I've played professional baseball.
I've coached collegiate baseball.
I've evaluated thousands of high school players over the last 12 years.
Here are a few baseball truths I've learned:
• Failure is inevitable. How you respond to it is a choice.
• The game rewards resilience far more than talent gives it credit for.
• Body language is visibly LOUD.
• You never know who's watching.
• Talent gets you noticed. Consistency gets you recruited.
• Nobody cares how good you were last week.
• The players who blame others rarely improve.
• Confidence comes from preparation, not motivation.
• The game owes you nothing.
• Coaches trust competitors before they trust tools.
• Your teammates know if you're real.
• Baseball has a funny way of exposing excuses.
• The best players are usually obsessed with improvement, not attention.
• Nobody remembers your excuses. They remember your actions.
Build your floor. Chase your ceiling. ⚾️
The thing I wish my 14-year-old self knew earlier.
I made everything bigger than it was.
(This is a life lesson, too)
Every at-bat felt like the whole season was on the line.
Game 7 of the World Series with 50k people watching.
And that's the thing that beat me. Not the pitcher. That exact feeling.
Self-imposed pressure.
You make it up in your head.
The pitch is the only real thing in front of you.
One pitch.
Simple, focused.
Everything else, let it go.
It's this pitch. Then the next one.
Just like you're in the backyard with the boys, where nothing exists but the ball coming in.
Not thinking about girls.
The chores you gotta do.
What's for dinner.
Compete like crazy on that one pitch. Give it everything you've got.
Just don't drag a hundred things into the box that don't need to be there.
One pitch. The only real thing.
Win it, then go win the next one.
That's the advice I've sent to hitters that struggle with the same thing, and it's worked really well.
One of the best lessons I learned in the big leagues came from my pitching coach, Mel Stottlemyre Jr. (@StottsFishing)
Before each outing, he challenged me to see how many strikes I could throw.
Not how many strikeouts.
Not how fast I could throw.
Not how much movement.
Just strikes.
A lot of young pitchers spend their time chasing “stuff” and forget the most important skill in baseball:
Getting ahead in the count.
Parents: Reward strike percentage, not radar gun readings.
Coaches: Measure strikes, not mechanics.
Pitchers: Fill up the zone and let hitters prove they can beat you. (Hint: Odds are in your favor)
What’s the best coaching advice you’ve ever received?