I have been wanting to use the phrase “Welcome Sweet Springtime” for years now and finally it has come to pass. (I may have used it before and just plain forgot.) If you know anything about me at all, you know where that phrase originates and I certainly prefer hearing the deputy of Mayberry belt out hose words on his special microphone (via Glenn Cripe) than listen to the constant cacophony of today’s news, though I must express my disappointment in not being part of the e-mail chain that would have given me some exciting battle plans.

As I am sure it does for many of you, the arrival of spring brings back a flood of childhood memories and the first that hits me every spring involves a little corner store in Ripley affectionately known as “The Locker Plant” (now a Subway) and a lovely lady named June Ann. I lived about a three-minute bike ride from the Locker Plant and I can’t count how many times I raced along that route for one thing- the new Topps baseball cards. Yes, spring brought the excitement of finding those fresh new packs along with that delicious stick of bubble gum.

I mention June Ann because she was my insider at the Locker Plant, knowing that I was a big kid collector. I guess I had an advantage over the other neighborhood kids because before the new cards even hit the shelves, June Ann would call my house and tell us they had arrived. Then it was bum some money off my Dad, jump on my souped-up Schwinn and head to the Locker Plant. At a nickel a pack, I could build up some pretty big numbers and when Easter rolled around I didn’t get some giant cavity-producing chocolate bunny, I got an entire box of Topps baseball cards (which was probably cheaper than the bunny anyway).

I spent countless hours sitting on my bed, opening packs and sorting them out by number, by teams and whatever other combination I could come up with. Of course, I wasn’t looking for anything game-used, autographed, foil or refractor, but really just one thing, cards that had the word “Reds” on them. Yep, the Reds were our first priority and opening a pack to find a Bench, Perez, Moran, Rose or Foster made the young heart skip a beat. Of course, I was such a huge baseball fan, that finding an Aaron, Clemente, Seaver, Robinson or Ryan wasn’t too bad either.

We certainly didn’t worry about the condition of our cards then. My neighborhood buddies Todd, Randy and I would have flipping contests, winner take all off the wall, and we put initials on the backs of our cards to define possession. (Yes, my 1969 Mantle card has the letters “MC” on the back.) I don’t recall ever doing the bicycle spokes thing, that may have been taking it too far to destroy even the worst of cards or any Dodgers.

Of course, Iwouldn’t have the collection I have today if it weren’t for parents that were gigantic sports fans themselves, like my Mom who kept all my cards under my bed while I was away at college. I only begrudge my Dad one thing. He grew up in the late 40’s, early 50’s and if he hadn’t spent his time hitchhiking to Higginsport to court a certain female he could have been stocking up on those 1952 Topps to pass on to his oldest son.

Not only did spring bring on the new season of baseball cards, but fall brought the new football cards and winter the new basketball, and I collected all of them also. In football, I was always looking for anything Roger Staubach and with basketball it was any cards I could find of the New York Knicks of the early 1970’s. I also used to get a catalogs every year from card dealers and Dad let me order from them, with a budget I am certain. That is how I can turn around in this computer chair and spot my 1954 Ted Williams and 1956 Jackie Robinson among many others. Nobody had heard of such a thing as “graded” cards, though my mail order cards always looked like they were fresh out of the pack.

Now times have changed and the purchase of baseball cards is just a sometimes luxury and not a real hobby any more. It’s sad but like everything else in sports, the almighty dollar has taken over. Kids aren’t buying cards any more in a hobby taken over by greedy adults. I certainly long for that phone call from June Ann and a trip to the Locker Plant with a quarter out of Dad’s change purse.

Welcome sweet springtime, you are so sentimental for me.