There are two ways most people look at a trading card.
They either ask, “What is it worth?” or they ask, “Where did you get that?”
Both are valid. But only one of them tells a story.
If you’ve spent any time in the hobby, you already know that some cards have very real, measurable value. Condition, scarcity, grading, population reports, historical significance, player performance, market demand — all of these factors come together to determine price. A PSA 10 Charizard, a low-population rookie card, or a sealed vintage box carries a value that can be tracked, graphed, and debated.
That side of collecting matters. It always has.
But it’s not the whole story.
I’ve been a collector since 1985. Back then, I wasn’t thinking about population reports or return on investment. I was chasing something else entirely — the thrill.
I remember ripping 1985 Topps baseball wax packs, hoping to pull Kirby Puckett, Roger Clemens, Dwight Gooden, or Mark McGwire rookies. Not because I thought they’d be worth something one day, but because they felt important. Those names meant something. The moment meant something.
That same year, Garbage Pail Kids hit the scene. Series 1. Evil Eddie. Adam Bomb. Those cards didn’t just go into a box — they filled pages in binders that I flipped through over and over again. Each page felt like a collection of wins.
Then in 1988, Kenner released Starting Lineup figures. For the first time, the players we watched came to life in a different way. Football, baseball, hockey — the biggest names of the era turned into something you could hold, display, and connect with.
That stretch of time — the mid to late 80s — was pure collecting at its best.
Value didn’t matter.
What mattered was how it felt.
I can still remember where I was when I pulled certain cards. Who I was with. The excitement of opening packs. The pride of adding something new to the collection. Those memories stuck in a way that no price guide ever could.
Fast forward to a couple of years ago.
I came across a post on Facebook — just a single image. It stopped me immediately. It was a card, but not in the traditional sense. It featured a Starting Lineup-style action shot that felt incredibly familiar, like something pulled straight out of my memory.
That image led me to discover Paul Schlossman, an incredibly talented artist who has found a way to blend sports, nostalgia, and art into something unique. His work doesn’t just depict athletes — it brings back entire eras.
Looking at his pieces felt like reconnecting with a part of my collection that never really left, just went quiet for a while.
Since then, I’ve picked up several of his sports figurine art cards and started a new kind of chase — getting them signed by the players themselves. So far, I’ve collected five signed pieces (Nolan Ryan, Mark McGwire, Mike Modano, Bo Jackson, Shaquille O'Neal), with four more on the list: Emmitt Smith, Ozzie Smith, Derek Jeter, and Wayne Gretzky.
That pursuit isn’t easy. In fact, it’s going to be challenging, especially with licensing and access. But that’s part of what makes it meaningful. The difficulty adds weight to the journey.
And here’s the key — those cards, once completed, will be priceless to me.
Not because the market says so.
Because of what they represent.
This is where the distinction matters.
Some cards have value because the market assigns it.
Other cards are priceless because you assign it.
One is driven by demand. The other is driven by connection.
In today’s world, especially with the rise of Pokémon and modern TCGs, it’s easy for outsiders to focus only on the financial side. People see headlines, big sales, and graded slabs and assume it’s all about money.
But take a closer look.
Pokémon is the largest intellectual property in the world, and for good reason. The artwork, the evolution of the cards over the past 30 years, the emotional connection people have to specific characters — it all adds up to something much bigger than price.
If you really study the cards — not just glance at them, but actually look — you’ll see the detail, the creativity, the storytelling. Each era reflects a moment in time, both in design and in the lives of the people collecting them.
That’s what we’re building with The Trading Floor Cards, LLC.
Yes, we deal in graded cards. Yes, we care about value, margins, and inventory. That side of the business is real, and it’s necessary. Buying, selling, and reinvesting allows us to grow, serve the community, and stay active in the hobby.
But that’s not the only goal.
The deeper purpose is to fuel the hobby itself.
To help collectors find the cards that mean something to them.
To create moments — whether it’s pulling a chase card, picking up a long-sought-after piece, or rediscovering a connection to something from years ago.
For me, the business is also personal.
The profits aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet. They’re fuel. They allow me to continue chasing the cards and collectibles that bring me back to why I started in the first place.
Because at the end of the day, the best pieces in any collection aren’t always the most expensive ones.
They’re the ones that take you somewhere.
Back to a room, a moment, a person.
Back to a feeling you can’t replicate any other way.
That’s what makes something priceless.
And if you’ve ever held a card and immediately remembered exactly where you were when you got it — you already understand.
*If you'd like to explore the artwork of Paul Schlossman you can visit his website: https://paulschlossman.photography/