He is the only supplier of mud to baseball. It is a job that may soon lose.

Bintliff, 65, served in the Navy and worked for decades as a press operator, but mystical mud remained a constant in his life. Even now, he sees himself as he was in 1965, a rail-thin kid loading buckets of freshly collected mud into the back of his grandfather’s Chevy Impala.

Over the years, Bintliff and his wife, Joanne, who is in charge of the administrative work, have tinkered with the business model. For example, he collected mud once or twice a year. But expanding their market to school and professional football clubs, including more than a few in the National Football League, required monthly returns on the riverside.

The fundamental work, however, remains the same, with times that depend on the tide.

Bintliff will drive his Chevy Silverado pickup 70 miles or so to the secret spot and walk 50 yards through the woods. Along with his shovel and buckets, he’ll have a machete for any overgrowth and some nonsense for any inquisitors. Mud works wonders for his garden, he might say.

Then back to his Jersey Shore home. The unit takes longer than the harvest.