I'm a Professional

Ticket brokers. Most of us hate them. I know my wife does.

My ticket broker career began as a hobby. I had a real job, but used my ticket income to finance my annual pilgrimage to Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs. I technically became a professional broker the day my former employer encouraged me to stop reporting to work.

My wife would like me to regain my amateur status.

In the past, I kept her happy by consistently making good money buying a handful of tickets to games that featured the Cubs biggest rivals (the White Sox and Cardinals)and reselling them on Ebay.

This year, however, I decided to improve upon my business model by buying more tickets to worse games. I didn’t really intend to, but had a friend from Chicago encourage me to buy tickets to a July series against the San Francisco Giants since Barry Bonds would have a chance to set Major League Baseball’s all-time home run record. I didn’t listen to the voice of reason (or was that my wife?) as it tried to explain the improbability of a 42-year-old hitting exactly 21 home runs in half a season. Within minutes of talking to my friend, the 0 tickets I had planned to buy for the Giants series turned into 48. That $2400 was just eating a hole in my credit card available balance anyway. I was sure to make it back 5 times over. I was, after all, a professional.

Five months later, Bonds isn’t close enough to the record for the tickets to be worth anything. But, that didn’t stop me from making the 8-hour drive yesterday from Kansas City to Chicago to try to maximize my profit.

I got to Wrigleyville about 5 hours before game time, and began my quest to sell the 12 bleachers tickets (face value $50 each) that I had for tonight’s Cubs/Giants game. The first broker I visited ripped the tickets from my hand and I watched in horror as he passed some of them to his buddy. I was sure I was about to get three-card montied out of $600 worth of tickets. Instead he peeled off six twenties. “I’ll give you $120,” he said. “$10 a ticket! Oh man am I screwed,” I thought as I calmly walked away.

Two hours later, my calm exterior had deteriorated into equal parts wild-eyed panic and back sweat. After inquiring at almost every ticket agency within walking distance of Wrigley Field, the highest offer I’d received was $20 per ticket. Lacking confidence, I pathetically told one last broker, “I’m just trying to get my money back. I’ll take $45 each.” I’m pretty sure I slobbered on myself when he offered $40.

With a little hard work I was able to turn $600 into $480. Not every ticket sale goes that well, but with a few more successes like this, hopefully my wife will stop asking me to get a day job.