Man, tackling coach expectations in baseball has always been a head-scratcher for me. I’d show up, bust my tail, but still get that look from the coaches, you know? Like I wasn’t getting it. So, I decided to really dig in.
Starting With Zero Real Understanding
My whole thing started simple: I just watched. Like, really watched. I spent a whole Tuesday afternoon parked on the bleachers during team practice. Not to chat, not to do my own thing. Just to observe the coaches like they were some kind of exhibit at the zoo.
- Saw Coach Hernandez absolutely lose it when Johnny jogged to first on a pop fly. “Hustle is FREE, kid! FREE!” he yelled, face redder than the pitching machine. That stuck.
- Noticed Coach Miller spend 20 minutes straight with Sarah, just repping grounders at third. He wasn’t barking; he was quiet, focused. It was all about the reps, the boring stuff. She looked dead tired, but he kept feeding her balls.
- Caught Coach Davis pull Mike aside after he airmailed another throw. “Where’s your head at, Mikey?” he asked, real quiet. “Target’s right there. Hit the glove. Simple.” Not mechanics. Focus.
That observation session was eye-opening. These coaches weren’t just yelling random stuff. They were demanding effort, consistency, and mental toughness. Simple, but heavy.
Putting My Butt On The Line
Knowing is one thing. Doing? That’s the real test. I decided I was gonna live exactly what I saw them demanding.
- Max Effort, Every. Single. Rep: Next batting cage session? Forget hitting dingers. I sprinted out every hit – dribbler, line drive, foul ball – like it was game seven. Dripping sweat in 5 minutes. Felt ridiculous, honestly. Like I was the only clown running sprints while others watched.
- Grinding the Fundamentals: Fielding practice? I asked Coach Miller if I could do extra ground balls. He raised an eyebrow but nodded. Did 50 clean picks. Then another 50 focusing only on getting my feet set before the ball arrived. My back screamed. My glove hand felt numb. Coach just nodded: “Feet. Set. Faster.” Brutal.
- Mind On The Diamond: During pitcher/catcher drills, I usually zoned out when not involved. Nope. Not this time. I stood near the backstop, glove on, tracking every pitch into the catcher’s mitt. Called balls/strikes in my head. Visualized myself behind the plate. Felt goofy, but I locked in hard. Coach Davis walked by once. Didn’t say anything. Just gave the slightest nod. Felt like I won the lottery.
It wasn’t pretty. I looked exhausted. Probably stank like a skunk. Puked once (maybe twice). But guess what? Coaches started seeing it.
What Actually Clicked
After a solid week of this meat-grinder approach? The lights started flickering on.
- They Don’t Need Superstars Every Play. They need guys who do their job, right now, no excuses. Making a routine play? That’s gold. Missing a highlight catch but busting tail to recover? That got more respect than I thought.
- Effort = Trust. That sprint on a foul tip? Coach Hernandez saw it. Two days later, pinch-running situation? He pointed at me. Not the fastest guy. But he knew I’d run through a wall. That came from the stupid cage sprints.
- Simple Minds Win. Coach Davis was right. Overthinking kills you on the dirt. “See ball. Catch ball. Hit glove. Throw ball.” Sounds dumb. Works. When I focused purely on executing the single task right in front of me, everything flowed smoother. Less heroics, more results.
It wasn’t about having the prettiest swing or the hottest heater. It was about being a dude the coaches knew they could rely on to bring effort, nail the fundamentals, and keep their damn head in the game.
Still got miles to go. My swing still looks ugly half the time. But now? I know exactly what those coaches are scanning for. And dude, it feels pretty damn good knowing you’re giving ’em exactly that. Simple things. Heavy lifting.
