Season Passes Are Starting To Feel Like A Scam
I was raised in a household that worshiped baseball. This meant I spent a good chunk of my weekly allowance on baseball cards. I was a collector. My father was a collector. It was serious business for us, yet even after opening hundreds of packs together, the thrill of seeing which cards we would get never lost its luster. In a way, it was my childhood version of a slot machine, complete with an unhealthy amount of anxiety that either gave...