As far as memorabilia auctions go, a Victor Wembanyama jersey selling for $73,200 is a modest, if unremarkable sum. Granted, it's better than, say, a Malachi Flynn in-season tournament jersey going for the cost of a nightstand at Crate & Barrel, but already in his early career Wembanyama's jerseys have cleared $700,000 in the sports trinket market.
But the reason this is notable is because the jersey in question was at the center of a bit of fan theater that went viral and subsequently boomeranged faster than anyone could have guessed. No sooner had Wembanyama swapped jerseys with a kid—Comme c'est merveilleux! It looks like Wemby's uni got left in the dryer too long—than it wound up for auction, finally ending in a sale on Feb. 22.
Which brings us, somehow, to the New York State Supreme Court. Last week the court had to consider whether the sale of the jersey should have been stopped, according to sports memorabilia blog Cllct:
Frankie Desideri Sr. filed the request for a temporary restraining order against Goldin with the New York Supreme Court on Monday.
On Thursday morning, a court denied Desideri's request for a temporary restraining order to immediately halt the sale, both parties confirmed to cllct.
The jersey sold at Goldin for $73,200 on Saturday, two months after the original swap with Wembanyama. The jersey is believed to have been paid for and has been shipped to the winner.
Is it possible this child is a sly observer of the memorabilia market who runs a side hustle re-selling gear to help fund his food takes podcast with his homies? Perhaps that's just the economics of bussin' with the lads. But it's just as likely his dad pulled off what might be a close second to the worst jersey bait-and-switch on a kid this NBA season.
There are two ways to read this late stage legal maneuvering by the elder Desideri, and only one of them is generous by a small margin. Perhaps shame had finally struck like a lightning bolt out of the blue and he had come to regret that flash of greed, his heart opening to the distress of his son over a cherished memory of a once in a generation player who will likely reshape the NBA for decades to come.
Desideri claimed in court documents that he tried repeatedly to pull the jersey from the auction and that his son had received unexpected exposure and harm from "public scrutiny and harassment," that led to, “severe emotional distress, avoiding basketball games and believing his favorite player dislikes him after he posted about the sale,” according to The Athletic.
It's the timeless tale of a humble father asking the courts to aid him in a small act of parental redemption. The conscience does not always move swiftly, but given a month's time from when the auction was announced Desideri sent a letter to Goldin on Feb. 21, one day before the auction would close. Hmm, wait, what was that date again? I feel like something else happened around that time in the NBA. Oh, right, it was one day after the Spurs announced Wembenyama would be out for the remainder of the season after the discovery of a deep vein thrombosis in his right shoulder.
Well, that certainly is suspicious but isn't entirely disqualifying for a dad trying to act on his best intentions. It's not like he was solely focused on securing the bag. Oh, wait:
Goldin said that on Feb. 14, “Mr. Desideri texted his consignment director and expressed concern that the auction might not eclipse a $50,000 sale price.” A screenshot of that text was included in the company’s filings.
Ah, well. While the court ruled against Desideri in the restraining order, the case is set to resume in New York this month.
I may not be the most shrewd memorabilia hawk—the only collectible of value I have is probably the Death of Superman comic I bought as a 12-year old, which is currently buried somewhere in our storage unit—but it seems like the value of a given trinket or curio is relative to the historical or personal experience.
Toiling through an otherwise bleak Nets campaign on a random night to watch Wembanyama wreck a Brooklyn team dependent on Cam Johnson and Ben Simmons is the kind of thing that adds color and volume to a lifetime of NBA memories. What it won't do is help you run a vague pump and dump scheme on a game jersey off an in-arena viral moment at the expense of your kid. As inflationary schemes go, this one does not rate highly!
