Ricky Laster Keeps Erick’s Little League Alive—One Pig Roast at a Time
If you close your eyes and take a deep breath, you might catch the scent of firewood, slow-roasting pork, and something that feels like a summer breeze drifting in from the ocean. For a second, you could almost convince yourself you’re standing on the black sand beaches of the Big Island of Hawaii, waiting for a traditional luau to begin.
Then you open your eyes—and realize those aren’t hula dancers swaying in the breeze, those aren’t palm trees, those are cottonwoods. And no, that’s not the white sand of Hawaii under your boots—it’s red Oklahoma dirt. You’ve just stepped into Erick, Oklahoma, where the pig roast is as much a part of the community as baseball itself.
In Erick, baseball isn’t just a pastime—it’s a lifeline. And if you ask street supervisor, fire chief, and Little League coach Ricky Laster, it’s a way of life that’s been fueled by grit, teamwork, and a whole lot of slow-cooked pork.
Ricky Laster—“that’s Laster, R-I-C-K-Y”—has been a fixture in the Erick Little League scene for 14 years, wearing more hats than a veteran umpire. “I’m the street supervisor, the fire chief... basically whatever they need that day,” he joked. But his favorite title by far? Coach.
In a town where businesses have closed and sponsor dollars are as rare as a triple play, Ricky and his team of coaches have kept the league running thanks to a tradition as rich as a 7th inning stretch: the annual pig roast.
“We were trying to figure out how to keep kids playing ball when a lot of families couldn’t afford the fees,” Ricky said. “So we came up with the pig roast. That first one—man, we just put the pig in the ground and hoped for the best.”
What started as a Hail Mary turned into a homerun fundraiser. Now in its ninth year, the pig roast has become Erick’s version of a Polynesian luau, complete with a historic metal “pig box” that dates back decades. “It’s the same box my uncle used when I was a kid,” Ricky said. “We lost track of it for twenty years. Then someone called and said, ‘You want it? Come get it—and bring some firewood!’” He cleaned it up, fired it up, and brought the tradition back to life—transforming it into a signature event that’s helped cover everything from uniforms to registration fees.
“This year, it cost us $7,000 just to get our teams on the field,” Ricky said. “That’s before the first pitch. Uniforms, entry fees—it adds up fast.”
The league includes T-ball through 12U, for both boys and girls, with a strong showing of kids from Erick and Sweetwater. But sponsors are few and far between. “We used to go business to business asking for help,” Ricky said. “But most of ‘em are gone. That’s why we need sponsors—from anywhere, big or small.”
Coaches Brad Hay, Sam Simpson, JD and Lyndsey Shedding, alongside Ricky, keep the season running smoother than a double play. “We’ve had new coaches step up, and we’ve had others stick around even after their own kids aged out,” Ricky said. “That’s love for the game.”
Ricky’s own son, Blake, has gone from Little League player to umpire. “He told me he wanted to ump T-ball. I said, ‘You lost your mind? That’s not umpiring—that’s babysitting with a whistle!’” The lessons go far beyond baseball. “We teach kids teamwork, humility, respect,” Ricky said. “You win with grace, and you lose with grace. That’s life. That’s baseball.”
And yes, there have been a few curveballs over the years—like the year Ricky tried mesquite wood and nearly torched the pig, or the year it rained and they had to finish the roast on scattered grills. “We got it figured out by year three,” he laughed.
This year’s pig roast takes place on **April 19th** at the Erick Fire Barn (415 East Roger Miller Blvd), with food served starting at noon. It’s all to-go—no mess, no fuss, just juicy pulled pork with potato salad and beans—the kind of plate that sticks to your ribs and makes your grandma proud.
Want to help? Call or text Ricky at 580-821-4261. Sponsors of all sizes are welcome— from mom-and-pop shops to anyone with a heart for baseball. “We’ll take help from anywhere,” he said. “You don’t have to be local to make a difference.”
Because in Erick, Oklahoma, America’s favorite pastime is still alive and well. All it needs is a field, a few good volunteers, and maybe one well-seasoned pig in a box.
