National Orioles Collectors Convention

You know something oddly refreshing and sort of strange about my fiance? He never talks about wanting anything. Ever. Aside from a chocolate chip cookie here and a short nap there, Wheat is seemingly content with where he is, what he's doing, and what he has at all times. Although I'm not much of a material possessions kind of girl, you can hear any of the following phrases come from my mouth on any given day:

I want Chipotle. I want to sleep in tomorrow. I want to go to San Francisco. I want to see a movie. I want to do something. I want a fountain soda. I want a month-long, all-expenses-paid European vacation.

You know, the usual stuff.

So, on the rare occasion when Wheat actually speaks up about wanting something, I listen. For the last couple years, he has expressed an interest in attending the annual National Sports Collectors Convention, which was held in Chicago this year. So, like the attentive and doting girlfriend I am, I designed a coupon that promised him we'd go this summer and gave it to him for Christmas. Then, I promptly forgot about it until he brought it up over dinner three weeks ago. Oops.

...and that's why I spent six hours in the car and five hours walking around a convention center in Chicago on the day after my colonoscopy/One Direction adventure.

Don't let me fool you. I absolutely wanted to go. If you know anything about me at all, you know I live on cereal I, too, am a sports fanatic and that's kinda why I met Wheat in the first place. So, with bags packed because we weren't sure if we were staying the night, we hit the road for the Windy City bright and early on Saturday morning.

The convention, which was held in the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center, was a sports fan's dreamland. I can't even articulate to you how many booths, overflowing with collector cards, autographed items, jerseys, and other memorabilia, filled the space. All sports were represented and I even spotted some miscellaneous, non-sports pop culture items, like props from the set of Sons of Anarchy and these awesome Backstreet Boys trading cards. Somehow, I refrained from buying them.

I kid you not, we spent five straight hours perusing the rows of booths, admiring items we could never afford and contemplating those we could. Here were some of my personal highlights:

- Old-school Bengals and Reds pennants, posters, albums, knick-knacks, and signed jerseys. I almost pulled the trigger on the A.J. Green jersey, but ultimately decided against it.

- An incredible artist who was painting Clayton Kershaw when we stopped by his booth. I really wanted the Aaron Rodgers one, but they were $3,000 each. Ouch.

- Upper Deck (the trading card company) did a hockey raffle and I actually won a prize! I got a puck signed by up-and-coming Dallas Stars winger Brett Ritchie and I was thrilled like I hit the lottery.

- A Wayne Gretzky plush doll that only cost $25. I'm still kicking myself for not buying it.

- Dwier Brown, the actor who played John Kinsella (Kevin Costner's dad) in Field of Dreams, was there, pimping his memoir, If You Build It...I desperately wanted Wheat to ask him to play catch.

- A Michael Jordan growth chart. Enough said.

As expected, Wheat fawned over all things Baltimore Orioles, including Brooks Robinson's actual MVP award from 1964. Athletes were signing autographs on one side of the convention and I tried my hardest to see my other boyfriend, Brian Urlacher, but it was impossible for my eyes to penetrate the wall of Chicago fans who paid over $100 for his autograph. Been there, done that. Miss you, boo.

In the end, Wheat walked away with a vintage Davidson pennant from the 1940s and a signed Manny Machado jersey. I walked away with a Brian Urlacher bobble head from his 2001 Pro Bowl appearance. As if I could pass that up...

After some debate and minor whining on my part because a) Do you know how gloriously tempting Chicago looks from the highway? and b) Sam Smith was performing at Lollapalooza that night and I was missing it (see what I mean about always wanting something?), we decided to head home and save our aching legs and some money.

...which basically means that next year I can afford the Gretzky doll, right?