So, you want to hear about this Michael Jordan signed baseball adventure I had? Man, it’s a bit of a story, let me tell ya.
It all kicked off a while back. I was clearing out my dad’s old place. He’d, uh, he’d moved into a smaller spot, and the family home needed emptying. You know how that goes. Just mountains of stuff. Decades of memories, or just plain junk, depending on how you look at it.
Anyway, I’m in the attic, sneezing my head off from all the dust. And there, under a pile of old tax returns and what looked like a moth-eaten wig, I found this old shoebox. Inside? A baseball. And on it, a signature. Looked like “Michael Jordan.”
My first thought was, “No way.” I mean, Jordan, right? Basketball god. Sure, he played baseball for a bit, that whole Birmingham Barons thing. But what were the odds my dad, who thought a home run was something you did on a first date, would have one?
Figuring This Thing Out
So, the first thing I did, naturally, was grab my phone. Typed in “Michael Jordan signed baseball” and down the rabbit hole I went. Pictures, articles, forums full of guys arguing about loops and slants in his autograph. It was a whole world I didn’t know existed.
I must have spent hours comparing the signature on my ball to the ones online. Some looked kinda close. Others? Way off. Made me realize how many fakes must be floating around. Easy money for some crook, I guess.
The one I had… it wasn’t a perfect match to any of the “certified authentic” ones I saw. But it wasn’t a disaster either. It was in that gray area, you know? That frustrating spot where you just don’t know.
I even thought about those professional authenticators. But then I saw their prices. Whew. They want a good chunk of change just to tell you if you’ve got gold or just a fancy paperweight.
That “Is This Real?” Feeling Again
This whole thing kinda took me back. It wasn’t the first time I’d stumbled on something and thought, “Hey, maybe this is it!”
Years ago, I was at this flea market. Found an old watch. Looked super fancy. The guy selling it gave me this whole spiel about how it was some rare antique. I bartered him down, paid what felt like a lot back then. Took it to a jeweler later. Fake. Worth about five bucks for the strap.
Felt like a complete idiot. You get your hopes up, start imagining things, and then reality just slaps you in the face. It’s a lousy feeling. So, with this baseball, I was trying hard to keep a lid on any excitement. Been down that road, you know?
Digging a Little Deeper
But still, it nagged at me. So, I called my brother. He remembered Dad going to a minor league game once, way back. “Maybe he got it signed then?” he said. Possible, I guess. Dad was impulsive sometimes.
I learned a bit more about those baseballs from his Barons era. Apparently, he signed a fair few. Some were rushed, some were neater. The context mattered. The type of ball, the pen used, all that stuff.
I even took some real close-up photos. Stared at them until my eyes hurt. Tried to see if the ink was on top of the scuffs, or if the scuffs were on top of the ink. You start going a bit crazy with the details.
In the end, what did I find out for sure? Well, not a whole lot, if I’m being honest.
The baseball? It’s sitting on my bookshelf now. It’s a cool story, isn’t it? A bit of a mystery. Every now and then I pick it up, look at that signature, and wonder.
Maybe one of these days I’ll bite the bullet and send it off to get looked at properly. Or maybe not. Sometimes, the not knowing is part of the fun. Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself because I’m too stubborn to pay the expert fees. Ha!
It’s a good reminder of that whole weekend spent in Dad’s dusty attic, though. And a reminder that sometimes, you find the most unexpected things in the most unexpected places. Real or not, it’s got a story. And sometimes, that’s enough.
