Signature Scumbags

Like Brian Fogle. Standing in the autograph pavilion, he's admiring the new Art Schlichter signature ($40) on his prized leather Buckeyes jacket. It's covered in silver autographs from players as far back as the '50s, including several Heisman winners. "It's the greatest Ohio State jacket in Ohio State history," Fogle announces. Asked about the rest of his collection, he reveals a stack of photos that he has ready for moments like this. They're pictures of his house, which is wall-to-wall scarlet and gray. "That's all you gotta know right there."

Fogle, quite naturally, is single. "No wife gonna put up with that shit," he says. "It ain't happenin'." If a woman inexplicably fell for him, "She better be an Ohio State fan. She a Michigan fan, she's gettin' buried in the back."

So, yes -- thankfully, they charge men like Fogle for autographs; otherwise there would be many more men like him in the world. But don't shelve your new Gordie Howe stick just yet.

Just a few feet away, a middle-aged dad ushers his son as close as he can -- about 40 feet -- to Bob Feller, to make sure the boy knows the old Indians hurler's face. That's when the boy asks about an autograph. Unfortunately, Dad's face says, those go for a week's worth of a groceries.

"That's cheap," the kid says. He's talking about the players, not the prices.

Nettles is right: There are plenty of collectors here. But there are plenty of men who stopped collecting long ago, when they decided it would be cool if they could actually get a date. Ask these men about the show, and they talk longingly, joyfully about their own collecting days. Between bites of his hot dog ($2,745), one dad recalls the time he met Muhammad Ali. "The best part was just shaking his hand," he says. As he tells the story, his young son looks on, eyes as wide as a Natalie Gulbis-autographed golf ball ($30). Nearby, another boy doesn't have to wait for his dad's story; he's heard it so many times, he can tell it himself: "In 1968, he got four Nolan Ryan rookies, and my grandma made him throw 'em away!"

But when you ask these dads if they'll be getting any autographs, their faces fall. Market-driven or not, the prices have a way of making fiscally responsible fathers look like they lost their kids' college fund playing Pai Gow. For them, the autograph pavilion is for window-shopping only.

There are, of course, those mysterious free autographs for kids: a banner hangs over the showroom floor, advertising "free kids autographs," no doubt sending plenty into Boobie Gibson-induced frenzies. But when you ask around, the dads all answer with the same shrug of the shoulders.

"No one seems to know where it's at," says Brian Hawkins, lingering with his sons, Chris and Grant, near the players. Ten-year-old Grant doesn't follow. "So we can get autographs for free?" he asks, his face freckled with hope.

"We don't know," Dad says flatly.

If he investigates, he'll learn that his sons missed their chance: Free Autograph Day was a three-and-a-half-hour window on Friday morning, when Pops had to work. That opportunity gone, the Hawkins family just lingers near the players. Grant manages to sneak up to Eric Dickerson between autographs and say hello. Dickerson, talking on his cell phone and hiding behind mirrored sunglasses, politely responds. But there will be no autograph: That's $80 Brian Hawkins doesn't have.

"I understand it costs to bring these people in," he says, "but by the time you pay the high cost of getting into the show . . ."

His voice trails off. But around here, the finances are so simple, even 13-year-old Chris gets it: "It's too much."