Once upon a time in Queens, baseball cards were as integral a part of summer as hot dogs at the ballpark. From the late 1950s through the early 1980s, kids in Mets fanatic New York City neighborhoods like Bayside, Flushing, and Jackson Heights spent warm sunny days collecting, trading, and sorting baseball cards with their friends. Whether kids were at the playground, the neighborhood candy store, or just hanging around outside, chances are they had a shoebox full of cards with them as they swapped stories and stats.

Those were the glory days for baseball cards. Manufacturers like Topps, Fleer, and Donruss pumped out affordable penny packs of gum and cards at newsstands and grocery stores across the city. Kids eagerly awaited the annual release of the new season’s series each spring. Within a few weeks, every player would get his card in the hands of collectors nationwide as packs flew off shelves. Completing a full set was a coveted achievement that kept kids trading furiously all summer long.

For Mets fans especially, the 1960s brought a treasure trove of iconic rookie cards as the new National League expansion franchise stocked its roster. Kids quickly amassed collections featuring future Hall of Famers like Tom Seaver, Nolan Ryan, and Jerry Koosman. Other memorable rookie cards from the team’s early years included Ed Kranepool, Tug McGraw, Cleon Jones, and Ron Swoboda. Completing the rainbow of their Mets debuts became an obsession.

As the long baseball season played out over the hot city summers, kids followed the ups and downs of their favorite ballclubs closely through box scores in the Daily News. Afternoon games on WOR Channel 9 brought the action to life for even the poorest kids without tickets. And with every home run or shutout pitched by their Mets stars, the value of those prized rookie cards in shoeboxes grew exponentially. Kids daydreamed about what those pristinemint condition gems might someday be worth.

But the real joy of collecting came from the art of the trade. Kids learned early that the only way to finish a set and obtain the elusive parallel or insert cards was through endless swapping and haggling with friends. Difficult to trade players like Nolan Ryan became hot commodities that kids worked tirelessly to move. Clever traders rose to local fame by amassing stockpiles through stacks of repeat commons. An artful offer that parted a kid from their prized “error card” took real dealmaking skills.

As the 1970s dawned, science-fiction illustrated sets from Topps like Star Wars and Superman made cardboard collecting even bigger. Kids now collected more than just balls and bats. Bubblegum cards became coveted portals to pop culture alongside sports. The allure of possibilities beyond the ballpark captured imaginations for entire generations.

Through good teams and bad, the great Mets players of those glory days like Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Tug McGraw, and the rest were immortalized forever in the cardboard collections of generations of grateful Queens kids. Even as players were traded or careers wound down, their shining rookie cards remained. Stashed away in shoeboxes under beds and in dresser drawers, those memories of summers past collecting, trading and scorekeeping with neighborhood friends would never fade.

The early 1980s saw the rise of higher-priced specialty and licensed cards that signaled the beginning of the shift from kids’ hobby to adult investment sector. By the 1990s, estimated values for vintage 1960s rookie cards listed in the Beckett Price Guide made collectors’ childhood collections seem like forgotten treasure troves. A pristine Tom Seaver rookie fetched thousands, while a miscut error card might bring tens of thousands to serious vintage card shows. Overnight, shoeboxes under beds became potential retirement funds.

But for all the dollar signs that vintage cards bring today, nothing can replace the simple joy and community that childhood baseball card collecting fostered for generations, especially for Mets fans in 1960s and ’70s Queens. Whether complete sets sit proudly in display boxes or long-cherished memories remain of summers past trading on stoops and playgrounds, those magical cardboard relics from the dawn of a baseball dynasty will always have a special place in the collective memory of New York’s favorite borough. The simple act of collecting cards brought neighborhood kids together and gave them a shared passion for their beloved local team during its formative years. And it’s doubtful any serious Mets collector today came of age without once upon a time being part of that glorious cardboard culture that helped shape the identity of Queens baseball fans forever. Long live the cardboard king of summers past in the borough of champions.