See how they clamor for Shipwrecked Cobs

A big auction ended yesterday.
   The pounding of the hammer announced record prices paid for relics fished from Spanish Galleons and other Old Sails. Then, as suddenly as it started, the block fell silent. Hundreds of cobs had been dispersed and thousands of dollars spent.
   I wonder: Who are these people? I am one of them, so I guess a few necromancers are in the pool. But what about the rest? I am sure there were physicians, brokers, shopkeepers, teachers ... and so on. This is not what I'm talking about, however.
   What is the mindset that we share?
   Put bluntly, what madness compels folks to bid hundreds of dollars to take home a corroded, somewhat porous, sea-washed cob? And the frenzied bidding? Some pieces sparked contests that defied any rational valuations. Like beasts tearing at a carcass -- it was a rare chance to eat.

The real thing: Shipwrecked 1652 one real from Potosi.

   Do you know how many Big Macs your could buy with a thousand dollars? That's food for a month. But no! I must have this cob instead! And, many cobs went for a grand or more. It just seems like a normal thing. If an Alien was watching us, what would they think?
   In this light, collecting must appear irrational by all measures. And non-adaptive too (if you accept a Darwinian viewpoint) -- you cannot eat cobs.
   But even with sound reality-testing, the pull of possessing something from the distant past with a tragic history is captivating. Some of use cannot resist. We have seen enough movies to imagine the shipwreck as it happened. Go ahead and close your eyes: see the planking split from the hull, see the galleon come apart, feel the coral reefs penetrate. Yes, I see it! 
 
   The necromancer inside me believes that cobs from shipwrecks offer a direct path to what happened so long ago. Sure, cobs fascinate us with their oldness. But there's more. Shipwrecked pieces are amulets for having survived the storm.
   They have horrific stories. And, we are drawn to this action.
   But we are safe.
   Oddly enough, cobs are also romantic in a hard -- Robert Mitchum -- way.
   They are true: bold and unadulterated hunks of silver without pretentiousness.
   Cobs are not graded or slabbed. They are too belligerent for that. And they are too sharp for the connoisseur's tender, gloved fingers.
   Go slab a Morgan. Caress your gold dime with felt fingertips. But roll up your sleeves, if you plan to handle a cob.

Try this: Hold a cob in your hand (yes, wrap your fist around it) and feel its edges. Let it dig into your palm. Note how the silver warms in your grasp. This is what wealth felt like in the seventeenth century. This is how a pirate felt when he (or she) reached into the treasure chest to inspect the prize.
   So let's get to it. You can start small. And so, I show you a rugged one real from the Jesus Maria de la Limpia Concepcion that sank off the coast of Ecuador in 1654. It is just a sliver, but it has everything you want in a cob -- more on that later
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