It Was Never About the Cards

I Wrote About My Dad Having the Coolest Job in the World

Patriots running back Dion Lewis had yet to arrive, but the line to meet him was already out the door. This was May 2016, almost two years after my dad opened Baystate Sports Cards in Framingham, Massachusetts. Lewis was coming for a meet-and-greet signing, and it was the first time I became aware of the unique community a hobby store can provide.

Back then, sports memorabilia had yet to experience the pandemic-boosted surge in interest. Opening a sports cards and collectibles store as a small business was risky, so Lewis was brought in to help spread the word. Expectations were modest that morning, but the day went far better than we imagined.

Lewis wasn’t the only Boston athlete to come to Baystate. James White, Christian Vazquez, Terry Rozier, and Jakobi Meyers are other notable alumni; each time, it was a blast. I’d work tickets outside the door. My dad operated the register. My mom helped with pictures. Friends would also assist, with a free introduction and an autograph given as a thanks for helping.

Lewis’s appearance was my favorite because we genuinely had no expectations. “Hopefully, people will come,” we thought. Luckily, they did. Returning customers left with packs or boxes of the latest release, and new customers were introduced to the most kindhearted small business owner — my dad.

Then there’s trade night, where local hobbyists come to the shop to buy, sell, and trade. My Dad orders pizza for everyone, and strangers become friends because of this shared interest.

Above is an Instagram screenshot advertising trade night, edited and written by my fiancée. In recent years, the store has felt like a whole family operation.

I’ve attended trade night before and seen some of the most unique and beloved collectibles. Sports cards have become investments for many, and I understand why, but one of the standout features of the hobby’s history is its connection with people. My friends and I have great memories of physically holding our cards as kids and filtering through each others’ piles while beginning to discuss a potential trade. Nowadays, most of my collection is tucked away in binders in a closet. Seeing people bring their cherished keepsakes into the real world felt rewarding.

My dad first got into sports cards through his brother. They began their collections and started attending card shows. This led to family box breaks at Christmas. My dad went on to become an eBay power seller. One summer when I was young, ‘The National’ was in Atlantic City, so my parents and I went on a family trip.

In high school, our town’s local hobby store was closing down, so my dad and his friend went in together to buy out the inventory. I helped him transport much of it home, and we made constant car trips for the entire day. Knowing he’d likely let me choose a few boxes as a thanks for helping him, I was having a blast. He loved it, too. A few years later, he opened Baystate in the exact location that Framingham Sports Cards was before it.

In some ways, it was the culmination of a dreamlike childhood. When I was young, I attended Saturday morning card shows with my dad. On the way there, we’d stop at Dunkin’ Donuts. He got his coffee, and I got munchkins; it was always a treat.

At this age, I loved baseball but also Pokémon cards. Once, I accidentally walked away from a table with someone’s card and ran it across the room to show my dad. He had to take me back to that dealer and explain what happened, which must’ve been a little embarrassing and even horrifying at first. Luckily, it was an honest mistake that we can laugh about now.

In 2005, my dad introduced me to the eighth wonder of the world—fantasy baseball.

This was after my interest in MLB skyrocketed. I was 11 years old and living outside Boston when the Red Sox returned from a 3-0 deficit against the Yankees. Baseball was already my favorite sport. Still young and impressionable, I was hooked forever once “the curse” was broken.

We joined a league on ESPN and got the first pick. We took A-Rod, my favorite player at the time. It was probably a reach coming off the year he had in ‘04, but he went on to win AL MVP. David Ortiz was on our roster, too, and looking back at his ‘05 stats, he hit 47 homers with 148 RBI. That’s all I remember about that season, except it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about having fun with my dad.

We joined a 16-team dynasty keeper league two years later, again drawing the 1.01! We took Albert Pujols. Another memorable draft choice was Daisuke Matsuzaka, as we entirely bought into the hype of his forthcoming stateside debut. After two weeks, we were off to a terrible start. We tore the team down to its studs, rebuilt it from the ground up, and won it all in 2010. Dynasty fantasy baseball made me feel like a real general manager.

This league had fantasy players who used to keep score via the newspaper. They were old school, in the best way, and calling each other over the phone was a routine part of trade talks—even if you didn’t previously know somebody. One of the funniest memories from co-managing with my dad came when I was in 9th grade.

I was running point on the team for my dad and me at this time, and I had been messaging a leaguemate about a trade. That person called our house late for a school night and asked for me when my mom answered, not realizing I wasn’t a grown adult. Luckily, my mom alerted me anyway, and we got a deal done.

It certainly wasn’t my dad’s intention for me to wind up working in the fantasy space, but that’s what happened because of this time in our lives. Watching him enjoy work over the past decade has been gratifying. When I graduated college and was trying to find my path, it helped inspire me to keep pushing toward my dream job. This meant working part-time for five years at FantasyPros and, finally, in late 2021, a full-time job with Underdog.

My dad and I used to pore over Baseball America’s Top 100 Prospects to prepare for our drafts. Now, I contribute to BA’s online coverage. I owe it all to him.

In recent years, so much of my connection with my dad has returned to cards—opening boxes and discussing rookies, just like we always have.

As he prepares to retire in January, Bay State Sports Cards is closing its doors permanently. I couldn’t be happier for him, and I’m so proud of what he built.

To many who came through the doors, it was a place to meet local pro athletes, attend trade nights, and rip packs alongside friends and family.

But make no mistake, to those who got to know my dad personally, closing the store represents the loss of a valued community member.

Returning patrons quickly learned Bay State wasn’t about the hobby or the cards themselves. It was about the man behind the counter, who always handed a free pack to a young kid excited to be there.

This mirrors our relationship because it has never actually been about fantasy baseball or sports cards. It has always been about connecting with my dad.

Here’s to a happy retirement for the hardest-working and most selfless man I’ve ever known.