Had this plate on our Jeep for 3 years. 3 months ago DMV contacted us saying someone complained about it and we had to get new plates. We got it because our son plays baseball. After 3 years, due to a random, pearl-clutching Karen, PICH PLZ was retired. This is why I do not like people.

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It had been three glorious years. Three years of cruising down the sunny California highway, the wind whipping through my hair (or what's left of it), and the unmistakable silhouette of PICH PLZ proudly displayed on my Jeep's rear end. It wasn't just a license plate; it was a badge of honor, a declaration of unwavering support for the little slugger in the back seat – my son, Tommy, the fiercest six-year-old pitcher our local league had ever seen.

PICH PLZ wasn't meant to be vulgar. It was a playful pun, a dad joke brought to life on a metal rectangle. It was a way to tell the world, with a wink and a curveball, that this Jeep belonged to a baseball family. We'd get smiles, high fives from fellow dads at the field, and even the occasional friendly honk of encouragement. PICH PLZ was our little piece of baseball pride, a rolling billboard for America's pastime.

Then, the bottom fell out. Three months ago, a letter arrived from the DMV, its officialese dripping with disappointment. Apparently, someone – a soul with a heart devoid of baseball spirit, most likely – had lodged a complaint. PICH PLZ, they declared, was deemed "inappropriate." My jaw dropped. Here I was, a dedicated father, cheering on my son from the bleachers, spending countless hours in the sweltering California sun coaching fly balls, and someone had the audacity to find offense in a little wordplay?

The letter offered a chilling choice: surrender PICH PLZ or face the wrath of the DMV. The fight seemed futile. Who argues with the Department of Motor Vehicles? So, with a heavy heart, I said goodbye to our beloved plate. A new one now graces the back of my Jeep, devoid of personality, a generic string of letters and numbers. It feels like a betrayal, a surrender to the uptight sensibilities of a nameless complainer.

This whole ordeal has me questioning the state of humor in this world. Is there no room for a little playful teasing on a license plate? Apparently not, if it even remotely brushes against someone's delicate sensibilities.

But mostly, it's made me realize the importance of dads like me – the ones who spend their weekends covered in dirt, coaching fundamentals, and cheering on their kids with unwavering enthusiasm. We're the ones who fuel the love of the game, who plant the seeds of sportsmanship and teamwork. We're the backbone of Little Leagues across the country, the unsung heroes of the bleachers.

So, to the nameless complainer who took offense to PICH PLZ, I say this: lighten up. The world needs more dads cheering on their kids, more playful puns on license plates, and more afternoons spent at the ballpark. Let's celebrate the joy of the game, the spirit of competition, and the unwavering support of baseball dads everywhere. Because frankly, the world needs a whole lot more PICH PLZ and a whole lot less negativity.