I played the Pokemon trading card game for many years.

Every day after school was another day to fit cards between the slats ofthe old wooden bench on my front porch, lining up dozens of Pokemon tofight against my neighbor's deck.

I've always dreamt that the cards would go to another good home withkids who would treasure the cards as much as I have, obsessively sortingthem to build the best decks with the coolest cards.

One year, these cards traveled with me to a tournament on the morning ofmy brother's birthday. I'd spent the whole evening crafting andpreparing my deck to destroy the competition – I'd even gotten a newcard, the Typhlosion Prime, that I hoped would help me best them.

"You need sleeves to play with cards like that!"

"Sorry, but you have five copies of Ponyta in your deck. You'll haveto remove one to play."

Yesterday I sold my collection of Pokemon cards for \$50. As she left,the woman mentioned she knew some people who might be interested in someof the old cards – that she'd have an easy time flipping them to make alot of money.

I don't care anymore.