I was set up at the Culture Collision Collector’s Show in Atlanta this weekend with a table full of ticket stubs—nearly a thousand of them. Baseball, football, concerts, all eras. Most people walk by, glance, and move on.
Jace stopped.
He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. He was an obvious Braves fan as evidenced by his 1995 World Champions sweatshirt. He was clearly intrigued by a table that didn’t hold cards, a mixture of confusion mixed with curiosity showed. Do people really collect these? We started talking. I explained what stubs really are—not just paper but history you could hold and research.
As we talked, Jace mentioned his grandfather. He remembered that he had kept a few stubs. He also mentioned remembering a 1996 Atlanta Olympics baseball stub his parents had tucked away.
We talked about many of the stubs, especially those related to Atlanta sports. That’s when collecting stubs clicks for people. Standing there at a baseball card show it suddenly made sense to him.
As we talked, I pulled out a stub from game three of the 1991 World Series. Braves fans know what that season meant to Atlanta—the worst-to-first run, the electricity in the city, the beginning of even bigger things to come. The first World Series game ever played in Atlanta.
I handed it to him—not to sell, just to give.
His reaction said everything.
It wasn’t about condition or value. It was about connection. That ticket tied together his love for the Braves, his city, and a family memory he hadn’t thought much about until that moment. It showed him that ticket stubs aren’t clutter—they’re receipts from moments that mattered.
By the time Jace walked away, he wasn’t just holding a World Series ticket. He had discovered a hobby he hadn’t realized even existed. More than that, he had a new way to look at the past—and at those stubs his grandfather saved for a reason.
Those are my favorite moments at shows. Not the sales. The handoffs. Watching someone realize that a torn piece of paper can hold an entire story.
That’s how new stub collectors are born—one conversation, one ticket, one memory at a time.
Leave a comment