I'll Give You a Mike Greenwell rookie for Jessie Barfield and Billy Ripken

My grandfather died yesterday. It's not that big of a deal to me. He was my mother's father, and he was never around so this doesn't affect me in any real way. I mean, sure, it's sad when someone dies, and I guess a little sadder since he was family. But still, I can't say I really missed him when he wasn't around or will miss him now that he isn't around in the serious, hardcore sense of the word. He wasn't a bad man and I'm not bitter about him not being in my life. That's just the way it was. I had other grandparents who were a big part of my life, and other older relatives who filled in the niche he would have occupied. Taking your grandkids to an amusement park and spending $50 on us at Toys-R-Us once a year is hardly grandparenting. But it is a pretty sweet deal for a 10-year-old.

Though Grandpa O'Connell did buy me my first pack of baseball cards. A pack of 1986 Topps. I was into collecting baseball stickers -- where each team has a page and you fill in the player's sticker in the appropriate place. So I was incredibly disappointed when he brought baseball cards as a present. What was I supposed to do, tape them into the book? But there's something monumental in an American boy's introduction to baseball cards. It's a big part of any boys' life. Grandpa may have hated my Young MC tape and my skateboard, but he understood baseball cards the way his sons did and maybe even his father did, and the way I eventually did when I realized how lame the frigging sticker book was. And, despite not really ever being around, and me not knowing him, and me not even really caring that I didn't, he somehow managed to impact my life in a surprisingly profound way. Baseball cards.

And so for that I'm a little sad he died. Hopefully the afterlife is a little bit happier place for you than this world was.