The Weekly Rip 7.6.25 [Coping]
We explore how coping with a loss can lead to strength in your collection.
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The Weekly Rip
Your Stacking Slabs Sunday Update
July 6, 2025
When Collecting Becomes Coping
I’ve been a sports fan my whole life.
But nothing hit me like Game 7 of the NBA Finals.
It wasn’t just the Pacers loss.
It was Tyrese Haliburton, pounding the floor, grabbing at his Achilles.
It was the silence in my house. It was the disbelief. It was the sinking feeling that something beautiful had been taken too soon.
I couldn’t even watch the rest of the game like a normal person. I was present physically, but mentally, I was spiraling. I didn’t want to hear commentary. I didn’t want to refresh Twitter. I didn’t want to face the reality that the best Pacers run of my lifetime had ended in the worst possible way.
And yet, something unexpected happened in the days that followed.
I didn’t disconnect. I didn’t put my fandom on pause.
I opened my card case.
And I started looking at Haliburton cards.
Not with disappointment. Not with frustration. But with gratitude.
Because this kid who came to Indiana and instantly became the heartbeat of the franchise—gave me the most meaningful stretch I’ve ever experienced as a sports fan. Those games meant something. That run was unforgettable.
I’ve spent the past few weeks chasing Haliburton cards like never before.
You’d think I’d need space. That I’d want to step away for a bit.
But I’ve found the opposite to be true.
I’m more emotionally invested now than I’ve ever been. And collecting has become the outlet I didn’t even know I needed.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way. When Andrew Luck retired, I had the same reaction.
I left that preseason game at Lucas Oil with hope. I got home, opened my phone, and saw the Schefter tweet that changed everything. “Andrew Luck is retiring.”
That one sentence felt like a gut punch. It took me weeks to process.
And when the dust settled, I didn’t walk away from football. I started collecting Luck harder than ever.
Because collecting isn’t just about nostalgia. It’s not about building a portfolio or chasing the next flip.
It’s about making sense of moments that don’t make sense.
It’s about holding onto something tangible when everything else feels uncertain.
It’s about preserving joy in the face of loss.
That’s what collecting Haliburton feels like right now.
It’s not about the prices.
It’s not about the comps.
It’s not about whether he’ll bounce back in a year.
It’s about honoring the moments that mattered.
It’s about holding a card in my hand and being transported back to the buzzer beaters, the postgame celebrations, the run that made this entire city come alive.
It’s about connection.
Every collection has emotional anchors. Cards that aren’t leaving your PC no matter what. Not because they’re worth the most—but because they mean the most.
That’s what Haliburton is to me.
And while it’s painful to know he won’t be on the floor next season, I’m still here. I’m still chasing. Because this isn’t forever. He’s coming back. And every day that passes is one step closer to seeing him do it again.
Collecting during the high points is easy. It’s fun. It’s noisy. You feel validated.
But collecting during the low points—that’s where you find clarity.
That’s where you realize what you’re really in this for.
The hobby is loud right now. Everyone wants to make the right play. Buy before the breakout. Sell at the peak. What’s the move?
None of that applies here.
I’m not collecting Haliburton because I’m trying to get ahead of the market.
I’m collecting him because he took me on a ride I’ll never forget. Because when I think about this season—when I think about the choke sign, the MSG game winner, the sheer joy of watching him put the city on his back—I feel something. And that feeling is worth chasing.
I know what this looks like from the outside. Emotional. Irrational. Maybe even a little impulsive.
But I’ve been doing this long enough to know when something matters.
And this matters.
We all have stories that shape the way we collect. Sometimes it’s a win. Sometimes it’s a loss. But it always comes back to connection.
So I’ll ask you:
What are the three cards in your collection that hold the most emotion?
Are you collecting because of momentum or because of meaning?
Have you ever had a heartbreak moment that changed the way you collect?
These are the questions that keep us grounded. These are the questions that make this more than a hobby.
This is what it means to collect for keeps.
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Reissue: More Than Cardboard
What happens when the cards you collect don’t just represent value, but take you back to where you grew up, who you were with, and how it felt?
That’s the story Tony (@tj.isonline) shared on Episode 216 — and it’s not just about vintage. It’s about why collecting becomes more meaningful when it mirrors your memories.
Tony didn’t start collecting because of hype. He started because of a Mike Schmidt card on top of a Phillies repack. Because of Saturday trips to the Berlin Farmers Market. Because the stadium was close enough to hear the crowd roar from his roof.
That’s the kind of collecting energy that doesn’t fade. It builds.
What stood out in this conversation wasn’t his PSA 8 run of Carlton or Schmidt. It was the way each card was tied to a person, a place, or a moment. This episode is a reminder that the best collections don’t follow trends — they follow your life.
Let’s break it down.
What We Learned from This Episode
Tony didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a vintage collector. He became one by living next to the story.
He could walk to the Vet. He could hear the fans. His dad raised him to stay through the final out. And when he picked up cards as a kid, it wasn’t to flip — it was to remember who he was watching on the field a few nights earlier.
That energy never left.
When his son got into cards in 2015, Tony didn’t just pick up where he left off. He went deeper. He started chasing the cards he couldn’t afford as a kid. He bought them not for investment potential — but because they meant something then and still do now.
The 1973 O-Pee-Chee Schmidt. The Carlton rookie. The Reggie Jackson proof. The cards that connect his childhood to his present. And when he cracked open an ’86 Fleer box with his dad nearly 40 years later, he recorded the whole thing — so he could remember the way it felt to remember.
That’s collecting. Not accumulation. Not speculation. Just connection.
What This Means for Collecting in 2025
If you’re chasing cards that reflect who you are — not what the market wants — you’re on the right track.
Here’s the play:
If you’re sitting on cards from your childhood, revisit them. Pull them out. See what memories come back. You might realize they mean more than anything you bought this year.
If you collect with your kids, focus less on what’s worth grading and more on what’s worth remembering. One card in a beat-up box on a nightstand might mean more than a PSA 10 ever could.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the noise, go quiet. Go inward. Think about the players, places, and stories that shaped your fandom. That’s where the best collections begin.
Because when it’s all said and done, it’s not about cardboard.
It’s about where it takes you.
I appreciate your support for Stacking Slabs. Tell a damn friend.
Take care,
Brett