This is a continuation of a previous post. For part one click here!
My transition to pitching had its fair share of ups and downs. A little over a month into my training I started feeling discomfort in the back of my shoulder. I worked through it for a bit, noticing it every now and again. Eventually, it got worst and I needed to get myself looked at.
At this time (March of 2018) I was rehabbing from the injury and seeing a physical therapist to get it sorted out. It took us way longer than expected to get me back to being able to throw at 100%.
It was about mid-April by the time I could get back into training full-throttle and with only a couple of weeks before the summer season started I was rushing to get myself ready to pitch in games.
My plan was to play in a competitive men's league to get as many innings as possible under my belt before the Fall (when I would need to tryout for my new University - my hometown University of Guelph).
For whatever reason, I decided at this time that I wanted to pitch and catch in the summer. Mostly to see if I still liked catching and if all the progress I made in the weight room would translate into my hitting. This ended up being a terrible decision.
I figured it would work out okay. We played two games per week in this men's league. So I figured I could catch one and pitch in the other. As long as I got into pitch an inning or two every week I would get more than enough innings to get comfortable off the mound and feel prepared to compete in the Fall at the collegiate level.
This is when the plan went to shit.
I got to pitch a couple of times early in the season - all of which went pretty shaky. This was expected. For fuck sakes - I pitched all of 15 innings my whole life - I was bound to suck for a while.
The "coach" of our men's league team got a bit hesitant to use me in games at this point. Understandable - I was known to walk the bases loaded on occasion (as in every outing). But I figured it would be no big deal, at some point they would need me to pitch and I would be better, right?
Wrong.
I did not pitch in game for a month or so. Either I was catching, or "planned" to pitch but never got in.
I was frustrated at this point but more so I began to panic at the fact that I was behind where I wanted to be.
Without the game reps under my belt - I was not sure how good I was - if my training was working, etc.
I approached our "coach" and he promised to get me in more. And I did get to pitch a bit over the next month of the season. But not as much as I wanted/needed at the time.
I started getting thoughts of delaying my timeline. Sit out the next season and do another off-season of training.
At this point, I knew that regardless of what I decided I needed to focus on pitching - so I quit my men's league team. I took a bit of a break to refocus my attention to training (specifically lifting) and plan out my next steps.
I had basically made up my mind that I would not tryout at my new school - University of Guelph, and take a year to commit to training. And then - the head coach contacted me and convinced me to come to their training camp.
Training camp was in about two weeks. Having not played in a game or done a ton of throwing for the last week or two I was pretty fucking anxious.
I channeled that emotion and just got to work. Preparing myself the best I could.
I went into my second training camp with a different school in an entirely different state of mind.
This time my spot was not even close to guaranteed, I had pitched maybe 10 innings in total in the summer - so I had to temper my expectations.
The first day of camp I pitched 2 innings in an intersquad. My first inning went alright despite going to full count against most of the batters I faced. I limited the damage to a run and got myself out of it. I must have thrown at least 30 pitches in that inning though. The head coach asked me If I wanted the second inning - and before he even finished - I gave him an adamant "yes". Knowing full well that I may get cut I was not about to lose an opportunity to showcase my skills.
I started the next inning with the mindset that if this is the last shot you get you might as well try and throw the shit out of the ball.
I got a couple of quick outs with a walk or two mixed in. My pitch count must have been approaching 50. More pitches then I had thrown probably ever at that point. I continued to just throw and hurl the ball with every fiber of my being. I walked the next two guys.
With a concerned tone, the head coach yelled out "last batter".
Pitch count above 60 now - tank completely empty - I had one last batter to face. I said fuck it, either I'm striking him out and lighting up the gun or walking him.
I walked him on four straight pitches. The hardest pitches I had ever thrown in my life.
I walked off the mound like I just threw a complete game. Confidence is a funny thing. I knew that I did the best I could. I gave it 100%. Despite barely being a pitcher I walked out on that mound and threw the ball as hard as I could against college level hitters - "cut me if you want" I thought.
To most watching that day they might have wondered what the hell they just saw. Why the hell is that kid so happy about that performance?
Here's the thing, I was happy, hell ecstatic, because for the first time in my life I felt like I was the person I wanted to be. The type of guy that goes after the things he wants - not complacent and not letting shit bully him into accepting mediocrity. Someone that wanted to be excellent and would not settle for less.
My performance that day earned me an invite back to the tryout the next day. The head coach told me he liked what he saw, but that my role on the team was a bit up in the air. He was unsure if there would be room for me.
I pitched again two days later in an intersquad. Based on the lineup of pitchers it was obvious the guys throwing were on the "bubble" and coach needed one last look before making final cuts.
I took the mound for an inning, my arm still hanging from the pitches thrown two days prior. As I warmed up I starred up to the press box behind home plate where all the coaches were positioned. This was it - do or die.
I got laser focused - in the "zone" if you will. First batter, K, second batter, flyout, third batter, K.
"Maybe I can pitch."
I made the team.
My role was going to be small, you know, last arm on the roster kind of small. But it felt like a much larger role than back when I was catching bullpens.
Proud of myself for making it there I was eager to get a chance to pitch in game.
Our first weekend came and went without me touching the diamond. The second weekend the same. Frustrated but not defeated I prepared to pitch in the Wednesday exhibition games, knowing that I was still an infant in terms of my pitching career.
Then I started to get sick. At first, it felt like just a cold. Loss of energy, a bit rundown maybe from all the baseball - no sweat.
But the stress of school (and hating it) and hanging onto a college baseball career by a thread made it much worse. Whatever the problem was it was affecting my bowels - causing me to throw up and constant trips to the bathroom. Like every half an hour often.
I got it checked out and referred to a specialist. My health was getting out of hand pretty fast. Not being able to eat, waking up in the night to throw up or shit, losing weight, etc. The rest of the season was a wash.
Upset and confused about what was happening I started to think about how stressed I had become. How much on edge I was about school and baseball. How it felt like I was just pounding the same rock over and over.
I knew that the only reason I had been going to school was to play baseball. And playing baseball was only an 8-week job. To then spend the rest of the year in school just to play another 8 weeks the next year seemed a bit ridiculous. Playing college baseball had always been my dream. I accomplished that dream - but continued to want more.
"More" was not an easy thing to achieve. To play more - to be a better player, to be a top pitcher in the league - I would have to make sacrifices. I would have to continue to attend school, I would have to train harder, I would have to quit coaching to focus on my own career - all for what would basically amount to inches of difference.
I had done that all once before. With catching and in high school. Making sacrifices willingly in the pursuit of my dream - college baseball.
Those sacrifices the second time around did not seem worth it for what amounted to a selfish pursuit of excellence that only I cared about. One that even if I achieved is questionable if I would be happy.
The work required to become a top level pitcher in the league was too steep for the reward: to sacrifice my present happiness for a chance at throwing harder, a chance at playing more, a chance at being above average. When I think about it now I can't even imagine that I was willing to do all of that once.
And when it came time to make the choice between my career and the career of the kids I coach - I chose them. You see, many of them have the potential to do things I could never do in the game, I could bang my head against the wall all day trying to do those things myself - or I could help them achieve those feats and maybe make them feel not so alone during their own pursuit.
So with a helpful push from my health, I made the decision to drop out of school for good and quit a collegiate baseball career.
And now I am here writing to you on my own website created to pursue my biggest passion - coaching other athletes. Coaching guys like me, who want to give it their best shot, maybe twice (like me). Guys who irrationally believe in their own ability to accomplish their dreams - and then help them do it.
I am now happily (and healthily) doing what I always knew I was going to do one day - coach, instruct, mentor - the next generation of baseball players.
Same work ethic - new rock to pound.