Mike, I realize you said this tongue in cheek, so I'll play along. Who knows, maybe one day soon we may collaborate on our ideas and work together. You seem to have a knack for the attention to detail engineering side, I place value in the redneck/backwoods approach lol.
I want to share a little story, as this goes way beyond the vudoo deal here. I think the world has lost its way, and the education system has failed us. It IS up to us to fix it and the way we think moving forward.
My dad was a Mississippi backwoods redneck who dropped out of 8th grade to help feed his family. Starting as an apprentice in a shipyard, he worked his way up to become a master pipefitter and welder, contributing to nearly every nuclear power plant in the U.S. He could build anything he set his mind to—pouring concrete, framing houses, roofing, plumbing, electrical, you name it. A true jack-of-all-trades, he taught me the basics of mechanical work, from brake jobs to wheel bearings, instilling a hands-on mindset that shaped my life. In school, I was no scholar. I did just enough to scrape by, more interested in reading books on random topics than studying for tests. Then, in high school, I stumbled across a Car Craft magazine, and my world changed. From that moment, I devoured everything about hot rodding and automotive performance. I got my hands on the “Green Bible”—the Chilton’s Auto Repair Manual , a holy grail packed with every engine and vehicle spec for American cars. At 17, I built my first hot rod, and since then, I’ve built 54 more, each one pushing the limits of what people thought was possible. My teachers said I’d amount to nothing because I didn’t pay attention in class. But in 1985, when fuel-injected 5.0 Mustangs hit the streets and folks declared hot rodding dead, I saw opportunity. Knowing nothing about computers, I dove in anyway, learning by doing. My crew and I built some of the fastest street Mustangs in Houston, dominating the Fun Ford Weekend True Street series for years. Our cars were so quick that organizers changed the rules to keep up. We towed those Mustangs nationwide with a 1995 7.3 Power Stroke diesel, and when I started racing my buddy Mike Murillo (who’d just bought a ’99 Power Stroke), the competitive spark ignited again. Diesel performance was barely a thing back then—Bully Dog was about the only name in the game, and folks called it “farmer stuff.” But I applied what I’d learned from hot rodding Mustangs to the 7.3, tweaking and tuning until it roared. People called me crazy, saying no one would race diesels. By 2005, the diesel performance market exploded, just like the 5.0 Mustang scene before it, with companies scrambling to catch up. When the EPA cracked down on diesel mods, I pivoted again, this time to firearms. Everyone said rimfire shooting, like .22 PRS, would never take off. Guess what? It blew up, just like the Mustangs and diesels before it. These three examples—Mustangs, diesels, and rimfire—prove what happens when you ignore the doubters and apply your mind to something new. Don’t underestimate folks without fancy degrees, like my dad, me, or legends like John Moses Browning and Henry Ford. Browning, a gunsmith’s son with little schooling, designed firearms in his head and revolutionized the industry. Ford, a farm boy with only a basic education, built an automotive empire through sheer grit and practical know-how. Their stories, like ours, show that an ounce of common sense and a relentless drive to create can outshine a stack of diplomas. Formal education has its place, but it’s not the only path to success. Sometimes, it’s the backwoods dreamers and garage tinkerers who change the game.
The Oklahoma boys are up to bat,
