I’ve had the privilege of pitching to and under some very smart people this summer. My catcher, Todd Jennings, has AAA experience and has caught some very big name Major Leaguers. My coaches have given me lots of instruction in becoming a more intelligent pitcher, and pitching to my strengths.

I got a little dugout demonstration that I thought was very insightful, a great visual presentation of why some pitchers can throw effective high fastballs and some can’t. I downloaded a nice sketch App from the Mac App store so that I could give you a beautifully crude rendering of a pretty simple, but important concept.

“Barry Zito made 100 million dollars throwing high fastballs.” Why was he able to do this? Because his big-breaking curveball starts high and breaks sharply down low, and looks like a high fastball out of his hand. Thus, when he drops it in for strikes consistently, he can freely mix in fastballs high in the zone that deceive the hitter. They chase balls up that would get hammered if thrown from the hand of a slider/sinker type pitcher. Here’s how it looks:

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I remember seeing a news story a long time ago about a car that crashed through the window of a convenience store and came to rest on top of a young girl, just to be lifted off her by a passerby. There are similar stories across the country, including this one here about an ordinary father who did the same thing. These people are admittedly not Olympic powerlifters, nor do they throw around huge weights everyday at the steelyard. Rather, they are ordinary people, able to summon extraordinary strength because of the nervous system and hormonal changes that occur when one is placed in an extremely stressful or dangerous situation. Ever been chased by bees? You probably ran faster at that moment than you ever will again.

From Where The Strength Comes Read the rest of this entry »

Last year I was hanging out with my cousins, one of whom was big into heavy metal. He was close with a band and we went to watch them practice one night. It was an interesting experience, because I got to see all of their band members dressed in street clothes, acting like their everyday selves. I particularly remember the bassist, who was an average height, very skinny, kind of dorky dude. He was a nice guy and pretty soft spoken, and we talked about his career so far in music. He looked like any other wallflower except he had long hair he kept in a ponytail.

This was basically the guy I talked to

But a few days later, the band performed live at a small venue. Few people showed up, but the band was in full GO. The same guy I had talked to had his hair braided into cornrows – which was probably his reason for keeping it long – a black shirt, super baggy JNCO style jeans with tons of metal chains hanging off, thick-soled black shoes, I think a dog collar and a spiked black leather wrist guard. I was completely thrown off by what he was, up on stage. He slapped the bass and banged his head harder than I could believe. It was a total 180 from the guy I had spoken with.

And he transformed into something like this when it was GO time

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Confidence is huge in sports, and I just came across a great article on the Wall Street Journal that everyone in the sports or business world needs to read. If you don’t read The Journal, I highly suggest setting it as your homepage, as it will provide you with poignant, well-written articles, something you don’t find on Yahoo or the rest of those pop-culture news site. Click the link below, and let me know your thoughts…

Slumping at Work? What Would Jack [Nicklaus] Do?

The season is winding down, which means I’m now spending a lot of my spare time reflecting on how I’ve done, how I could have done better, and how I intend on improving for next season. I’ve thrown more good pitches than bad, but success doesn’t inspire the need to change; rather, looking back at some of the pitches yielding hard hits, runs and losses has been a way for me to grow as a pitcher. The most drastic the outcome, the more indelibly the pitch has been scarred into my mind. Read the rest of this entry »

It’s the 5th inning, and your starter hasn’t been overly thrifty with his pitches. He has 1 out so far in the inning, and just threw his 88th pitch. What is the fate of this pitcher on this hypothetical day?

If it’s 2010, chances are that a reliever is stirring in the bullpen, and this starter won’t see the 6th inning. Why? Because he will have exceeded his 100 pitch limit by the end of the 5th, or would too greatly surpass it if he went back out the following inning. The 100-pitch barrier proves the undoing of his fun. Read the rest of this entry »

When I was a freshman in college I looked up to our upperclassmen; they were bigger, faster, stronger, and knew the game better than I did. They helped the younger guys, passed on wisdom, and exuded an experienced confidence that I lacked.

When I became a senior, I was a lot of the same things they were – wiser, bigger, better and more experienced, but I didn’t feel like I thought I would. It wasn’t that I wasn’t confident in myself, but I still felt like me, and not that much like them. When I looked at those guys as a youngster, I wondered how it would feel to be that guy, and I imposed a set of characteristics upon them. The veterans always seem outwardly solemn, straight-forward, strong and confident, and you imagine that they would feel that way inside as well. But when I got to filling that role, I didn’t feel like I thought I would feel.

So I thought hard about this – do people ever feel the way we think they do when we look at them? Celebrities, major leaguers, rock stars – they all exude awesome amounts of coolness, but does this coolness permeate them through and through, or do they feel like scared kids just the same as the rest of us?

As a senior, I was perplexed that I didn’t feel like I thought I should as one of the elders. I brought this up to one of my philosophy professors, and he shared some wisdom with me that I really took home, and still carry with me…

In the forest, the tall oak tree stands above the others. It provides shade, food, oxygen and shelter to all the animals in the forest; It does not try to do this; it simply provides as a result of what it is.

Don’t try to be something you’re not, and don’t try to force who you are or want to be; by going about your business honorably and doing your best, you’ll grow taller and impact other people without even trying. The tallest oak tree impacts the whole forest without trying, knowing, or wanting to do so. It does it because it does, and is because it is.

Maybe no one ever feels like, or inwardly lives up to the perception we have of them. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

After writing about superstition and having an exceptional outing sandwiched between two rather poor ones, I have come to a realization: I don’t care how I perform on the field.

Don’t get me wrong – I hate losing and performing poorly. Losing reflects negatively on me as an athlete; mostly, it reinforces the idea that maybe I’m not that good of one. I try rather hard to be “good,” and I want some bang for my buck.

No, what I’m talking simply extends my view of the world so that it blankets my life as an athlete. In a nutshell, I’m not responsible for anything that happens on the field, and because I’m not responsible for it, I’m not emotionally attached.

How could I possibly feel that I can control an entire baseball game from the mound, yet be completely without culpability for the results? One word: Determinism.

Determinism is the idea that all of our actions in life are predetermined, and that we lack free will. Strict determinism is extremely difficult for people to feel safe with, as perceived moral responsibility is necessary for people to govern their own behavior in a way that protects all the members of a society. If people don’t feel bad about acting in malicious ways because they feel that they lack culpability, then there is little mechanism left for adjustment of the behavior. Yet, I believe in determinism.

I believe that all of my actions are governed in a strict way not because of some external power or God, but rather my own method of processing the world, of which I have no control. My brain is unique, as is my perception of the world and my method of gathering and processing information. These facts of my unique nature, combined with all of the physical laws of the world result in my choices being governed by myself. Because I have no control over the way in which I process information, nor the creation of my processes, I really am no more responsible for my actions than a car is for breaking down. They happen the only way they possibly can.

Everyone I tell this to rejects my view. They say, “No, you can just choose otherwise.” This isn’t true. If I choose to eat a hotdog rather than a hamburger, when I ponder the choice I consider all the facts at hand, including but not limited to my hunger, food preferences, past experiences with each, perceived enjoyment of each, etc. Then, if I settle on a hamburger, but at the last minute just switch to a hotdog, I’m still doing it because of some internal desire, fact of the world, or whatever, of which I have no control. I can’t control my preferences, desires, physical laws  or history of the world. All of the methods of choice processing and all of the facts presented to me are all external of my own control. And thus, whatever choice I settle on was the only possible choice I could have made. Because of this, I have no responsibility for my choices and their outcomes.

So, when I take the mound, I do so having practiced my craft and prepared my body to the best of my ability each week. And even if I was lazy in my preparation, lazy was the only possible way in which I could have prepared. When I take the mound, I pick my pitch, based on all the information presented to me about the hitter, the game situation, my ability to execute the pitch, and then I let my body perform the act of pitching. When the pitch leaves my hand, it can travel only the path that is predetermined by the kinematics of my body and the physical laws of nature, to coincide with a mitt or bat which also resides in physical space according to strict physical laws. Thus, when I throw a pitch, I control it’s flight only in the sense that I tell my body to pitch it, and I then hope that the pitch is executed according to the idea for it I have set forth in my mind. What my physical body then does, is completely out of my control, as is the result of the pitch after it leaves my fingertips.

Roll 100 of these pitches together into a single pitching outing and you have a game over which I had a large influence but no actual responsibility. Win or lose, succeed or fail, it was all predetermined by factors outside of my control, because I lack the free will to control any of it. Thus, when I do well, I feel pride that my name is associated with a successful outing, but I know that I had little or nothing to do with producing that outcome.

Yet, as a human being, I violate even my own ideology. I feel angry and ashamed when I do poorly, and proud when I succeed. These emotions can only rightly be associated when one is responsible for an action; I am not. I see my own inconsistencies, but often fail to adjust them. Maybe it’s human nature.

Either way, win or lose, I try to stay level-headed, understanding that the results were largely beyond my control. Sure, preparing for the start and honing my mechanics allows me to execute each pitch with more consistency and accuracy. But, again, my willingness to prepare is a choice that stems from my unique, innate and determined character.

Make your head hurt? Mine too.