee for me and tea for the misses. Why couldn’t we bring our cabin steward home with us?!?

Room with a View

Learning from previous cruises, we knew that the main dining room was open to all guests for a formal breakfast, so we would typically have breakfast in bed at 6, and breakfast in the Pride Dining Room at 9. No wonder I gained 8.5 pounds on the trip, and why by the 5^th day my pants weren’t so roomy anymore. Time to head back to the gym…

Alas, we went to our second breakfast, where you are randomly seated with other cruisers. In the past, this has been a somewhat quiet affair, but not this day. We were stuck across from each other between two families, which should never have happened because if people followed proper dining etiquette, you always sit to the left of your lady. But judging by these morons, etiquette to them is raising their pinkie when they sip their Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine.

As we were eating, we eavesdropped on our fellow cruiser’s conversations (how couldn’t we!). We overheard an awful previous cruise experience had by the unfortunate couple to my right. On their last cruise, they were tendered to an island (similar to how we were tendered on Day 4) and while on the island, a fierce storm developed. The seas were so rough that the guests could not be tendered back to the cruise ship. Roughly 1,000 guests were stuck on a deserted isle with minimal food, as lunch had already been served, and little protection from the elements. They told of guests hoarding food and blankets, bickering, fighting and overall dreadful sleeping conditions. The real injustice was that many had left their medications on the ship. Finally, after 24 hours, they were able to return to the ship where they received complimentary beverages, their cruise reimbursed and a future cruise for free! I think I could sweat it out on an isle for a night if I knew I’d be getting freebies! Yet, I feel for those who were probably sunburned, missing medication and overall frightened. Just thinking of terrified children makes me queasy. Would this be our fate on Half Moon Cay? Stay tuned for Day 4…

Now to my left, another equally disturbing situation was unfolding, yet not from a past cruise experience, but because of a righteous asshole. Making casual conversation with the elderly lady on my left, I noticed a red faced bespectacled buffoon lambasting the wait staff about the “consistency” of his eggs. “I ordered these poached! These are all runny!” he bellowed at the poor Filipino waiter, who apologetically removed the plate and took them back to the kitchen. Before leaving our sight, we noticed that the eggs were indeed poached, and slightly runny, AS POACHED EGGS SHOULD BE YOU INBRED IDIOT! And speaking of inbred, I learned that the ill-tempered ass was on vacation with his wife and his elderly parents, who wouldn’t even acknowledge his tirade over something so insignificant as the style of his eggs. It appeared they were terrified and/or mortified of his behavior. Later the waiter returned with “poached” eggs to order, which looked eerily similar to hard fried…This would not be my last encounter with this man, not by a long shot.

Me Looking Incredibly Chapel Hill-ish

Having completed my dual breakfast with a tasty dish of Eggs Benedict, Ana and I braved the Sea of Flesh, and made our way to the Verandah Deck for some sunbathing. Now, by no stretch of the imagination, I am no bo-hunk. I’m a 32 year old fun loving guy, who has eaten too many tacos and had too many beers in my past, yet, it was vacation, so I was game to blind my fellow cruisers with my 200 watt skin. We found two chez lounges on the balcony deck, as far as possible from the skinny, tan, drunk crowd, and relaxed between two Hawaiian Tropically-tan ladies. With us between them, it probably looked like a Double Stuff Oreo, with us as the pasty white cream filling!

Feeling the effects of the sun, I decided to brave the “fun” crowd and go down one level to the pool and hot tub. I immediately jumped into the pool in a veiled attempt to hide my “Truffle Shuffle” belly (By the way Ana has a video of my doing the Truffle Shuffle from the movie Goonies on the beach at Half Moon Cay. Decidedly, you will not see that video on this blog). Once I hit the water, I realized this was not pool water, but cool, salty sea water. As Ana put it, “It’ll give you a good nose enema.” Shivering, I jumped out of the pool and quickly slid into the hot tub, which was then quickly vacated by the other guests. Did I forget deodorant? While I lazed in the warm water, feeling the sun beat down on my face until I noticed three Barbies standing by the hot tub. Feeling thirteen (i.e., awkward about my appearance), I exited the hot tub and returned to Ana on the Verandah. As I sat down, she smiled at me and said “Those girls go in and soon as you got out!” I’m glad Ana likes my appearance.

Undeterred, I looked at Ana and said, let’s go down the waterslides! Back in October of 2007, the Imagination had a 55 million dollar upgrade, which included the installation of a water park on the rear of the ship. What a kids’ paradise. There were two “racing” slides, and a 4 story twisty curvy tube slide. I immediately gravitated towards the huge slide and begged Ana to watch me like I was a 5 year old trying to impress his mom. I patiently waited my turn, and then finally made it to the top. It had been decades since my last water slide experience, and the thought of twisting down a tube 4 stories above the 12^th deck of a cruise ship slicing through the Caribbean was like a daydream. I braced myself, slid into the tube and immediately felt my swim trunks slide right up my backside, which felt like a different kind of “nose enema.” The ride was bumpy, scratched my back, but damn, it was awesome. I pleaded with Ana to do it but the sight of me pulling my shorts out of my back-crack probably deterred her from enjoying that stimulating experience.

Water Slides!

From there, we changed clothes and decided to, what else, go eat! We had our formal lunch again in the Pride Dining Room, and were seated with a family from Canada. The lunch was uneventful save for the Canadian conversation. We resisted the urge to make small talk with them about hockey, as Ana and I are huge Hurricanes fans. I thought it would be too cliché to discuss hockey with a Canadian, yet, what else would there be to talk about? Moose? Snow? Strange Brew? Anyways, we sat back, listening (we love to people watch) to the teenage girl talk to her mother about an island that was off in the distance. Her voice rose and said “I see land. That must be Cuba!” I looked out the window and saw a small island, oh, the size of Gilligan’s Island that had a single water tower on it. Now, I know Cuba is impoverished but I also know it is about the size of Florida and surely would have more than one measly, rusted water tower I smirked my pompous smile, and thought, girl, we are about 200 miles north of Cuba, plus we are traveling southeast and you are looking northeast. Even if you could see 200 miles into the distance, you are still looking out the wrong side of the boat, Blondie. As an aside, her boyfriend, who had Blondie’s mom as a third wheel (how romantic) ordered sushi, and promptly peeled the seaweed, ate the rice and left the filling. Guess that is a Canadian Roll.

After lunch, we cruised (bad pun) to the Xanadu Lounge on the Promenade Deck to attend the Art Auction. On our last cruise, the auctioneers were two sweet gents from South Africa. Prior to the auction, they decided to hold a raffle to win free art. To win raffle tickets, you had to answer trivia questions about South Africa, and the catch was you could never have visited the Rainbow Nation. Fair enough. I’d never been to the ZA, but boy, do I know a lot about that land. Needless to say, we got all the questions right (e.g., hippopotamus, Mandiba, Boers, etc.), and the raffle was loaded in our favor. We eventually came away with two lovely pieces that now reside above our fireplace and in Kendal’s bathroom.

Xanadu Lounge - Promenade Deck

Unfortunately, we had no such cosmic luck on this cruise. However, unlike the last cruise, people were actually bidding on the art! One Russian man bid approximately $20,000 on several original works by Anatole Krasnyansky, who paints in a distinctive bold color style specializing in hiding faces in his work. It was nice, but not $20,000 nice… There were a few original art works by a Miami pop artist that we liked, however, they were in the $1,200 to $2,000 range, which we could not justify purchasing. Maybe one day.

Krasnyansky's Work

After the art auction, we made our way back to the Dynasty Lounge for the Captain’s Cocktail Party. This party is a precursor to the formal dinner night, so Ana and I were decked out in our best. This for me meant I was wearing one of Dad’s old suits that just happened to be 100% wool. Trust me, wool is not something I’d advise wearing in the Eastern Caribbean. Although I looked dapper, I was more suited for an executive business meeting in December, and not a lobster dinner on a cruise ship in May.

The cocktail party was quaint, but really not note worthy save for the 5 free drinks I managed to slam down in 45 minutes. Five drinks on a cruise ship is about $30, so if you know my coal to diamond penny pinching antics, I was not going to let this pass by. After the party, we were immediately escorted to our formal lobster dinner in the Spirit Dining Room. As with my last lobster cruise dinner, it was lackluster. Dry, overcooked lobster that tasted as if it was freshly caught last week, flash frozen then trucked 1,800 miles to Miami where it sat in the ship’s freezer on dry ice for another 36 hours.

For dinner, I dined on:

• Tiger Prawn Cocktail
• Caesar Salad again (maybe, I can’t remember for sure)
• Broiled Lobster Tail with Melted Butter
• Warm Melting Chocolate Cake with Vanilla Ice Cream

Sated from an overhyped uncomfortably woolen meal, we made our way back to the Dynasty Lounge to watch the stage show America! The show was a tribute to all songs that had to do with cities or locations in the United States, plus a show stopping rendition of Coming to America by Neil Diamond. I know somewhere in Kentucky, Rob is salivating as I type this. The show was utterly corny, the singing was haphazardly done by a Wayne Brady look-a-like, and a woman who fancied herself Beverly D’Angelo from the Vacation movies. Her voice was so smoky she sounded like she had swallowed the entire ashtray. Alas, there were a few shining stars that included a dance couple from Russia who were amazing, and a showgirl Ana and I later met who was phenomenal. She showed grace and controlled movements, but perhaps our view was skewed as she was the only one with a dancer’s body (i.e., had shoulder blades and abs).

The show ended around 9:45, which is customarily around our bedtime, so off to those turned down sheets we headed!

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