For many, the world of baseball cards evokes hazy memories of childhood afternoons spent enthusiastically popping bubble gum, swapping players with friends, and pinning hopes on a shiny new rookie. Yet for some, those cards are not just memorabilia—they’re relics of self-discovery and an opening into a legacy of Americana. Such is the case for young Keegan Kenning, whose unforeseen windfall is the stuff of hobby legend.
The tale begins innocuously enough on a chilly Presidents’ Day in an otherwise uneventful February. Twelve-year-old Keegan and his grandfather Bob, who affectionately goes by “Pawpaw,” were left plotting the overthrow of boredom in Lakewood’s grey suburbs. In a world dominated by tablets and TikToks, the invitation to “rip” open packs of cards from Hobby Den struck a warm, familiar note with Pawpaw—a man who once decorated bike spokes with multicolored cardboard treasures in pursuit of auditory propulsion.
“It was Presidents’ Day. We had nothing better to do, so Keegan called me up and said, ‘Hey Pawpaw, why don’t we go to Hobby Den?'” Bob recalls with the grin of someone who knows he’s about to be part of something monumental.
In today’s terms, Keegan’s collection is nothing short of prodigious. “I would say I probably have close to 10,000 cards,” Keegan admits, and in the enthusiasm of someone who has traversed many metaphorical hills and valleys in search of grail cards.
Arriving at the store was stepping into Keegan’s wonderland. His passion points him towards each pack—a mix of cardboard artistry and unwritten sporting tales—like a treasure map written by Spalding and Topps. The day’s bounty was to become much more than flipping through pedestrian duplicates or fleeting novelty cards destined for the depths of his already brimming collection.
Engaging in the thrill of a hunt that only seasoned collectors truly understand, Keegan ripped into the silvery wrappers with adrenaline-fueled anticipation. The moment the holographic sheen of Babe Ruth’s face, immortalized in mid-swing, winked up at him from an unassuming card was one that will undoubtedly age like fine wine in the annals of family history. When Bob saw the autograph, as legendary as the man it belonged to, stunned silence wrapped the room like an unexpected hometown victory on a drizzly Sunday afternoon.
Even seasoned collector and Hobby Den owner, David Nguyen, was left wide-eyed at the find, acknowledging its rarity with a respect born of years entrenched in the ebb and flow of card commerce.
An ultra-rare one-of-one autograph from arguably the most storied figure in baseball lore. It was the kind of discovery that can send ripples through the collector community akin to a no-hitter pitch. But for Bob Kenning, the prize transcended monetary value. The intimacy of the moment with his grandson was the true gem, a time capsule crafted from bonds beyond market evaluations and Hall-of-Fame stats.
“When we can share this hobby together and have a grandfather-grandson bonding time, I mean, that’s priceless right there,” Bob remarks, his voice imbued with the satisfaction of someone whose collection is now two-fold: baseball memories and cherished moments.
Rather than contemplating lucrative resale or enshrining the card in fiber optic stardust of digital displays, Keegan finds personal gratitude in holding on to the Babe. To him, the card is a reminder that life’s most exhilarating lotteries are sometimes not spent on riches or fame, but in the shared minutes of joy, connecting over a common affinity that spans generations.
In essence, Keegan’s Presidents’ Day experience has turned card collecting into something far richer than an investment vehicle or an homage to storied greats. It’s a reminder that sometimes the greatest pulls—life’s rare treasures—come from packs of laughter and love unravelled alongside our kindred spirits.
