--I completely tore the left butt cheek of my baseball pants today. Seems Under Armour makes a wonderful product, but it cannot withstand the needs of a scrappy player such as myself. No matter: they just gave me a new pair of pants. Sweet. Free stuff.
--I also managed to dive back to second base to avoid being picked off, thus caking the entire front of my shirt in dirt (which became a sweaty mud) for the rest of practice. Hey, anything that gets me attention for hustling and playing hard is good in my book.
--It was so hot today that I sweat through my baseball pants. I need to find a way to bring more water to the field, or something. I don't think I'm losing weight, and I'm not having dehydration headaches. 3 and a half hours in 95 degree heat and direct sunlight kind of zaps your energy, though.
--They handed out bats to returners today. There was a big bucket of bats, and they just got passed out like it was no big deal. $350 to you, $350 to you...oh, that's not the one you wanted? Well here, have another stick worth $350. Nah, just keep the other one. I was unaware this kind of thing happened.
Time for bed. More lifting tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Last First Day
I was talking with my brother about today, the first day of practice. He made a very meaningful point: today is my last first day. My eligibility is done with after this year, and everyone knows adult leagues aren't the same. And even though scout day is on Sunday, my name won't be one they're following closely. This starts the last time I will be able to compete at this level.
--
It's worth briefly mentioning how much of an influence my brother has been on my baseball career. Well, no, it would be more accurate to say how much of an influence he has been on my life; but that would be a topic of such length and complexity that I have neither the patience nor the linguistic ability to appropriately write it. So we'll stick to baseball. My brother was a rags-to-riches story in baseball; he started as a kid who looked to have little or no future beyond little league. Teams picked him last, coaches left him off select teams-- the game of baseball essentially thumbed its nose at him. But instead of quitting, like most frustrated 13-year-olds, he decided that he loved baseball and would work to develop whatever talent he had. My dad, extremely proud of his young son's work ethic, would go out with him every Sunday morning when everyone was at church and the fields were open. And for reasons unknown, they decided to drag along the whiny, snot-nosed little bastard who did NOT want to be pulled away from his cartoons.
Obviously, that was me.
As I shagged ball after ball at what came in our family to be known as the Sunday Morning Church of Baseball, a few funny things happened. First and foremost, my brother got better. His arm got stronger, his bat quicker, his eyes sharper, and with every success, his work ethic grew to be unparalleled. He first became known in high school as the kid who basically willed himself onto the junior varsity team as a sophomore, short on talent but huge on hustle and heart. But then he became the workout maniac-- nobody ran harder, threw medicine balls with more fire, or could hold boards as long as he could. His senior year, he finally busted out and became the player he had wanted to be. His batting average from his senior captain season still ranks in the top 10 all time at our high school.
And then, soon as it began, it was over. He ended his baseball career at the top, moving on to conquer other mountains once he got to college. But in the meantime, the Sunday Morning Church of Baseball wasn't done working its magic. Shagging balls on those dewy morning fields, I learned and honed my greatest skill: tracking fly balls. When a ball was hit, I simply knew where it was going to end up. I also had the speed to get there. Although my hitting was never a problem, my greatest strength in baseball has always lain in my ability to cover an astounding amount of ground in the outfield.
But I got to draw on his greatest strength, as well. I learned what it really meant to work for something that you wanted, to hustle the hardest, to be the scrappiest, grittiest player on the field. And now, even though his baseball career ended seven years ago, I still see him in my head and hear him in my mind letting me know that if he was on the field next to me, he'd be working even harder. That helps me when I'm going well, picks me up when I'm down, and drives me all the time.
--
So now you know a bit more of the background of the conversation. He reminded me to take just a minute, at the start of practice, to look around, take it in, and remember the road I've come down to get to this point. But not too long of a look, because I can't afford to lose focus on the task at hand. It's true: it is very difficult to be retrospective, especially about accomplishments, for any length of time without losing out a little bit on what you're working toward at the current point in time.
I looked over the field, breathed deeply twice, and smiled. Then I started my last first day.
--
It's worth briefly mentioning how much of an influence my brother has been on my baseball career. Well, no, it would be more accurate to say how much of an influence he has been on my life; but that would be a topic of such length and complexity that I have neither the patience nor the linguistic ability to appropriately write it. So we'll stick to baseball. My brother was a rags-to-riches story in baseball; he started as a kid who looked to have little or no future beyond little league. Teams picked him last, coaches left him off select teams-- the game of baseball essentially thumbed its nose at him. But instead of quitting, like most frustrated 13-year-olds, he decided that he loved baseball and would work to develop whatever talent he had. My dad, extremely proud of his young son's work ethic, would go out with him every Sunday morning when everyone was at church and the fields were open. And for reasons unknown, they decided to drag along the whiny, snot-nosed little bastard who did NOT want to be pulled away from his cartoons.
Obviously, that was me.
As I shagged ball after ball at what came in our family to be known as the Sunday Morning Church of Baseball, a few funny things happened. First and foremost, my brother got better. His arm got stronger, his bat quicker, his eyes sharper, and with every success, his work ethic grew to be unparalleled. He first became known in high school as the kid who basically willed himself onto the junior varsity team as a sophomore, short on talent but huge on hustle and heart. But then he became the workout maniac-- nobody ran harder, threw medicine balls with more fire, or could hold boards as long as he could. His senior year, he finally busted out and became the player he had wanted to be. His batting average from his senior captain season still ranks in the top 10 all time at our high school.
And then, soon as it began, it was over. He ended his baseball career at the top, moving on to conquer other mountains once he got to college. But in the meantime, the Sunday Morning Church of Baseball wasn't done working its magic. Shagging balls on those dewy morning fields, I learned and honed my greatest skill: tracking fly balls. When a ball was hit, I simply knew where it was going to end up. I also had the speed to get there. Although my hitting was never a problem, my greatest strength in baseball has always lain in my ability to cover an astounding amount of ground in the outfield.
But I got to draw on his greatest strength, as well. I learned what it really meant to work for something that you wanted, to hustle the hardest, to be the scrappiest, grittiest player on the field. And now, even though his baseball career ended seven years ago, I still see him in my head and hear him in my mind letting me know that if he was on the field next to me, he'd be working even harder. That helps me when I'm going well, picks me up when I'm down, and drives me all the time.
--
So now you know a bit more of the background of the conversation. He reminded me to take just a minute, at the start of practice, to look around, take it in, and remember the road I've come down to get to this point. But not too long of a look, because I can't afford to lose focus on the task at hand. It's true: it is very difficult to be retrospective, especially about accomplishments, for any length of time without losing out a little bit on what you're working toward at the current point in time.
I looked over the field, breathed deeply twice, and smiled. Then I started my last first day.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Ooh... Free Stuff...
A major perk of Division I is the stuff you get that you don't have to pay for. For instance:
--Clothing. Just for fall ball today, I got a hat, three shirts, and a nice pair of under armour shorts. All custom material (as in, you can't buy them anywhere). Estimated total cost? Probably around $80-100. And I'm not even on the team yet. They took down my batting glove size, pant size, preferred bat size, cleat size, and jersey size, for stuff that I could get if I make the team. Estimated cost: Who knows? Bat alone could be $300, cleats $100, jersey pants $50, custom top $70, batting gloves $30. Oh, and jacket, $60. That adds up to $610. Per player. Athletics are expensive.
--Health care. There are few things I love more than walking into an athletic training room. It's like a free health care club. Here's an excerpt from an email I wrote to my brother today:
"I went into the training room after lifting today to get some ice for my shoulder and back (shoulder preventatively, and back because it's been a bit sore from all the hitting). I was swarmed by student trainers who were just dying to help me. I had to tell them I was fine, that I could get my own ice bags...and then they swarmed me to help wrap everything on. I asked them their names and introduced myself, and they looked at me like nobody had ever asked them their names before. I thanked them for helping take care of me, and they were all smiles."
Note to future athletes: Trainers are PEOPLE. Just like you. Just as it is your job to perform on the field, it is their job to keep you healthy. Your job may be higher-profile, but it is not more important. Don't forget that. Let them know that you appreciate their help and they will come through in spades for you.
--Tickets. Any game we play at home this year, I can get a few people in for free. I know, it doesn't sound like much, since tickets are probably only like $3 for non-students. It's more the principle of it. Maybe it only sounds cool to me.
--Clothing. Just for fall ball today, I got a hat, three shirts, and a nice pair of under armour shorts. All custom material (as in, you can't buy them anywhere). Estimated total cost? Probably around $80-100. And I'm not even on the team yet. They took down my batting glove size, pant size, preferred bat size, cleat size, and jersey size, for stuff that I could get if I make the team. Estimated cost: Who knows? Bat alone could be $300, cleats $100, jersey pants $50, custom top $70, batting gloves $30. Oh, and jacket, $60. That adds up to $610. Per player. Athletics are expensive.
--Health care. There are few things I love more than walking into an athletic training room. It's like a free health care club. Here's an excerpt from an email I wrote to my brother today:
"I went into the training room after lifting today to get some ice for my shoulder and back (shoulder preventatively, and back because it's been a bit sore from all the hitting). I was swarmed by student trainers who were just dying to help me. I had to tell them I was fine, that I could get my own ice bags...and then they swarmed me to help wrap everything on. I asked them their names and introduced myself, and they looked at me like nobody had ever asked them their names before. I thanked them for helping take care of me, and they were all smiles."
Note to future athletes: Trainers are PEOPLE. Just like you. Just as it is your job to perform on the field, it is their job to keep you healthy. Your job may be higher-profile, but it is not more important. Don't forget that. Let them know that you appreciate their help and they will come through in spades for you.
--Tickets. Any game we play at home this year, I can get a few people in for free. I know, it doesn't sound like much, since tickets are probably only like $3 for non-students. It's more the principle of it. Maybe it only sounds cool to me.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Orientation and Being a Mentor
Now that's two hours of my life I want back. I just had to sit through the Student-Athlete Orientation, required for all incoming freshmen and transfers. It was two hours of time management and "Here's How College Is Different From High School." What a waste of time for me.
You should have seen the looks on the other baseball players' faces when I told them no, goddammit, I'm NOT a freshman, I DON'T live in a dorm, I'm a graduate student, I'm 22 years old, and I already graduated from one college.
As an aside, this puts me in an interesting position. There's one incoming freshman, we'll call him "Chris," who I hit with today. The kid, simply put, is talented. He hits the ball harder and with more consistency than I do, and with a lot less effort. Not that big, but you can tell that he hasn't even filled out yet. The thing that separates him from the other players, though, is his attitude. He might be the most gifted freshman, but he is a worker. Always looking to see what he can improve, what he can get better, listens to advice, so on. Many of the other idiots were going through the motions, taking bad hacks, and not getting the most out of their time in the care. Not Chris. Every swing had a purpose.
Naturally, he reminds me of me.
So I took Chris aside and told him a little more of my background. I told him that I had already been through a career, including being a standout and captain. I told him I was impressed by his work ethic, and how important it was going to be for him to keep that in the face of his surroundings, that he couldn't afford to be derailed by the other players not giving their best. There were other players talking about how they would be skipping the 6 AM workouts starting next week, and I noted that those would be the guys who would get cut first. He told me he appreciated the guidance, and he wanted to continue to hit and throw with me outside of workouts.
Whoa. Did I just get a student? Can I handle that? I mean, I'm used to being a captain, and being a mentor to younger players. But I was also one of the best players on the field at my old school. Can I still fill the role of mentor, even though I'm fighting to make the team just like the players I want to teach? And will the other players on the team be upset that I'm okay with that role? Such are the issues facing a 22-year-old first-year player, I guess.
I imagine some of these questions will sort themselves out. Again, if I can swing it, it's probably in my best interest to show that I am capable of being another authority figure on the team...kind of a half-coach, if you will. Maybe that makes me more valuable to the team? Hopefully?
Whatever. I can still catch fly balls better than anyone I've ever seen. I have a better shot relying on that than I do on anything else.
You should have seen the looks on the other baseball players' faces when I told them no, goddammit, I'm NOT a freshman, I DON'T live in a dorm, I'm a graduate student, I'm 22 years old, and I already graduated from one college.
As an aside, this puts me in an interesting position. There's one incoming freshman, we'll call him "Chris," who I hit with today. The kid, simply put, is talented. He hits the ball harder and with more consistency than I do, and with a lot less effort. Not that big, but you can tell that he hasn't even filled out yet. The thing that separates him from the other players, though, is his attitude. He might be the most gifted freshman, but he is a worker. Always looking to see what he can improve, what he can get better, listens to advice, so on. Many of the other idiots were going through the motions, taking bad hacks, and not getting the most out of their time in the care. Not Chris. Every swing had a purpose.
Naturally, he reminds me of me.
So I took Chris aside and told him a little more of my background. I told him that I had already been through a career, including being a standout and captain. I told him I was impressed by his work ethic, and how important it was going to be for him to keep that in the face of his surroundings, that he couldn't afford to be derailed by the other players not giving their best. There were other players talking about how they would be skipping the 6 AM workouts starting next week, and I noted that those would be the guys who would get cut first. He told me he appreciated the guidance, and he wanted to continue to hit and throw with me outside of workouts.
Whoa. Did I just get a student? Can I handle that? I mean, I'm used to being a captain, and being a mentor to younger players. But I was also one of the best players on the field at my old school. Can I still fill the role of mentor, even though I'm fighting to make the team just like the players I want to teach? And will the other players on the team be upset that I'm okay with that role? Such are the issues facing a 22-year-old first-year player, I guess.
I imagine some of these questions will sort themselves out. Again, if I can swing it, it's probably in my best interest to show that I am capable of being another authority figure on the team...kind of a half-coach, if you will. Maybe that makes me more valuable to the team? Hopefully?
Whatever. I can still catch fly balls better than anyone I've ever seen. I have a better shot relying on that than I do on anything else.
Monday, September 22, 2008
First Lift
At 8:00 this morning, I got to see if my offseason conditioning did me any good. After a quick hiccup where the strength and conditioning coach didn't believe me that I'd been cleared to work out, we got everything cleared up and got started.
First, the setting. This is the first time I'd ever been able to use a varsity weight room. It's not very big, but it's nice. And more importantly, it is CLEAN. And ORDERLY. Every weight is in its correct place, every bar racked. It looks like a military weight room. Only a handful of machines, too; most of the space is dedicated to clean pads, squat racks, and benches. Cool, as far as I'm concerned.
The lifting itself is very orderly and as a team. After warm-ups, we paired off and headed to a clean pad. At the direction of the strength and conditioning coach, we got our weight ready, and then we did sets together. The pace was clearly set and was not deviated from. I like the order. It gives a very official feeling to the whole affair, and the varsity weight room makes you feel like you're in a club. Maybe I'm the only one who was giddy about that sort of thing, but I had to hide it anyways, since, you know, I'm the grizzled veteran and all that crap.
I was very surprised to see that in terms of the weight I could lift, I was comparable to some of the other lifters. And my form was GREAT. As expected, I'm definitely below average in strength, in terms of total weight lifted; but for my size, I am in great shape. Of course, whenever they open up the Good For Your Size League, I'll be a charter member, but until that exists, nobody cares how good you are for your size. Well, maybe in boxing. But not here.
After we finished lifting, we went outside to do a little bit of running. I was worried, because I'd worked myself pretty hard in the lifting, and Mr. Stomach didn't sound pleased to be doing any running. Lucky for me, it was agility-type things that I had done extensively back when I ran track, and I had a leg up (literally, for one of them) on the rest of the guys. At the end, the S&C coach picked three guys, and told them to pick three teams for a relay race. I was second picked! Out of like 20 guys! On the explanation that he didn't know my name, but I looked fast! This bodes well for me. And I didn't disappoint, either.
I guess this lift gave me the same feeling that I got after I hit and threw. On the one hand, one can see that I'm a smaller player, that I don't have the power or strength of the other guys. But I don't look like I don't belong, I just look like a small D-1 player. You can work and hustle and think yourself a long ways, but unless you have the physical tools, it can only take you so far. I'm learning that, actually, I can compete athletically at these guys' level. I guess I'm saying that I really do have the tools to be a D-1 player. That really helps to boost my confidence that this actually is something I can do.
That focuses me. Less hoping, more doing.
First, the setting. This is the first time I'd ever been able to use a varsity weight room. It's not very big, but it's nice. And more importantly, it is CLEAN. And ORDERLY. Every weight is in its correct place, every bar racked. It looks like a military weight room. Only a handful of machines, too; most of the space is dedicated to clean pads, squat racks, and benches. Cool, as far as I'm concerned.
The lifting itself is very orderly and as a team. After warm-ups, we paired off and headed to a clean pad. At the direction of the strength and conditioning coach, we got our weight ready, and then we did sets together. The pace was clearly set and was not deviated from. I like the order. It gives a very official feeling to the whole affair, and the varsity weight room makes you feel like you're in a club. Maybe I'm the only one who was giddy about that sort of thing, but I had to hide it anyways, since, you know, I'm the grizzled veteran and all that crap.
I was very surprised to see that in terms of the weight I could lift, I was comparable to some of the other lifters. And my form was GREAT. As expected, I'm definitely below average in strength, in terms of total weight lifted; but for my size, I am in great shape. Of course, whenever they open up the Good For Your Size League, I'll be a charter member, but until that exists, nobody cares how good you are for your size. Well, maybe in boxing. But not here.
After we finished lifting, we went outside to do a little bit of running. I was worried, because I'd worked myself pretty hard in the lifting, and Mr. Stomach didn't sound pleased to be doing any running. Lucky for me, it was agility-type things that I had done extensively back when I ran track, and I had a leg up (literally, for one of them) on the rest of the guys. At the end, the S&C coach picked three guys, and told them to pick three teams for a relay race. I was second picked! Out of like 20 guys! On the explanation that he didn't know my name, but I looked fast! This bodes well for me. And I didn't disappoint, either.
I guess this lift gave me the same feeling that I got after I hit and threw. On the one hand, one can see that I'm a smaller player, that I don't have the power or strength of the other guys. But I don't look like I don't belong, I just look like a small D-1 player. You can work and hustle and think yourself a long ways, but unless you have the physical tools, it can only take you so far. I'm learning that, actually, I can compete athletically at these guys' level. I guess I'm saying that I really do have the tools to be a D-1 player. That really helps to boost my confidence that this actually is something I can do.
That focuses me. Less hoping, more doing.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
First Baseball Party
Hey, in college athletics, your team becomes your fraternity. Obviously, if you get a bunch of guys together who have something in common, especially if they're young, they're going to party. So I got a chance last night to go to a baseball party for the first time, meet some of the guys, play some beer pong, whatever.
I was most surprised that everyone was very nice. Excited to meet me? No, but I didn't expect it; these guys have been a team, and I'm still an outsider. But everyone at least took the time to say hi, ask me my name, shake my hand. I talked with a few of them, and I'm learning a lot of names, but on the whole, the group was less aloof than I would have expected.
Had a fun conversation about drug testing. I found out that some of the players basically go nuts during the summer, and smoke a year's worth of weed in a few months so they can get it out of the way. Drug testing goes school-year-round, and some of it is planned, but some is not...and it's all random. At any time, an NCAA official could walk into the dugout, tap me on the shoulder, and ask me to please urinate in his cup while he watches. Weird. Back in D-III, we only got drug-tested if we made the playoffs, and it was only a few guys randomly selected from the team, so I've actually never been tested. I'm not too concerned, though.
It's very apparent that, like high school, there's a pretty wide ...er... academic capability gap between the players. Okay, I'll say it: some of these guys are DUMB. I wonder how exactly they keep their grades up to be able to compete, and I imagine there are some who really struggle with that. Some are higher academic achievers like myself, and some seem to be pretty capable guys. But there's a much bigger range than I'm used to.
Lastly, everyone is AWESOME at drinking games. I guess that's what comes from having a group of coordinated individuals. Go figure.
I was most surprised that everyone was very nice. Excited to meet me? No, but I didn't expect it; these guys have been a team, and I'm still an outsider. But everyone at least took the time to say hi, ask me my name, shake my hand. I talked with a few of them, and I'm learning a lot of names, but on the whole, the group was less aloof than I would have expected.
Had a fun conversation about drug testing. I found out that some of the players basically go nuts during the summer, and smoke a year's worth of weed in a few months so they can get it out of the way. Drug testing goes school-year-round, and some of it is planned, but some is not...and it's all random. At any time, an NCAA official could walk into the dugout, tap me on the shoulder, and ask me to please urinate in his cup while he watches. Weird. Back in D-III, we only got drug-tested if we made the playoffs, and it was only a few guys randomly selected from the team, so I've actually never been tested. I'm not too concerned, though.
It's very apparent that, like high school, there's a pretty wide ...er... academic capability gap between the players. Okay, I'll say it: some of these guys are DUMB. I wonder how exactly they keep their grades up to be able to compete, and I imagine there are some who really struggle with that. Some are higher academic achievers like myself, and some seem to be pretty capable guys. But there's a much bigger range than I'm used to.
Lastly, everyone is AWESOME at drinking games. I guess that's what comes from having a group of coordinated individuals. Go figure.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Hitting with the Guys
I had my first taste of D-1 hitting today. I went out and hit and played catch with two of the established members of the team, a 5th-year first baseman and a 3rd-year middle infielder. Both nice guys, both good athletes. Both got legitimate playing time last year and figure to be in the plans for this year.
First we played catch. Well, no, first I waited AN HOUR for them to show up...I always thought the point of having cell phones was to answer them, but hey, that's just me. In any case, we got to playing catch. On the one hand, I was throwing great; no pain, great range of motion, none of the things that usually bother me when I throw, even some carry on the ball. On the other hand, I felt like I was carrying a slingshot compared to their rifles. Just another reminder that the quality of athlete is higher here. I certainly didn't embarrass myself, but I definitely have a weaker arm. It's odd to be throwing and thinking "Oh my god! My arm feels fantastic! Whoo hoooo!" in your head, and still be the worst arm out there. Whatever.
After throwing, we step into the cage. I was just about shaking, because I was nervous and really wanted to show these guys that I belong, regardless of if I do or not. But thankfully, the first baseman went first. The guy is 6'5", 250, and cut. He started DESTROYING the ball. I would bet he could launch a ball 500 feet if he wanted to.
Watching him hit had an unexpected effect on me. I was all of a sudden very relaxed, no longer concerned with impressing these players. Why? Because not only did I know that I will never be able to hit like this other guy, nobody on the field expects me to be able to. I play a different game, and I need to be the best at MY game, not at anybody else's. So I stepped up next, had a pretty good round, didn't come anywhere CLOSE to the other guy's power, and was totally fine with it.
I think there will be two themes here that I need to be aware of. First, I am a fifth-year player who supposedly has been there and seen it all. I need to portray the image that nothing surprises me or fazes me. Hard to do when I'm going to be facing pitching that's faster than any I've ever seen before, or watching our first baseman launch balls into low Earth orbit. But I need to convince everyone that I belong. Second, I can't worry about how I do relative to the other players in terms of power. I'm smaller. I'm not going to beat them in power, and if I make the competition about power, then I'm going to lose. I need to make sure I'm competing based on my strengths: anticipation, bunting, speed, covering ground in the outfield. Spray hitting. Coaching other players. Confidence. And most of all, no QUESTION most of all, hustle. If I let anyone on the team out-hustle me, I'm not making it. I can't forget that.
First we played catch. Well, no, first I waited AN HOUR for them to show up...I always thought the point of having cell phones was to answer them, but hey, that's just me. In any case, we got to playing catch. On the one hand, I was throwing great; no pain, great range of motion, none of the things that usually bother me when I throw, even some carry on the ball. On the other hand, I felt like I was carrying a slingshot compared to their rifles. Just another reminder that the quality of athlete is higher here. I certainly didn't embarrass myself, but I definitely have a weaker arm. It's odd to be throwing and thinking "Oh my god! My arm feels fantastic! Whoo hoooo!" in your head, and still be the worst arm out there. Whatever.
After throwing, we step into the cage. I was just about shaking, because I was nervous and really wanted to show these guys that I belong, regardless of if I do or not. But thankfully, the first baseman went first. The guy is 6'5", 250, and cut. He started DESTROYING the ball. I would bet he could launch a ball 500 feet if he wanted to.
Watching him hit had an unexpected effect on me. I was all of a sudden very relaxed, no longer concerned with impressing these players. Why? Because not only did I know that I will never be able to hit like this other guy, nobody on the field expects me to be able to. I play a different game, and I need to be the best at MY game, not at anybody else's. So I stepped up next, had a pretty good round, didn't come anywhere CLOSE to the other guy's power, and was totally fine with it.
I think there will be two themes here that I need to be aware of. First, I am a fifth-year player who supposedly has been there and seen it all. I need to portray the image that nothing surprises me or fazes me. Hard to do when I'm going to be facing pitching that's faster than any I've ever seen before, or watching our first baseman launch balls into low Earth orbit. But I need to convince everyone that I belong. Second, I can't worry about how I do relative to the other players in terms of power. I'm smaller. I'm not going to beat them in power, and if I make the competition about power, then I'm going to lose. I need to make sure I'm competing based on my strengths: anticipation, bunting, speed, covering ground in the outfield. Spray hitting. Coaching other players. Confidence. And most of all, no QUESTION most of all, hustle. If I let anyone on the team out-hustle me, I'm not making it. I can't forget that.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Eligibility: Accomplished!!
FINALLY. After a month and a half of emails, phone calls, NO previous experience to guide me, and missed connections, I have enough credits, two passed physicals, about 17 signed forms, and official eligibility to practice. For the love of God, it should not have been this hard. Well, another box checked.
Future college athletes: when dealing with eligibility, GO TO A COUNSELOR. Go talk to somebody who has taken people through this process before, and have them help you. Pay them if you need to. It is so not worth trying to drag it through on your own. Also, never transfer. What a pain.
Future college athletes: when dealing with eligibility, GO TO A COUNSELOR. Go talk to somebody who has taken people through this process before, and have them help you. Pay them if you need to. It is so not worth trying to drag it through on your own. Also, never transfer. What a pain.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Made it to school!!
Well, I finally finished the summer off. Wrapped up the last week of lifting and conditioning, finished off my project at work, got everything packed up, and headed off in a car with no air conditioning. Balls. Dad and I found out around halfway that even though it was a beautiful 75 degrees outside, the constant sunshine made for an absolute hotbox rolling down the freeway. But we made it.
I guess the first portion of the great experiment is over. I'm sitting here in my half-finished room, thinking about how far my body has come since the summer began. Aside from some residual right knee soreness, which I am a bit concerned about, everything else feels pretty good. Shoulder feels loose, elbow isn't tight. I really couldn't ask for more from the conditioning. We'll see pretty soon if it was enough.
I guess the first portion of the great experiment is over. I'm sitting here in my half-finished room, thinking about how far my body has come since the summer began. Aside from some residual right knee soreness, which I am a bit concerned about, everything else feels pretty good. Shoulder feels loose, elbow isn't tight. I really couldn't ask for more from the conditioning. We'll see pretty soon if it was enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)