I picked up all four volumes of the Shang-Chi Omnibus along with both Deadly Hands of Kung Fu collections, and I wanted to keep them in great condition. So I stopped by a used bookstore that sells Brodart book covers—the plastic jackets that protect dust covers.

The man behind the counter said he wasn’t busy and offered to put the covers on for me. He mentioned he had a pile of comics in the back if I wanted to browse while he worked, and casually added that there were some Shang-Chi issues back there too—though he figured I might not be interested since I already had the omnibuses.

I went to take a look anyway… and sitting there was Marvel Spotlight #15 — Shang-Chi’s first appearance, in mint condition. At the time, the movie hadn’t come out yet, but it was already in production.

I picked it up and he said, “That’s been on the shelf for a couple decades. I’d like to see it go to a good home. Is twenty bucks a fair price?”

I agreed immediately.

Not long after that, the value of the comic shot up to around $800–$1,000. And to top it off, I later met Jim Starlin at a convention—and he signed it.

Got these cards signed by him when he was just a rookie at a card show here in L.A.

Growing up a Washington fan, you hear a lot about toughness… but Ken Houston was on a different level. The guy had guts, heart, and a kind of quiet fearlessness that defined our teams in the ’70s.

What always made him special to me was that he wasn’t the biggest safety out there — 6’3”, under 200 pounds — but he hit like a linebacker and carried himself like someone who just refused to break. He brought that mentality from his college days playing offensive line and linebacker. You could see it in every snap. And the man never missed a game — 183 straight — until a broken arm finally stopped the streak.

But if you’re from DC, there’s one moment that is Ken Houston:

1973. Monday Night Football. Washington vs. Dallas.

If you grew up in that rivalry, you know the feeling: nerves, pride, hatred of the star on that helmet. Everything was on the line.

Dallas has the ball at our 1-yard line.

Seconds left.

They score, and the game’s tied.

Walt Garrison — tough as they come — takes the handoff and lowers his shoulder. Nine out of ten times, that’s a touchdown.

But Ken Houston met him right there, head-on.

Wrapped him up.

And stopped him inches short of the goal line.

Game over.

Washington wins 14–7.

The entire city erupted.

That play wasn’t just a tackle.

It was Washington’s identity in one moment — grit, pride, and refusing to let the Cowboys take anything easy.

And that’s who Ken Houston was.

A playmaker with incredible instincts — he even scored five defensive touchdowns in one season — but more importantly, a leader whose toughness lifted everyone around him.

Opponents respected him. Teammates trusted him. And fans like me will always remember him as the kind of player who didn’t just make big plays… he made the plays.

A Hall of Famer because he played with heart first, everything else second.

This card is from my personal collection I have had since I was a kid taken from a waxpack. The scratches are from the plastic holder, not the card that’s in nm condition.

Anyone here old enough to remember Willie Mays had an animated tv show on Saturday mornings?!?

This card captures one of the most dramatic turning points in baseball history.

For decades, Babe Ruth’s 714 home runs were considered untouchable. When this card was printed, Ruth was still listed as the undisputed king — but the moment was already slipping away. Hank Aaron sat at 673, steadily closing in. Willie Mays was still within striking distance as well. The card freezes a very specific moment in time, right before baseball’s record books were about to change forever.

It’s also a culturally important snapshot. Ruth represents baseball’s early era, while Aaron and Mays — two Black superstars — were redefining the sport and challenging its most sacred milestones. Aaron, in particular, was enduring incredible pressure and hostility as he approached Ruth’s record. Seeing all three players together on one card illustrates a powerful transition between generations.

This is one of the last cards ever printed that shows Babe Ruth on top of the all-time home run list. Within a few years, Aaron would pass him, and the hierarchy on cards like this would never look the same again.

A piece of cardboard, but an entire era frozen in place.