When he announced he would be auctioning the New York Yankees uniform he wore the day he pitched baseball's only World Series perfect game 56 years ago, Don Larsen said, "What am I going to do with it? I don't want to be dead when it's up for sale."
There was no need to explain or apologize. The auction began last week, and by the time it ends Dec. 5, the 83-year-old Larsen hopes to reap as much as $1 million from the old pinstriped flannels, money he says he'll use to put his two grandsons through college.
"I'm not getting any younger," he said, "and I want to see my grandkids graduate from college. And maybe there'll be something left over."
There can't be a much better use for a baseball relic. And money aside, after the memorabilia finds a new home, left over for Larsen will be a precious thing that doesn't need mothballs: memories.
Even as devoted as sportsmen are to collecting hardware, maybe it's not surprising that Bob Knight is the latest celebrity to sell off part of his athletic glory. Among the gewgaws that just went up for auction are Knight's rings from his three NCAA title teams at Indiana.
Knight says he doesn't wear rings, and besides, he's not the type to keep things around for sentimental value. Bob Knight not sentimental? Who would have guessed?
"I've got stuff I didn't even know I had," he said. "I don't put anything up in the house. If you came into the house, you would think I was a mailman."
Trophies and rings are intended to validate the success a coach or player enjoyed, but Jim Palmer is another former great demonstrating a disinterest in keeping baubles around.
Over the summer, the former Baltimore Orioles pitcher made news when he auctioned his three Cy Young Awards, as well as two Gold Glove awards. The Gold Gloves had spent years in storage, while the Cy Young plaques were collecting dust.
He would have no trouble cherishing his accomplishments, Palmer said, without the mementos.
"It seems like it could make more of a difference in other people's lives," he said, "instead of just hanging on my wall of my office."
The potential poignancy of Larsen, Knight or Palmer selling off their collectibles because of financial need is absent from these stories. Curt Schilling may have to offer up his bloody sock - a talisman of Red Sox lore - as collateral after his business went bust,
but Larsen, Knight and Palmer aren't suffering hardship.
Knight says he'll give some of the money to his grandchildren and charities, while Palmer said the profits from his trophies will help him care for his 15-year-old autistic stepson and his grandkids, with a portion going to the autism project of Florida's Palm Beach County.
In some ways, these icons are cashing in on their former careers one more time. But so what? And if the memorabilia market weren't so robust, you might never read about this.
But don't we all reach a point in our lives when we should clean out our closets, attics and bureau drawers to dispense of items - old trophies included - that once held meaning?
How many of us, though, can pull it off? By getting rid of once-treasured objects, even if we don't remember why they were prized, we're confronting change and admitting we've outgrown a younger version of ourselves.
That's a hard thing for most of us to do. It would be a little easier, one supposes, if somebody wrote us a big, fat check.
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Originally Posted by Dan Druff
