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.

When you succeed, go out the next day and work even harder; hard work was what got you there. If you press, you’ll ensure that your breakthrough didn’t occur by happenstance.

When you fail, go out the next day and work even harder; your work ethic is the only thing of which you have full control. Understand that your preparation is the hand with which you grasp your own destiny.

Satisfaction incubates mediocrity.

In this post I’ll outline my mental approach to pitching. I’m not going to get into pitching strategy (selection, location, situational stuff) too much, but rather, talk about the general mindset I take when I step onto the rubber.

The most important strategy for me is to get cocky. I’m normally a pretty laid back guy, but when it comes to baseball, and especially pitching, I become arrogant, and an a-hole, kind of like these guys:

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