It’s the story of a boy in the late 1950’s who had a card collection and was in a serious game at school in which he’d lost his entire pile except for his best one, his Rocket Richard card. But he gambled and played it, won, then won again, and soon after had won back all his cards and life was good.
Years later, as a grown man, he gave his nephew the Rocket card and everybody lived happily ever after.
I hate to be a downer on this, but if you look closely at this 1959/60 card, it’s completely battered, bruised, and torn, and this card, which can be worth hundreds of dollars in good shape, is almost worthless in this condition. Look at the corner of it. It’s a disgrace.
But that’s what we did. We threw cards against walls and put them in our bike wheels and all us, if someone had told us, would be living the life of luxury right now, all because we had endless supplies of Rocket cards and Gordie Howe rookies, and Bobby Hull and Jacques Plante. But we wrecked them and now we’re poor.