So, Luke French, the baseball player. Yeah, I’ve got a little story about him. Not because he was some mega-star, mind you, but because of a weird Saturday I had a while back.
I was digging through some old boxes in my attic, the kind of stuff you forget you even have. And bam, I find this baseball. Looked old. Had a signature on it, pretty faded. After squinting for a good five minutes, I made out “Luke French.”
Now, I’m no baseball historian. I like a game now and then, but that’s about it. So, I did what anyone would do, I hopped on the internet. Found out he pitched for a few teams, the Tigers, the Mariners. Had his moments, you know, a big league arm.
My brain started buzzing a bit. A signed ball from an MLB player? Could this be one of those hidden gems you hear about? I started thinking, maybe it’s a rookie ball, maybe it’s super rare. You know how your imagination can run away with you.
So, I decided I had to find out. I took an afternoon off, drove down to this collectibles shop. The kind of place that smells like old paper and dreams that didn’t quite pan out. The guy behind the counter, serious as a heart attack, took the ball from me like it was a delicate bomb.
He pulls out this big magnifying glass, hums and haws. Felt like an eternity. Then he looks up, not a flicker of excitement on his face.
“Luke French,” he says, kind of flat. “Yeah, saw him pitch a few times. Solid enough arm for a couple of seasons. This ball?” He rolls it in his hand. “Signature looks okay. Probably got it at a spring training event or one of those minor league things he did trying to get back.”
I’m on the edge of my seat, right? And then he drops the hammer. “Value? Eh, maybe twenty bucks. Thirty, if you find someone who’s a die-hard fan of his short stint with whatever team.”
Twenty bucks! I’d built it up in my head to be this little treasure. I’d spent half my day on this quest. And for what? The price of a couple of fancy coffees.
It was a bit of a letdown, I won’t lie. Felt a little foolish. But then, driving home, I started to laugh. It was just so… ordinary. All that fuss for a perfectly normal piece of memorabilia that probably thousands of people had.
So that’s my Luke French story. He’s not a legend whose name is gonna make me rich. But he’s the guy whose signature gave me a funny little adventure one Saturday. The ball’s still on my shelf. It’s a good reminder that not every old thing is gold, but sometimes the story you get is worth more than the item itself. Or at least, worth a chuckle.
