It goes without saying that the sports industry is hard to get into. About as hard to get into as SAE’s white party as a freshman without connections. Or the Super Bowl if you’re the Detroit Lions. This goes for everyone, whether you aspire to be a superagent à la Scott Boras, handicapping guru like Brandon Lang (Two for the Money, anyone?) or simply the next Tom Brady (in which case your plight is twofold, if you want to marry someone at the same level as Gisele).

Heck, I am just now realizing that my ambition to be the next Erin Andrews (albeit minus the whole peephole video scandal) is very likely to encounter some roadblocks along the way. For one, I’m not blonde. Nor do I plan on going any blonder than my current highlights.

But fear not my easily-discouraged go-getter colleagues, I think I may have found a profession that will make for an adequate substitute while simultaneously enabling you to get just as up close (and personal) to the world of sports.

But first, a little back-story.

Two days before my much-anticipated return to Cornell this year, my parents and I took a little detour to baseball’s hallowed ground, otherwise known as Cooperstown, N.Y. That’s home of the Baseball Hall of Fame, for those of you who are just ... uninformed. Among the historically significant memorabilia at the top of our list to see was the Phillies’ World Series ring; after all, this win had been 28 years in the making. To put it in even broader context, this was the first Philadelphia championship I had been alive for. Sure, we had seen photos of the 14 karat white gold immensity, complete with 103 diamonds that represented the 92 regular season and 11 postseason wins for the Phillies in 2008. But, much like Ed Westwick, it’s so much better in person. Or so I would imagine. As it happened, I never got to actually see it.

That’s because as we came to the display case of World Series rings –– the likes of which would put the Crown Jewels of England to shame –– we were incredulous to find that the token of the Phillies’ crowning achievement was as absent from the Hall of Fame as Pete Rose.

Seeking an explanation for what appeared to be an unwarranted omission, my mother inquired of Knowledgeable Hall of Fame Employee why the ring wasn’t on display, to which K.H.O.F.E. replied:

“Oh, they haven’t finished authenticating it yet.”

Needless to say, this was not the kind of explanation we were anticipating.

For one, the Phillies had won the Fall Classic in October of 2008. It was now August 2009. Furthermore, what was there to authenticate?! Didn’t the company that manufactured the rings, Masters of Design (which seems legit enough judging by its website), just send an extra one to Cooperstown by default? The rings driven to Citizens Bank Park were delivered in a van escorted by four police officers on motorcycles; now, assuming the same treatment was provided for the ring making its way to the Hall ... how exactly was a delinquent lunatic supposed to bypass four police officers, climb into a (presumably) locked van, swap an imitation ring for the “One Ring” and escape from said moving vehicle unscathed, merchandise in tow? Riddle me this, Batman. Better yet, tell me who in their right mind would want to do such a thing. Or even who NOT in their right mind would want to do such a thing.

If anything, all this speculating got me thinking about sports authentication, and topics it may lead to.

Now, this being O-Week, I could actually afford to spend my time Googling topics as obscure as the work of sports authenticators. And, as per usual, I was amazed at what I could find over the Internet.

According to an article written by John Branch for The New York Times last April, about 10 years ago Major League Baseball launched an initiative to combat the fraud and forgeries that were overtaking the $1-billion-per-year sports memorabilia industry. As a result, every game now has at least one authenticator on hand to verify potentially valuable items. These authenticators, part of a third-party organization hired by the league, comprise a team of 120 active and retired law-enforcement officers who together see to all 30 franchises. What with 2009 being the inaugural season for both Citi Field and Yankee Stadium, many authenticators have been busy in New York, helping track all the “firsts” that occur in the new ballparks. They have authenticated everything from jerseys and balls to the pitching rubber and home plate used on Opening Day at Yankee Stadium.

Since 2001, approximately three million items have been authenticated. In the words of Michael Posner, who supervises the program for MLB and was quoted in the article, “As long as it is witnessed by an authenticator, there’s no limit to what can be authenticated.”

You can say that again.

Items that have been authenticated in recent seasons range from the perfectly legitimate (the bat Tampa Bay third baseman Evan Longoria used to hit his first postseason home run; interestingly enough, he continued using the bat, and the shiny hologram was periodically visible to television audiences), to the downright sketchy (the insect repellant used to ward off the midges that plagued the 2007 AL Division Series in Cleveland; the urinals uprooted from the old Busch Stadium in St. Louis).

Armed with rolls of high-tech hologram stickers, authenticators place one on the item in question. By removing the sticker, it becomes unusable, since polka dots of the decal remain attached. A second sticker, complete with matching number and bar code, is scanned by a hand-held unit and instantly documents the object into MLB computers. The authenticator then types in all relevant specifics, such as who hit the ball and on what date.

On this same trip to Cooperstown, my parents and I were conversing with John (or was it Todd?), the innkeeper of the Bed and Breakfast where we stayed. He relayed to us an anecdote about a former guest of his who had purchased two Mickey Mantle autographs, and then decades later decided to resell them. He went to a professional to get them appraised, who promptly told him: “This one came from Miami, this one from New York.”

“He could tell where they had been signed?!” my Mom, always the curious, excitable individual, exclaimed.

John/Todd: “No, he could tell where they had been counterfeited.”

Needless to say, I came away with a newfound appreciation for this little-known sect of the sports industry.

Upon further investigation of the subject, I discovered an interview with Howie Shelton, a higher-up in MLB’s Authentication Program –– published, of all places, on Maxim.com (that in itself should be the topic of a future column). Larry Dobrow, a blogger for the site, posed the question, “How can I apply for the job?”

Shelton’s response? “There’s no application process. Baseball has a longstanding security program and the security guys are local police officers. The thinking was to hire more people like that and train them to be authenticators. They have to have a certain rank within law enforcement.”

Hmm, well, seeing as how I just recently got over my irrational fear of pumping gas (next on my list of phobias to conquer: Life Savers –– long story), I don’t think I have the “chutzpah” necessary for a career in law enforcement. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and go blonde after all.