Once upon a time, Pokémon cards were a pure thing. You’d walk into a store, grab a couple booster packs with the loose change you dug out of the couch, and hope against hope that today was the day your Charizard dreams came true. It was a ritual. A gamble. A thrill. Now? It’s a goddamn war zone with black market back alley deals where a kidney will get you a graded PSA 7 if you are lucky.
Thanks to the American Scalper Industrial Complex™, Pokémon cards have become harder to get than BTS concert tickets or a functioning healthcare system. It’s not even just bad luck anymore—it’s bots, it’s resale gouging, it’s ex-sneakerheads with a taste for blood and a PS5 preorder strategy repurposed for Pikachu.
Scalpers Are Buying Everything, and We Mean Everything
If you’ve walked into a Target lately hoping to buy some Pokémon cards, congratulations on your optimism. You’ll find empty shelves, a handmade “1-per-customer” sign, and a retail employee with the thousand-yard stare of someone who’s broken up three fistfights between overweight men in streetwear before 9 a.m.
That’s because scalpers—many of whom are former limited-edition sneaker freaks who’ve just swapped foot leather for cardboard—are buying entire pallets of product. Yes, pallets. You’ve probably seen the images online: some asshole with a living room that looks like the backroom of a GameStop circa 2002, stacked floor-to-ceiling with Elite Trainer Boxes, grinning like the Grinch with a Venmo account.
And then they have the gall to list them for $400 a pop on eBay like they’re selling fine wine, not mass-produced collectibles made for children.
You’d think the internet would be a safer haven, but no. These folks have bots that auto-purchase pre-orders before you’ve even finished typing the word “Pokémon.” They’ve turned checkout pages into minefields. Best Buy listings are gone in 0.2 seconds. Walmart’s site might as well just redirect to StockX.
They’ve Gone Full Mad Max
Not only are scalpers hoarding stock, they’ve turned everyday locations like Target, Costco, and GameStop into lawless wastelands. There have been reports of adults—grown-ass adults—getting into fistfights over Pokémon cards in the toy aisle. We’re not talking about a heated debate—we’re talking actual punches being thrown, all over whether someone got to the Destined Rivals display first.
And the scams? Oh, the scams. Some scumbags are buying product from Costco, carefully removing the booster packs, then resealing and returning the product. An unsuspecting part-time cashier—who probably makes $15 an hour and can’t tell a Squirtle from a screwdriver—puts it back on the shelf. Some poor kid grabs it later and opens the box to find pre-opened packs with baseball cards inside.
Who’s to Blame?
Is it the economy? Social media influencers? Obama? Logan Paul and his cronies? Maybe partly. Logan did launch a thousand influencer unboxings after he spent the GDP of a small country on a graded Charizard. That certainly didn’t help. But Logan Paul is just the promo sticker on a larger issue—American greed. Because deep down, this isn’t about Pokémon. It’s about some parasitic slice of the population that sees anything with hype as an opportunity to exploit.
These guys aren’t fans. They don’t care about the artwork, the collecting, the nostalgia, or the joy of ripping a fresh pack. They’re not in it for the memories—they’re in it for the margins. They’re flipping childhood dreams the same way they flipped Jordans, Yeezys, PS5s, and whatever else they can hurl onto a resale site with a “limited” tag and a 500% markup.
Collectors who grew up with Pokémon can’t enjoy their hobby anymore without feeling like they need to fight a crowd or take out a small loan. Parents can’t buy cards for their kids without risking a full-scale brawl in the Target parking lot. And the next generation—the ones who should be discovering Pokémon for the first time—are instead learning that the hobby has become another gated community for people with bots, bankrolls, and no shame.
The saddest part? Pokémon was supposed to be about connection. Trading with your friends. Showing off your binder. The thrill of a lucky pull. Now it’s about profit margins, eBay auctions, and locking your doors so no one steals your booster stash.
If You Scalp Cards, F*ck You
Let’s be absolutely clear: if you scalp Pokémon cards, you are a massive loser and a huge piece of shit. You’ve taken a beloved hobby meant to bring joy and turned it into the Hunger Games. Just know that every booster box you hoard is one less smile from a kid who just wanted a damn Eevee.
