As of Fall 2025, Big League Builds is, let’s be honest, a fancy label for me, Cap League, doing what I love—building stuff in my spare time. Sure, it’s an LLC on paper, making it “official” in the government’s eyes, but for now, I’m the lone part-time “employee” tinkering away. No big sales yet, just a handful of commissioned projects to my name. I’d be stretching the truth to call it a fully-fledged business, but every dream starts small. My goal is to turn this passion into a thriving company, and Big League Builds is my brand—my first step, proving a one-man show can build toward something bigger.
Beyond a personal goal, Big League Builds offers me a platform to grow and spread my name. This website lets me showcase my skills professionally, drawing attention to my work without people dismissing it because I’m a small, one-man operation. I’ve designed it to lead with my strengths—quality and craftsmanship—so potential customers focus on what I can do, not my size or starting point. It’s not about misleading anyone; it’s about highlighting my best and letting them learn the rest as we go.
To lead with strengths, you need to know them, and that starts with identifying and refining them—a process I believe is key to a fulfilling life. That’s the heart of Big League Builds. My passion for building kicked in early, back when I was under 10, playing with Legos and crafting sprawling “towns” with an old wood train set. That curiosity about building and how things work mechanically stuck with me through childhood, though it took time to see it as a strength. The turning point came around 2020. Working as a construction superintendent, I was wrapping up a project, walking the jobsite to sort out cleanup—figuring out what to toss and who to call for leftover materials. That’s when I spotted a stack of three intact, clean pallets I’d passed a hundred times. For some reason, that day they sparked an idea: “I could build something with those.” I loaded them into my truck, unsure what was next.
When I got home, I walked through the front door and saw my roommate’s keys on a hook I’d installed, with his shoes, wallet, and ChapStick scattered below. It hit me: “We need a foyer table—something to catch all that stuff people dump when they walk in.” Almost instantly, I started breaking down the pallets to build one. Thanks to my construction background and home projects, I had tools and know-how,
but this was my first time crafting something from scratch with my own vision—and it stuck like super glue. In two days, I had a wobbly but workable table. I grabbed some dark stain and sealer, finished it up, and slid it into place. Staring at it, I thought, “Holy crap, it looks good—like it belongs.” My roommates were stunned too, joking, “You built this that fast from free wood?” That’s when I wondered if others might like it. As an experiment, I listed it on Facebook Marketplace for $100—way overpriced, I figured, just to test the waters.
To my shock, someone offered full price within three hours and picked it up the next day. I braced for him to scoff at its pallet origins, but instead, he said, “My wife’s been wanting this forever—it’ll fit perfect by our door.” He asked if I made it, then added, “You’ve got a gift, man, keep it up.” I brushed it off, thinking to myself in response —“It wasn’t that hard, just cut-up pallets and stain”—but looking back, I see I had an inherent knack for figuring out the steps to build something.
I don’t like boasting, and I’m not saying I’m better than anyone—others excel where I don’t—but that skill feels unique to me and fellow woodworking enthusiasts. The guy paid $100 without a hitch, and off we went. Downside? No catchall table for us anymore—so I built another.
Reflecting on that moment, I couldn’t believe someone paid $100 for an 8-hour project with free wood, costing me only stain and sealer. That profit lit a fire, sparking my drive to improve and eventually leading to Big League Builds. I started tinkering more in our garage, building simple things like cornhole boards and a beer pong table—bachelor life with my two best friends at the time. My skills and tool collection grew steadily.
Fast forward a few years: married with twin one-year-olds, my wife and I moved from a cramped townhome with no yard or garage to a house with an attached “garage” room—too small for a car but perfect for a shop, as we’d planned. This space let me hone my skills and gave me a blank slate to build functional furniture. Project after project, I learned more—crafting a large floating desk for my wife’s office or a cover to hide the ugly power meter out front.
Then, in 2023, after countless home projects, others started noticing my knack for building. My sister-in-law, a photography enthusiast with a new daughter, asked me to build a lemonade stand as a first-birthday gift—a portable prop for photoshoots, maybe later for pretend play or real lemonade sales. With a deadline looming, I got to work. The result was a 3-foot-wide, 2-foot-tall stand with a white frame, natural wood top, and chalkboard sign, ready for the party. She loved it, and the compliments flowed, but what stuck was a few moms saying, “I know tons of people who’d buy that and pay well.” I’d brought someone else’s vision to life and realized its value through their feedback. Ignoring that felt wrong, so shortly after, I started shaping a company name and logo and Big League Builds was born.
