Culture
A guide to Christmas-themed trading cards: From Santa Claus to Clark Griswold
Sports stars, celebrities, and even cryptocurrency all have rookie cards… but does Santa Claus? It’s a question you may ask yourself after consuming a little too much nutmeg. And since the season of giving is officially here, I want to spread some holiday cheer by highlighting Christmas-themed trading cards, which is a bigger niche than you may realize.
So let’s dive into a fun corner of the trading card world, one dominated by the GOAT of gift giving himself: Old St. Nick.
A brief history of Santa Claus trading cards
An 1891 Woolson Spice card. (Photo: eBay)
There isn’t a concrete origin story of Santa Claus trading cards, but some of the first examples in the United States date back to the late 1800s. Ohio-based company Woolson Spice created several artistic Christmas trading cards featuring Santa sitting around the tree with children or on his sleigh. Woolson Spice used the back of the cards to advertise its products, such as Lion Coffee.
There technically isn’t a card from the 19th century that’s coined as Santa’s “true” rookie card among the collecting community, but one of his most known from the time can be found in the 1890 Duke Holidays set. The popular tobacco company produced a 50-card set featuring three Christmas cards, but only the U.S. variation included Santa Claus. According to Professional Sports Authenticators’ (PSA) graded population report, the company has authenticated less than 15 copies. An example of the card is even in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s collection.
1890 Duke Holidays Christmas, U.S. card. (Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art)
It’s fascinating to see Santa Claus’ evolution from how he was depicted back then compared to today. Many early picture cards showed a thinner-looking version, sometimes dressed in a green or brown suit. It was Coca-Cola’s advertisements starting in the early 1930s that cemented the image of Santa Claus that we have today (although it was political cartoonist Thomas Nast who originated it in the 1860s). And yes, there are trading cards featuring those old Coke ads that were made in the 1990s.
In the late 1980s, the sports card industry exploded in popularity and began producing more and more sets. One of the first Santa Claus cards that caught the attention of modern collectors is the iconic 1989 Pro Set Football card. The promotional card was given to card shop owners and dealers during the holidays and could not be pulled out of packs, which heightened demand for it.
1989 Pro Set promo card. (Photo: eBay)
The front of the card lists Santa Claus as a “player-coach” and depicts him wearing a baseball cap bearing his own name and a red satin jacket emblazoned with the NFL logo. Inexplicably, he is holding up the very same trading card that he is on, creating a mind-bending card-ception loop. Behind Santa Claus, through a snow-covered window are two Pro Set executives dressed as elves (Leaf remade this card in 2021 with a selection of notable figures ranging from Donald Trump to Pele there instead, which can complicate searches for the more valuable original). The back of the card features Santa Claus’ vital info and a scouting report.
It was such a hit that Pro Set began putting Santa Claus cards into its sets starting in 1990. All of those were printed in far higher quantities, making them easy to obtain today, but the ‘89 card is still highly sought after, with “gem mint” PSA 10 graded copies selling for around $500 to $750.
As the sports card industry continued to innovate in the 1990s, it opened up new opportunities to celebrate the holidays through autograph and memorabilia cards. One of the first autographed cards of Santa Claus can be found in 1991’s Pro Line Portraits with the rarest version limited to 200 copies.
In 1998, Upper Deck produced an oversized Kris Kringle promo card featuring a velvety red piece of “holiday-worn jersey” that was exclusive to the company’s Collector’s Club members. The card can be found on eBay for around $20.
In 2007, Topps created the most comprehensive offering yet, with a special Santa Claus Holiday Set that contains 18 cards, all featuring versions of Santa Claus on Topps’ most popular designs of all time, including a Kris Kringle relic card, an autograph card, and a rookie card that pays homage to Mickey Mantle’s famous 1952 Topps card. Instead of being a “Topps Certified Autograph,” the signed card in this set is a “Topps Santafied Autograph,” with the back of the card insisting, “Santa himself signed this card with the very pen he uses to make his list of all the naughty and nice children around the world.” The back of the relic card, bearing a piece of Santa’s suit, says, “Topps acquired this suit from Santa himself, who requested it be spread as far and as wide as possible so everyone could have a piece of his holiday spirit to cherish and revisit whenever they wish.”
2007 Topps Holiday Set. (Photo: eBay)
In recent years, Topps has produced more Santa Claus autograph and relic cards for its holiday baseball sets (more on those in a minute), but the disclosures have gotten decidedly less whimsical. “The relic on this card is not from anything at all,” says the back of a 2019 offering.
Over the last decade or so, the hobby’s annual holiday set releases have produced more Santa Claus trading cards than ever before. In the most recent Topps Holiday set releases, collectors can pull rare chase cards of other classic North Pole characters such as Mrs. Claus, Frosty the Snowman, the Gingerbread Man, and more.
Holiday-themed sports sets
The sports card industry offers a few holiday-themed sets that bring a seasonal vibe to collecting with unique player-worn holiday sweater cards and festive super short print variations.
The main baseball card release centered around this festive time of the year is Topps Holiday. First produced in 2016, the set has holiday-inspired designs of the MLB’s rookies and stars where you can find hidden elves, snowflakes, and Christmas lights on cards. Collectors can pull autograph cards, player-worn Christmas hat relics, and those aforementioned rare relic/auto cards of Santa Claus. Topps Holiday sets are retail exclusives that can be found online and in stores like Target and Walmart.
2024 Topps Holiday Bobby Witt, Jr. image variation. (Photo: eBay)
A few years after the first Topps Holiday release, Panini, which produces NFL and NBA licensed trading cards, began offering Hoops Basketball and Donruss Football holiday-themed sets that have also become popular with collectors. In 2022 Donruss Football, Panini released a visually stunning Santa Claus Downtown insert. The ultra-rare case hit (there has traditionally been only one Downtown insert per every couple hundred packs) is still in massive demand, with PSA 10 copies selling for more than $1,500. The one-of-a-kind Clearly Donruss Holo parallel of this card sold for $3,234.71 in June of this year — a record high for a Santa Claus card, according to CardLadder’s database, which tracks card sales across major online marketplaces.
I would consider these products to be more collector-focused, with less monetary value on average than many other sets, but they offer plenty of chase cards and autograph relics of top rookies and stars that can still fetch hundreds of dollars. PSA 10 Topps Holiday base rookie cards of superstars like Aaron Judge and Shohei Ohtani sell for north of $100.
Classic holiday movie trading cards
This Peter Billingsley autographed A Christmas Story card sold for $750. (Photo: eBay)
One of my favorite holiday traditions is to sit back with a glass of eggnog and watch Christmas movies — a genre that is also making its way into trading card forms now. This year, actor Chevy Chase released a Christmas Vacation 35th Anniversary Box Set that offers signed cards of the Griswold family and personally used Chevy Chase relic cards. The limited edition release of 300 boxes quickly sold out, but a few have made it to eBay.
Cryptozoic Entertainment and Marquee Trading Cards recently put out a similar set based on the beloved holiday movie “A Christmas Story” to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the film’s release. Collectors have the chance to pull single and dual autograph cards signed by the cast, hand-drawn sketch cards, and serial-numbered chase cards. Sealed boxes are available on eBay for around $130 and a 1/1 Peter Billingsley (Ralphie) autograph card inscribed “I want a Red Ryder!” has already been pulled from a pack and sold for a penny shy of $1,000.
Billingsley also signed cards for Leaf, some with an “Oh fudge” inscription that are being sold for $99 each — exactly what someone might say after their loved ones find out they spent $99 on a Ralphie autographed card.
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(Top photo: Stephen Pond/Getty Images)
Now that we’ve memorized the first half of our poem, let’s learn a little more about the man who wrote it. (Haven’t memorized anything yet? Click here to start at the beginning.)
For most of his life, Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73) was a star. He was widely read, quoted, argued over and gossiped about, achieving a level of fame that few writers now — and not many then — could contemplate. His New York Times obituary did not hesitate to call him “the foremost poet of his generation.”
Celebrity of that kind is ephemeral, but Auden’s words have continued to circulate in the half century since his death. Maybe you’ve heard some of them before. In the 1994 film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” his poem “Funeral Blues” is recited by Matthew (John Hannah) over the casket of his lover, Gareth (Simon Callow).
In the Gen-X touchstone “Before Sunrise” (1995), Jesse (Ethan Hawke) regales Celine (Julie Delpy) with an impression of Dylan Thomas reading Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”
In both these scenes, the characters use Auden’s poetry to give voice to a longing for which they otherwise might not have words. Auden’s poetry is often useful in that way. It speaks to recognizable human occasions, and it isn’t always all about him.
“The More Loving One” might not be something you’d quote at a funeral or on a date, but it is almost effortlessly quotable — the perfect expression of a thought you never knew you had:
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Ken Burns, filmmaker
The word “I” occurs five times in this stanza, but we don’t know much about the person speaking. His personality is camouflaged and revealed by craft.
Auden, born in the northern English cathedral city of York, began practicing that craft as a schoolboy, and honed it at Oxford. Not long after graduating in 1928, he was anointed by critics and readers as the great hope of modern English poetry. A charismatic, divisive figure, he gathered acolytes, imitators and haters.
He swam in the intellectual and ideological crosscurrents of the 1930s, drawing Marxism, psychoanalysis and mystical nationalism into his writing. Assimilating a daunting array of literary influences — Old English and Ancient Greek, French chansons and Icelandic sagas — he forged a poetic personality that was bold, confiding and seductive.
His love poems of that era were candid, discreet dispatches from a calendar of feverish entanglements, wrenching breakups and one-night stands, usually with other men. He also wrote about the feverish politics of the time — class conflict; the rise of fascism; the Spanish Civil War — in ringing rhetoric he later disavowed.
In 1939 Auden moved to America, acquiring U.S. citizenship after World War II. In New York he fell in love with Chester Kallman, a young American writer who became his life partner.
It was a complicated relationship, starting as a passionate affair and enduring through decades of domestic companionship and creative collaboration. Kallman’s refusal to be sexually exclusive wounded Auden, a dynamic that poignantly shades this poem’s most memorable couplet:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Yiyun Li, writer
In America, Auden distanced himself from the radical politics of his earlier career and embraced Anglican Christianity. His intellectual preoccupations shifted toward religion and existentialism — to the kinds of big questions we think about late at night, or when we look to the sky.
Making the leap from wunderkind to grand old man without seeming to stop in middle age, he became a mentor for several generations of younger poets. He was a prolific and punctual contributor of reviews and essays to various publications, including this one, for which he wrote a rave of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Fellowship of the Ring” in 1954.
Through it all, Auden devoted fanatical attention to the finer points of poetic technique. His notebooks are full of numbers, word lists and markings that show just how deep this commitment went. He counted every syllable, measured every stress.
He gathered rhymes and other words with a lexicographer’s zeal and a crossword puzzler’s precision.
The third stanza of “The More Loving One” is a miniature showcase of Auden’s skill. Of the four epigrams arrayed before us, it may be the most technically perfect.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
W.H. Auden, poet
The rhythm is flawless, without an extra syllable or an accent out of place. The grammar is also fastidious. Here is a single sentence, springloaded with equivocation, beginning with one idea and sliding toward its opposite.
This quatrain is the poem’s ideal formal representation of itself, a kind of proof of concept: four lines of impeccable iambic tetrameter in an AABB rhyme scheme. The by-the-book regularity of this stanza should give you a leg up in memorizing it, and you can test yourself below!
But the rest of the poem is an argument against perfection, just as it is a celebration of uncertainty and humility — as we’ll see tomorrow.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.Your first task: Learn the first two lines!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
PERMANENCE, by Sophie Mackintosh
Sophie Mackintosh’s novels are always speculative in some way, with either the author or her characters forging a world governed by its own logic and rules. In their boldness and their ability to convey the violence of patriarchy, they recall the work of Jacqueline Harpman — not only the cherished “I Who Have Never Known Men,” but also “Orlanda,” her wild riff on Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando.”
Like Harpman, Mackintosh has a spare and confident hand. Her work is sometimes described as dreamlike; certainly, its contours are sketched with rapidity and confidence and relatively little detail. Her prose operates according to the same principle, at once lyrical and precise, like this from her second novel, “Blue Ticket”: “On the ground was a dead rabbit, disemboweled. Still fresh, the dark loops of its insides glistening like jam.”
When Mackintosh writes about masculine power, she does so in a way that articulates both its seductions and its terrors. Her newest novel, “Permanence,” is less explicitly concerned with the structure of patriarchy, but it has the same erotic charge as her earlier work, the same preoccupation with social prohibitions and the thrill that comes from breaking them.
Like “Blue Ticket,” “Permanence” turns on a highly pronounced binary. In “Blue Ticket,” adolescent girls are issued either a blue or white ticket on the day of their first period. A white ticket denotes a future of marriage and children, a blue ticket one of work — even, it seems, a career. The divide is stark and self-evidently faulty, its coarseness an expression of the brutalizing regime the characters are trapped in.
“Permanence” features a similar opposition, neatly delineated. Clara and Francis are conducting an illicit affair. One morning, they wake up in an alternate reality where they are openly living together. The novel shuttles between these two worlds, one ordinary and familiar, the other a curdled paradise for adulterers.
The thinness of this “city of impermanence” — “fluid, cohesive and yet disparate” — emerges at once. The sky is “uncannily blue,” the newspaper bears no date, the edge of the city is marked by “a slick ring of water, as far as the eye could see.”
Still, a boundary cannot keep the other world from seeping in. Initially, elegantly, this is a problem in the structure of desire. Having been provided the life they dreamed of, in which their longing for each other is fully met, Clara and Francis begin to experience, to their uneasy surprise, boredom and discontent.
Without absence, the intensity of their desire for each other wanes. They even begin, or at least Francis does, to long for the relief of their ordinary life: “Another day ahead of them of petting, giggling, lying around. It seemed insubstantial suddenly, though only the day before he had felt he could do it forever.”
Soon enough, it becomes clear that the problem between Francis and Clara doesn’t lie in the outside impediments of the world they live in, but in their relationship itself. Francis remains troublingly himself — a married father of a small child, reluctant to leave his family, however much he is in love with Clara: “He did love her, and he did want to be with her. … But he already had reality elsewhere, reality which he sometimes felt trapped by, he would admit, but which he could not truly imagine cutting loose.”
“Permanence” might seem like an outlier in the current array of articles and books about open marriages and polyamory, and at first glance the line of distinction between the two worlds, much like the division between blue and white tickets, seems almost old-fashioned. But as Mackintosh persuasively illustrates, the familiar emotions of jealousy, infatuation and eventually indifference — these persist and can flourish in any relationship, however free of prohibition.
“You want this,” Clara tells herself, and then, “You no longer want this,” as it occurs to her that “maybe it was in absence that they loved each other best, and most honestly.”
In her work, Mackintosh devises scenarios that are bold and almost aggressively simplified. But her terrain is complexity and contradiction, and in her hands these oppositions twist and turn in on themselves.
It’s hardly a surprise when the central character in “Blue Ticket” decides to eschew her designation and have a child, declaring, “True and false were no longer opposing binaries. My body was speaking to me in a language I had not heard before.” Nor is it especially startling when discontent chases Clara and Francis from one world to the other, unraveling their relationship.
What is more disquieting is the surreptitious ease with which Mackintosh’s speculative worlds start to align with our own, allowing the reader to see how so many of the old prohibitions and conventions — around choice, around marriage — remain, somehow, firmly in place.
That moment of recognition, in a landscape that is startlingly alien, is the source of Mackintosh’s power as a writer.
PERMANENCE | By Sophie Mackintosh | Avid Reader Press | 240 pp. | $28
Maybe you woke up this morning haunted by the first four lines of W.H. Auden’s “The More Loving One” — or tickled by its tongue-in-cheek handling of existential dread. (Not ringing any bells? Click here to begin the Poetry Challenge).
This is a love poem. Perhaps that seems like an obvious thing to say about a poem with “Loving” in its title, but there isn’t much romance in the opening stanza.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
Ada Limón, poet
Nonetheless, the poem soon makes clear that love is very much on its mind.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
David Sedaris, writer
The polished informality gives the impression of a decidedly cerebral speaker — someone who’s looking at love philosophically, thinking about how it works and what it means.
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Reginald Dwayne Betts, poet
Musing this way — arguing in this fashion — he stands in a long line of playful, thoughtful poetic lovers going back at least to the 16th century. He sounds a bit like Christopher Marlowe’s passionate shepherd:
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Auden’s poem, like Marlowe’s, is written in four-beat lines:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Josh Radnor, actor
And it features strong end rhymes:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Samantha Harvey, writer
These tetrameter couplets represent a long-established poetic love language. Not too serious or sappy, but with room for both earnestness and whimsy. And even for professions of the opposite of love, as in this nursery rhyme, adapted from a 17th-century epigram:
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this I know and know full well
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.
There is some of this anti-love spirit in Auden’s poem too, but it mainly follows a general rule of love poetry: The person speaking is usually the more loving one.
This makes sense. To write a poem requires effort, art, inspiration. To speak in verse is to tease, to cajole, to seduce, all actions that suggest an excess of desire. That’s why it’s conventional to refer to the “I” in a poem like this as the Lover and the “you” as the Beloved. The line “Let the more loving one be me” could summarize a lot of the love poetry of the last few thousand years.
But who, in this case, is the beloved? This isn’t a poem to the stars, but about them. Or maybe a poem that uses the stars as a conceit and our complicated feelings about them as a screen for other difficult emotions.
What the stars have to do with love is a tricky question. The answer may just be that the poem assumes a relationship and then plays with the implications of its assumption.
This kind of play also has a long history. Since love is both abstract and susceptible to cliché, poets are eager to liken it to everything else under the sun: birds, bees, planets, stars, the movement of the tides and the cycle of the seasons. Andrew Marvell’s “Definition of Love,” from the 1600s, wraps its ardor in math:
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
The literary term for this is wit. The formidable 18th-century English wordsmith Samuel Johnson defined a type of wit as “a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike.” “The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together,” he wrote; that kind of conceptual discord defines “The More Loving One.”
The second stanza is, when you think about it, a perfect non sequitur. A hypothetical, general question is asked:
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Mary Roach, writer
The answer is a personal declaration that is moving because it doesn’t seem to apply only or primarily to stars:
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Tim Egan, writer
Does this disjunction make it easier or harder to remember? Either way, these couplets start to reveal just how curious this poem is. We might find ourselves curious about who wrote them, and whom he might have loved. Tomorrow we’ll get to know Auden and his work a little better.
Play a game to learn it by heart. Need more practice? Listen to Ada Limón, Matthew McConaughey, W.H. Auden and others recite our poem.
Question 1/6
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
Tap a word above to fill in the highlighted blank.
Your task today: Learn the second stanza!
Let’s start with the first couplet in this stanza. Fill in the rhyming words.
Ready for another round? Try your hand at the 2025 Poetry Challenge.
Edited by Gregory Cowles, Alicia DeSantis and Nick Donofrio. Additional editing by Emily Eakin,
Joumana Khatib, Emma Lumeij and Miguel Salazar. Design and development by Umi Syam. Additional
game design by Eden Weingart. Video editing by Meg Felling. Photo editing by Erica Ackerberg.
Illustration art direction by Tala Safie.
Illustrations by Daniel Barreto.
Text and audio recording of “The More Loving One,” by W.H. Auden, copyright © by the Estate of
W.H. Auden. Reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Photograph accompanying Auden recording
from Imagno/Getty Images.
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