Why is self-forgiveness so difficult? And how can we expect others to forgive us if we cannot forgive ourselves? These are questions that have been sitting heavily on my mind lately. I am a little over a year removed from finally coming to terms with my addiction to sports cards. Over that time, the damage became painfully clear. I lost my wife, my house, my car, my savings, my retirement, and much of the credibility
When I got back into buying cards about eighteen months ago, I was at a point in my life where a new or unique connection felt desperately needed. I was losing intimacy in my marriage. My kids were suddenly “too cool” for dad. I didn’t have strong relationships with family members. My social life was thin. I could go on and on. I was vulnerable. I was ready for excitement, for joy, for something new
A truth hurts for a minute. A lie hurts forever. This was one of the first mantras I heard when I started attending Gamblers Anonymous, and it’s stuck with me ever since. Those words are simple—but they hit deep. When I was addicted to spending money on cards, I kept it hidden. I lied to my wife. I lied to my friends. I lied to myself. I was drowning in shame and embarrassment. And when the
Last weekend, I found myself walking into a Target instead of heading to my weekly Gamblers Anonymous meeting. Something inside me—curiosity, temptation, maybe both—was pulling me back toward the hobby. I hadn’t bought a card in five months, not since a Whatnot break back in February. But there I was, standing in front of a freshly stocked shelf of 2025 Bowman Mega Boxes. I picked one up. Just one. $50 wasn’t going to ruin me,
I’ve gone nearly four months without purchasing a sports card. In Gamblers Anonymous, they tell us to take it one day at a time—and that mindset has helped me tremendously throughout this journey. Bxut even with that approach, temptation is everywhere. Later this month, I’ll be auctioning off my entire collection to pay down a large amount of debt. It’s the right decision, but that doesn’t make it easy. I still find myself checking comps, scrolling Instagram, tracking redemption
I have not purchased a sports card since February 22, 2025—75 days ago. That may not seem like a long time to some, but to me, it feels like a lifetime. The first week was easy—mainly because I was riding a wave of buyer’s remorse. But then, the days started to stretch out, and the urges didn’t just disappear. I kept Instagram and Whatnot on my phone. I kept telling myself I was fine because
Lately, as I scroll through Instagram, all I see are highlights from last night’s breaks—clips of someone hitting a “nuke” or pulling a “monster”, followed by captions hyping the thrill, the moment, the jackpot. But I remember when collecting was about something else entirely. It used to be about my favorite players. About completing a full set and carefully sliding each card into those 3-hole-punched sleeves of a binder I was proud to show off.
I remember the moment clearly. August 2024—I ordered what I thought was an expensive box of 2024 Topps Chrome Breakers Delight Baseball from Dave & Adam’s. I couldn’t believe how much I paid for just one pack of cards. I had just gotten back into the hobby, looking for rookie autographs, guaranteed inserts, and limited print runs. I told myself, now that I’m an adult, I can afford the nicer stuff. And then—I hit the biggest card of my life: a Sandy Koufax Chrome
I haven’t purchased a sports card since Saturday, February 22nd. That night is etched in my memory more than I’d like it to be. Over time, I started buying into high-end repack breaks—spots going for $2K to $4K a team. I’d regularly grab 4 to 10 teams in one go. Most of the time, I’d hit at least one decent card, which only fed the urge to keep going. The rush. The chase. The illusion
