One day my little brothers got into a scrap over baseball cards and after some persistent bickering, they brought their dispute into the house and set it before our father, sort of like the dead mouse of our King Solomon parable.
"I wanna swap three of my team cards for just one of his players," Joe-Bins said. "And my cards have perfect corners."
"I'm not trading any of my Bo-Sox," Anthony replied. He held his coveted card to his chest.
My father reached out to Big-A. "Do you trust me?" he asked. My brother nodded yes. "Good. Let me hold the card in question while we settle this-- out of court," my father said, and he chuckled. Then he sighed. "Boys, two-for-one isn't always what it seems--not even three-for one. You see, Anthony's right to change his mind. Carl Yastrezemski! He was one of the greats! Boston won the pennant. He just took the triple crown. You can't put a price on a guy like this."
"But..." Joe-Bins said.
"But nothing, son," my father said. "The team cards aren't worth anything unless they win the pennant--come on!"
"But he didn't keep his promise."
"Okay, let's have a look at your offer. Hmmm. You've got three team cards on the trading block, right? You're offering Milwaukee--that's the city of beer, the Expos--a squad from another country, and the Padres-- a Spanish team. Whoa! Who's trying to pull a fast one here?"
Joe-Bins looked confused. "I like Boston's uniforms," he said
"Your brother Anthony is no fool," my father said. "And here's a tip: You wanna get him talking trade? Stop hording all the Yankees!"