Introduction
As I sit and reflect on the past couple of years of getting back into collecting sports cards, it dawned on me that I wanted share some of my experiences—both the lessons I’ve learned and the joy I’ve rediscovered in the hobby.
It’s been a couple of years since my son, Maddox (aka Rabbit), pulled me back into collecting, and through our shared experiences, I’ve gained a new appreciation for the hobby. Along the way, we’ve learned a lot, made our fair share of mistakes, and built memories that will last a lifetime.
I’ll be fully transparent about my fondness and bias toward Breaker Toolbox. Twelve years ago, I interviewed for a small startup software company, where I sat across the table from my interviewer—Jaime Cook, the co-founder of that company and the founder of Breaker Toolbox. I remember a few years ago at a get-together, Jaime was telling me about a new project he had been working on—something called DJawn, where he was selling sports cards. We playfully chided him for being a “hand model” hawking sports cards on livestream, but in reality, he was well ahead of the game. He correctly predicted that the hobby and the sports card market were making a big comeback.
In this six part series, I’ll be sharing my insights on how I got back into collecting, what we’ve learned from our local card shop (LCS), social media influencers, breaking, card shows, and where our journey goes from here. Most importantly, I’ll be telling these stories through the lens of my experiences with my son—highlighting how the hobby has strengthened our bond in ways I never expected.
Part 1 – Return of the Pack
In my early days of collecting sports cards, my friends and I would buy packs of Donruss and Topps baseball cards just to trade with each other. Those were the days of Bobby Bonilla, Andy Van Slyke, and Ken Griffey Jr. rookie cards, and we relished pulling cards of our favorite players. No one worried about their value—we just cared that they were our guys from our teams.
I still vividly remember 1992, when I bought a pack of Fleer Ultra basketball cards. At the time, it was more than $5—expensive for a kid—but it was all because of one player: Shaquille O’Neal. His Ultra All-Rookie (AR) card, featuring a background of stacked TV screens displaying his image, was the ultimate chase card. My friends and I walked to K-Mart, each grabbing a pack, and ripped them open on the way home. And then—there it was. The Shaq “TV” card, in my hands. We couldn’t believe it. “That’s gotta be worth at least $100!!” we thought. From that moment on, I was hooked.

Maddox Holding up the Shaq TV card I purchased years later
Like most kids entering their teenage years, though, the hobby eventually faded for us—replaced by sports, high school, and, of course, chasing girls. The cards got packed away, but the feeling of that first big pull never left me. Even now, reminiscing about it gives me goosebumps. That memory, that little piece of nostalgia, is what inevitably pulled me back in—30 years later.
One day, my son, Maddox (aka Rabbit), asked if he could get some basketball cards of his favorite player, Tyrese Maxey. His cousin and friends had started collecting, and he wanted in. It started small—a cheap pack here and there, neither of us knowing what we were buying or what the cards were worth. I got him a binder with sheets to store his collection, just like I did as a kid. At first, I was trying to relive my youth—buying packs just to find his favorite team’s cards, completely unaware of how much the hobby had evolved.
I didn’t know about sleeving and top-loading cards. I didn’t know binders were considered outdated. I had no clue about relic cards, patch cards, or the sheer abundance of autographed cards. Maddox was the one who schooled me on my first new acronym: RPA—Rookie Patch Auto. A rookie card with a patch of possibly game-worn material and a signature?!? Back in my day, we had to go to spring training or training camps to get an autograph, and I definitely didn’t have any signed cards or game-worn memorabilia. To me, something like that was a childhood collector’s dream.
Then Maddox bought his first expensive hobby box—a Mosaic NBA Hobby Box. When he pulled a Paolo Banchero Stained Glass rookie, the rush hit him just like it had hit me all those years ago with the Shaq TV card. That’s when I learned another new term: case hit—a highly rare insert found only once per case of boxes.

Rabbit holding his first case hits
These days, collecting is something we do together. Maddox refers to our collection as “our cards,” asking, “What do we want to buy next?” He buys hobby boxes and waits for me so we can rip them together. We strategize about which cards he’s chasing next, then spend hours sorting and organizing. When Jaime on Breaker Toolbox pulled us Shohei Ohtani and Victor Wembanyama autos, we sprinted through the house, screaming our heads off in disbelief. And when we buy a hobby box and get completely skunked? We’re both deflated, shaking our heads at our bad luck.
But that—the highs and the lows—is what’s drawn me back into the hobby. It’s not just about the cards. It’s the time spent together—visiting card shops, hitting up trade nights, and traveling to card shows as a team. As father and son.
Maddox is turning 15 this year, starting high school in the fall—right around the same time the hobby faded for me as a kid, replaced by sports, friends, girls, and dances. I don’t know if he’ll still be into collecting in a few years, but I do know this: the time we’ve spent together over the past couple of years is something I’ll cherish forever. And maybe, one day, he’ll look back on it with the same sense of nostalgia that brought me back.