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Baseball has been a big part of my life, but the Chevy S-10 significantly influenced how I turned out. It’s a reminder of what’s important in life – hard work, sacrifice, and family. My dad drove one like this for more than 25 years. He’s never been a fan of the fancy. Fried bologna is a delicacy, and the bench seat that fits a dad and his two sons like a can of sardines is first-class livin’! The truck always had an ashtray overflowed with Marlboro butts and a bag of nails in the floorboard with some honey bun wrappers. The no-cassette radio got every country station in the Milky Way, and the Casey’s General Store coffee mug was always full of Maxwell House. The truck was blue-collar, and it didn’t care to impress anyone. It made ends meet, and it got the job done. The truck took off at 5 am each day and sat in the hot sun for 10 hours as the vinyl bench seat turned into an electric skillet. At the end of the day, the truck sat at the side of the carport, where the snow and rain had their way with it, the tools in the bed protected by the Leer camper shell. The truck was small, humble, selfless, and dirty. It never wanted anything in return, and it was always there when you needed it. And when I was a kid, that truck was what took me to baseball practice, to Coast to Coast Hardware, to Wolohan Lumber, and Blankenship Automotive. Just a kid cruisin’ with his dad in the pickup! Nothing we had was the biggest or the most expensive, but damn, it was the best!

The best shit in life isn’t what they tell you. It’s the sacrifice others make for you. And when you recognize that sacrifice and pass it along, it’s better than everything. We already have all we need, and it’s the best.

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I started playing ball when I was four years old. I got some trophies, and I pitched some good games. But I couldn’t tell you the final score of any game I ever played. I just can’t remember. But I can remember my dad making me run laps when I didn’t hustle and my mom buying me some gold stirrups when I made the Bronco all-star team. I remember riding my bike to Chaney’s Meats to buy Doritos and Coke in a glass bottle with my best friends Josh, Eric, and Robbie. Skinning up my knees and elbows during a Saturday morning practice – I was bloody and so proud that I played hard. Drinking water out of the spigot outside the dugout during games, I remember that too. As I get older, I realize that it’s not the actual game that matters, but the time spent with friends and the daily adventures of growing up and getting older. Baseball is such a good catalyst for enjoying life.

We didn’t know it was the good old days. It’s a bittersweet feeling to realize that the little things ended up being the most important. We were all gonna go somewhere big when we got older. But it turns out we were already there.