Here are some of my $1 finds at my local card store today. Let me know if I did okay or not!

I was in Atlantic City with some friends who were fighting on a PKA (Professional Karate Association) kickboxing card. We had some downtime before the matches, so we wandered through the casinos.

At one point, we passed a conference room with a simple sign out front that read:

Thomas Hearns

That was it. No explanation. Just his name.

Naturally, we peeked inside. Sitting in the middle of the room was a full boxing ring—empty for the moment. Someone walked by and told us there would be a training session starting shortly and that we were welcome to watch.

We needed confirmation. One of my friends asked,

“Is this for Tommy ‘Hit Man’ Hearns?”

The guy replied,

“Yeah. He’s fighting in a couple of days.”

That was all we needed to hear. We grabbed seats right up front, next to the ring.

Only a handful of people ended up showing up to watch. It wasn’t crowded or staged—just a quiet room with a few spectators. That made it feel like a real privilege: watching an elite, world-class champion of his caliber train just a few feet away from us.

A few minutes later, fighters from Kronk Gym started filing in and warming up. Each one had a different rhythm and style—shadowboxing, footwork, movement. It was incredible watching an elite pool of fighters go through their paces up close.

Then Thomas Hearns walked into the room with his trainer, Emanuel Steward.

We were in awe. The speed. The power. The precision. I remember all of us thinking the same thing: “And Sugar Ray Leonard was somehow even better than this?”

Side note—Sugar Ray Leonard was a hometown hero to us. We grew up in Maryland and followed his career from the Montreal Olympics all the way through his professional run.

Hearns trained for about an hour, then generously stayed to sign autographs. One of my friends dared me to ask him to write:

“To John, my friend from Palmer Park, MD.”

Palmer Park was where Sugar Ray Leonard grew up and still lived at the time.

Normally, I’d take a dumb-but-funny dare like that without hesitation. But after watching Hearns train and spar up close—seeing that kind of greatness just a few feet away?

I chose respect over the dare.

Here’s the photo Mr. Hearns signed for me—one of my favorite collecting memories.

So this is what he looks like when he has his front teeth!

Had this card since I was a kid and pulled it from the wax pack!

Here’s a signed personalized photo by Adam West.

When I was a kid, there was one day I decided to be rebellious and skip school. I took a public bus into downtown D.C. and wandered through the places I usually went whenever I was there.

One of those stops was a gift shop called The Redskins Locker Room. At the time, it was the only place outside the stadium where you could buy official team merchandise—long before gear was everywhere the way it is today. It was a weekday morning, so the store was quiet, nothing like the crowded weekends I was used to.

A couple of weeks earlier, I had watched the NFL Draft coverage where Washington selected a wide receiver out of Syracuse with the 18th overall pick: Art Monk.

When I walked into the store, it had just opened and no customers were there. Toward the back, I noticed the staff setting up a long table and a chair. I didn’t think much of it and continued browsing. Not long after, Art Monk walked in to sign free autographs. A small line formed, I got in it, and I’ve kept that autograph ever since—still in great condition.

I always respected Art Monk not just for his play, but for his conduct on and off the field. His play spoke volumes. He never got overly vocal or talked trash to opposing players. No trash talk. Just actions. Even the famous “Fun Bunch” celebrations after touchdowns were restrained and joyful rather than flashy.

There was an unspoken dignity in his demeanor and style of play—something almost regal. Ironically, I think that quiet professionalism may be one of the reasons he wasn’t inducted into the Hall of Fame sooner. He never demanded attention or called it to himself.

So here is the autographed photo I received during his rookie season—something I truly cherish. It represents not only his elite athleticism, but the quiet respect and admiration he earned from everyone who watched him play.

I’ve always thought of this as one of the best rewards for being rebellious—skipping school, breaking the rules just enough, and stumbling into a moment I’d carry with me for life.

In a game full of noise, he chose substance.