THE MENTAL ABCs OF PITCHING

THE MENTAL ABCs OF PITCHING

A Handbook for Performance Enhancement

H. A. DORFMAN
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Harvey A. Dorfman was a noted sports psychologist as well as a
sports psychology counselor with the Scott Boras Agency. He began
his career in baseball psychology with the Oakland Athletics as their
full-time instructor and counselor. He later worked with the Florida
Marlins and Tampa Bay Devil Rays in a similar capacity before
joining the Scott Boras Agency. Recognized as a leading sports
psychologist across the world, Dorfman was also a columnist and
freelance journalist with articles appearing in The New York Times,
The Boston Globe, and The Miami Herald. During his career, he
lectured extensively on sports psychology, management and
leadership training, and personal development as well as provided
counseling services to professional teams in the NHL. He was the
author of three other books: Coaching the Mental Game, The Mental
Game of Baseball, and The Mental Keys to Hitting.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Foreword by Rick Wolff

Introduction

Adjustments
Adversity
Aggressiveness
Analysis
Anger
Anxiety
Approach
Arousal
Attitude

Balance
Behavior
Belief
Big Inning
Body Language
Breathing

Catchers
Character
Closers
Coaching Self
Competitor
Concentration
Confidence
Consistency
Contact
Control
Count
Courage

Dedication
Discipline
Emotions
Excuses
Execution

Fear of Failure
Fifth Inning
Finishing Hitters
First Inning

Gathering
Giving In
Goals

Habits
Hitters

Intelligence
Intensity

Joy

K’s

Learning

Mantra

Negativism
Nice Guys

Outs

Perspective
Poise
Positivism
Preparation
Pressure

Quitting

Relaxation
Relentlessness
Response
Responsibility
Results
Rubber

Selection
Self-esteem
Self-fulfilling Prophecy
Self-talk
Shut-down Innings
Simplicity
Strikes

Target
Task at Hand
Tempo

Umpires
Urgency

Visualization

Warrior
Will

“X”

Yesterday
Zeros

Appendix A
Appendix B
 Dedicated to Karl Kuehl,
Who saw the trail, built the wagon,
And put me in the driver’s seat.
FOREWORD

IN APPRECIATION OF HARVEY DORFMAN

By Rick Wolff
When Harvey Dorfman passed away in 2011 at the age of 75,
major league baseball lost one of its all-time greats.
Over the last 30 years, just about every major league player,
general manager, field manager, and agent either knew Harvey or
certainly had heard of his impact. They all knew of the mental magic
he worked on talented ballplayers.
Harvey was indeed a singular individual, certainly one of a kind.
So . . . who was Harvey Dorfman?
In short, he introduced the world of major league baseball to the
wonders of sports psychology. And he did it in a most unique and
unusual way.
You know the old Yogi Berra expression that “half of this game is
90 percent mental”? I don’t know if Dorfman ever met Yogi, but trust
me on this: Harvey certainly agreed with Yogi. Baseball, which is a
game based upon constant failure and daily disappointment, is
pockmarked by all sorts of mental distractions, obsessions,
anxieties, and even superstitions. Harvey knew all of this, inhaled it
all, and helped pro players of all stripes come to terms with their
fears.
A man of apparent contradictions, Harvey was a most educated
and literate gentleman. He was a man of letters, a true scholar. Yet
to better communicate with ballplayers, he could swear like a
drunken sailor with enough profanity mixed in to peel paint off a wall.
Harvey offered no apology for this approach; he just knew that
ballplayers would feel more comfortable with him if he spoke the
language of dugouts.
But Harvey was indeed a lifelong lover of books. When I first met
him and his lovely wife, Anita, at their home in Prescott, Arizona, an
entire side of their living room wall was stacked from floor to ceiling
with books and more books. Originally trained as a high school
English teacher, Dorfman consumed the New York Times Book
Review each week in much the same way he would go over the daily
baseball box scores.
Back in the 1970s Harvey, Anita, and their two kids resided in
Vermont, where Dorfman taught in a small private school and wrote
newspaper columns. He was very proud that he coached the
school’s girls’ basketball team to great success. But during the
summer months Dorfman would attend Vermont Expos minor league
games, and it was there that he befriended Karl Kuehl, who oversaw
the Expos minor league system.
Over the course of that summer, Kuehl became so impressed
with Dorfman’s approach to baseball that when Kuehl left the Expos
to join the Oakland Athletics, he made sure to hire Harvey as a kind
of mental skills coach.
This was a totally new concept. Understand that this was
unprecedented in organized baseball. For example, when I was
playing in the Detroit Tigers organization in the early 1970s, after
having studied psychology as an undergraduate at Harvard, the
prevailing attitude in pro baseball was that “any player who needs to
talk to a shrink needs to have his head examined.”
As such, when Dorfman was hired by Oakland, this was a
monumental breakthrough for sports psychology. But in truth, Harvey
was never trained as a psychologist; he was a schoolteacher and
coach. He never had a doctorate in psychology.
But he possessed one amazing skill: He knew how to
communicate with ballplayers. He knew how to get them to open up
about their fears, worries, and insecurities.
And then, once the superstar millionaire ballplayer would confide
in Harvey about his batting slump or how he can’t throw strikes any
more, Harvey would actively listen. But he didn’t offer sympathy or
offer a kindly smile.
 Rather, just the opposite. Harv would roar at the player and
demand in a loud voice: “Okay, hot shot, you’re hitting under the
Mendoza line. . . . Tell me—what are you going to do about it? How
are you going to make the appropriate adjustments?”
In other words, Harvey was very big on getting players to
confront their shortcomings and failings. Harvey would often tell me
that he saw his job to “hold a mirror to these guys” so they could deal
with their issues. “Hey,” Harvey would bark at me, “somebody has to
tell these guys the truth! That’s my job!”
Trust me, Harvey was not big on telling major leaguers to “just
take a deep breath” or to “just think positive thoughts.” Harvey didn’t
put any stock in those approaches. Ironically, these days it seems
that lots of sports psychologists who work for major league teams do
offer that kind of Pollyanna advice. Harvey would scoff, “Don’t give
me any of that hold hands and sing Kumbaya BS! That’s not going to
get you to hit better!”
Harvey once told me that he felt that too many stars today are
surrounded by so many sycophants and “yes-men” that very few of
these players ever hear the truth. Dorfman saw his role as providing
a sharp contrast—being the loud voice of reality. And once the player
heard what Dorfman was saying, he would begin to get a sense of
what was holding him back. That was the key.
Take Jamie Moyer. The oldest pitcher to ever win a game in the
big leagues at age 49, Moyer writes in his autobiography, Just Tell
Me I Can’t, that he owes his entire major league career to Dorfman.
If you recall, Moyer didn’t throw hard enough to break a pane of
glass. But he pitched in the bigs for 25 years and came close to
winning 300 games.
As is written on the cover of his book: “Moyer was just about
finished as a big leaguer at 29 until he fatefully encountered a
gravel-voiced, highly confrontational mental skills coach named
Harvey Dorfman. Listening to the ‘in-your-face’ provocations of
Dorfman, Moyer began to re-invent and re-construct his mental
approach to the game.”
But there were a lot more followers than just Jamie Moyer.
Dozens more. I once visited Harvey’s home when he moved to North
Carolina later in his life. His office walls were covered with personally
autographed photos of major league stars, all with inscriptions like:
“Harvey—I owe my career to you” or “If you weren’t for you, Harv, I
wouldn’t still be in the big leagues.”
The list of players who sought out Dorfman? Names like Roy
Halladay . . . Brad Lidge . . . Greg Maddux . . . Jim Abbott . . . Al
Leiter . . . Kevin Brown . . . Mike Pelfrey . . . Rick Ankiel . . . Bob
Welch . . . and on and on. All sorts of big name stars, all of whom
had worked with and listened to Harvey.
Harvey would always blush when the top players referred to him
as “baseball’s best kept secret.” They would lovingly refer to him as
“baseball’s shrink.” But Harvey would laugh in protest and say, “I’m
not a shrink. . . . I’m a stretch! I’m trying to get these guys to stretch
their minds!”

***

The year was 1989. The phone rang in my Manhattan office, and a
man I didn’t know was telling me how much he enjoyed my book The
Psychology of Winning Baseball. He said he knew I had played pro
ball and had studied psychology. Flattered by such an unexpected
call, I was eager to get the caller’s name.
He said his name was Harvey Dorfman.
But there was more. Harvey explained that he worked for the
Oakland Athletics as their sports psychology coach, and that he was
always being approached by other major league teams to jump ship
to their club. He said he was very happy working for Oakland and
asked whether it would be okay if he gave my name to other major
league teams if they were looking for a sports psychology coach.
“Sure, that’s more than fine with me,” I told Harvey. I was very
flattered. But deep down, I really didn’t expect much to happen.
But something did happen. Within the next few days, I started to
receive phone calls from no fewer than six major league general
managers. Hank Peters of the Indians; Roland Hemond from the
Orioles; Jerry Reinsdorf, the owner of the White Sox; and so forth.
They were all calling me at the suggestion of Harvey Dorfman.
Suddenly I found myself being courted like a college recruit as
each GM was offering me a deal to come and work with their
players. I ended up signing with the Indians because I was
impressed with Hank Peters and his soon-to-become successor
John Hart. A young Dan O’Dowd was Hart’s assistant. (Dan went
onto become the GM of the Rockies). Plus the Indians had some
young, talented kids in their minor league system like Jim Thome,
Manny Ramirez, Albert Belle, Charlie Nagy, and so on.
In short, solely thanks to Harvey—a man I had never met—I got
the chance of a lifetime to work for a number of years with the
Cleveland Indians at the highest levels as their roving sports
psychology coach. I even received a 1995 American League
championship ring for efforts with the Tribe.
Here’s the bottom line: As of today there’s no wing in the Hall of
Fame for sports psychology, but clearly if there were one, Harvey
Dorfman would be a first-ballot unanimous choice. He was
absolutely unique. And the best news is that his legacy lives on with
his extraordinarily well-written books on the mental side of baseball.
For years, aspiring ballplayers have devoured Harvey’s books.
They have become de facto mandatory reading at all levels of the
game.
So consider yourself lucky. You’re about to turn the page and
learn from the master. . . . Harvey Dorfman.
Rick Wolff is one of the nation’s leading experts on sports
psychology and is the longtime host of “The Sports Edge” on WFAN
Radio in New York City. Drafted by the Detroit Tigers after his junior
year at Harvard, Wolff played two years in the minors before going
on to a career in coaching, sports psychology, publishing, and sports
commentary. You can read more about him at askcoachwolff.com.
INTRODUCTION
Not too long ago, I had a telephone conversation with 1990 Cy
Young Award winner, Bob Welch. Bobby, who had been a devoted
reader of The Mental Game of Baseball, ended our chat by saying.
“You know, you ought to write a book just on the mental game of
pitching. Pitching is what the game’s all about. Pitching IS the game.
You know that.”
Well, yes, I do believe that—and, lo and behold, I found myself
following his advice and writing that book. This book.
In The Mental Game of Baseball, Karl Kuehl and I attempted to
help athletes, coaches, and fans understand the mental inhibitors to
performance and to offer strategies for getting rid of those inhibitors
—allowing the athlete’s talent to fully express itself. Easier said than
done. We knew that. The responsibility for application was, is, and
always will be the athlete’s—entirely.
The Mental Game of Baseball is a fully developed presentation,
with lengthy chapters on responsibility, dedication, mental discipline,
and the like.
The Mental ABCs of Pitching is a handbook, so to speak, a more
succinct A-to-Z reference guide to the problems every pitcher can
face before, during, and after competition—and strategies for solving
these problems. The book is meant to be a companion to The Mental
Game of Baseball, not a replacement. Naturally, it is specific to
pitching. The book is an alphabetical compendium of my 15 years of
experience as a mental skills instructor/counselor with the Oakland
A’s, the Florida Marlins, and the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.
The book is not all-inclusive for two reasons. First, I did not think
it necessary to discuss everything I know about pitching. Second, I
do not know everything there is to know about pitching.
 The topics listed are the ones that most frequently (always?)
come up when talking with a player about his pitching. I would wish
the book to be comprehensive, but I realize there will be some topics
not treated, either by choice or by inadvertent omission. Most listings
are clearly interrelated; sometimes they seem—and may well be—
synonymous. I would hope to spare the reader tedious repetitions.
Yet, the interrelatedness should illustrate and emphasize the fact
that effective pitching in competition results from the applications of a
very basic core of mental principles. Pitching is not just the activity of
physically throwing a ball. On the other hand, it isn’t, and shouldn’t
be, complicated; people are complicated; baseball is not. This book
speaks to that complexity and simplicity.
Some entries are quite brief, either because the topic needs no
elaboration on the obvious, or because the topic overlaps with
another entry in the book. Others, of course, require more expansive
treatment.
These ABCs address the ways pitchers can inhibit and limit their
effectiveness. More importantly, they reveal how these same
pitchers, when allowing themselves to apply the appropriate mental
skills to the simplicity of the game, can improve themselves and
enhance their performance considerably.
The greatest percentage of my time has been spent working with
pitchers. They are, after all, the sinecure on the baseball field, on an
elevated stage of dirt, an island in a sea of grass (or turf); the only
offensive player on the defensive field. Action begins when the
pitcher delivers the ball. He is proactive; the hitter reactive. At least,
that’s the way it SHOULD be. All too often, however, the pitcher
forfeits that edge.
This “handbook” is meant to help the pitcher recognize, develop,
and maintain the advantage that is built into the game for him. It is, in
the end, the pitcher’s responsibility to integrate these strategies and
philosophies with behavior. Actions, we all know, speak louder than
words. At the end of each entry is a most important section: “WHAT
THE PITCHER SHOULD DO.” These are the mental and physical
keys that will allow and encourage appropriate actions to “speak” for
the pitcher. They are mainly mental activities, of course, that lead to
the penultimate physical one of executing the next pitch.
 It might be useful to the reader to glance at the complete Table of
Contents before beginning the book. This will allow for familiarity with
terms being used in the “SHOULD DO” sections. Helpful cross-
references will then be made with greater ease.
I hope readers, Bob Welch included, find these references and
entries interesting and instructive.

—H.A. Dorfman
“I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and life,
whose fountains are within.”
—Samuel Coleridge

“I have snatched my share of joys from the grudging hand of fate as I

have jogged along, but never has life held for me anything quite so
entrancing as baseball.”
—Clarence Darrow

“A well-executed pitch is one of the most graphic images in sports…

a joy to see. But it is more rewarding to be able to perform such
artistry.”
—Tom Seaver
∎ ADJUSTMENTS
It seems appropriate that the first entry in this alphabetical book
is ADJUSTMENTS, since conventional wisdom tells us that “baseball
is a game of adjustments.”
To make an adjustment is to make a change, an adaptation. In
the context of the baseball definition, it presumes a thoughtful,
rational assessment of A) what the pitcher was trying to do, B) what
went wrong, C) what he must do to fix it.
A key word here is “rational.” Too often, when something goes
wrong for a pitcher, he reacts emotionally, not thoughtfully. I've
witnessed a range of emotional reactions on pitching mounds—from
temper tantrums to submission and surrender. No poise, no
rationality—no adjustment.
An immediate and very brief emotional reaction is acceptable, on
the condition that it purges the pitcher of his unhappiness and
frustration, and it's an internal reaction (not observable by opponents
and/or team-mates). Only then is it possible for the pitcher to make
an adjustment and get back to the business at hand—the next pitch.
Making adjustments in the dugout after an inning is better than
making no adjustment at all. Making an adjustment before the next
hitter is better still. Making an adjustment before the pitch is best.
To think a pitcher will never make a mistake is unrealistic. Kevin
Brown was a self-proclaimed perfectionist, but he came to realize
that he had never met a perfect pitcher (or person, for that matter).
He conceded he was not going to be the first one in the world. By
making the necessary adjustments, Kevin learned to light a candle,
instead of cursing the darkness.

What the Pitcher Should Do ...

∎ Be rational, rather than emotional.

∎ Step off the mound and gather himself and his thoughts.
∎ Think of what to do, rather than what is happening “to him.”
∎ Know what he had been trying to do, what went wrong, and
what adjustment he wants to make.
∎ Bring his thoughts to the next pitch.
∎ Get back on the rubber for pitch selection and location.
∎ Focus on the target.
∎ Exhale deeply.
∎ Be aggressive and under control—and attack the strike zone.

∎ ADVERSITY
Adversity is, at the same time, a formidable test and a stem
teacher. The confrontation with difficulty, problems, or failure
introduces people to themselves. Henry Fielding wrote that
“adversity is the trial of principle. Without it a man hardly knows
whether he is honest or not.” Whether he can pass the test and learn
from the experience.
During the course of my daily talks with the team before
stretching each spring training, I’ve invariably included the reminder,
“If you want to know who I am, watch me when things aren’t going
my way.” That’s an indicator I always use when observing others,
when observing pitchers during competition. Unfortunately, many fail
the test.
 Lucretius wrote, “Look at the man in the midst of doubt and
danger...It is then that true utterances are wrung from [his]
recesses... The mask is torn off; the reality remains.”
Here’s a recurring reality: A pitcher is sailing along with a two-run
lead going into the sixth inning. He gets into some trouble; the score
becomes tied. He’s scuffling. He “needs an out.” Two men on, two
out. He makes a pitch and gets a groundball to short. The shortstop
boots it.
I cannot count how many times I’ve seen the pitcher come
unglued in this circumstance, or one similar to it. His responses to an
adverse situation—the disappointment that comes from thinking he
had closed out the inning, only to have an error committed behind
him—takes him out of his game, away from his approach, into a fog
of frustration or anger or selfpity. If I had a dollar for every pitcher
who failed to finish that inning, I’d have a wallet thicker than this
book.
The pitcher’s behavior was revealing and unacceptable. His ego
took over. His thoughts centered on himself—on what was
happening to him—instead of on the situation and what he could
make happen to improve or remedy it. Circumstance controlled him
and he took on a victim’s mentality, giving himself no chance to “get
the job done.” Typically—my wallet gets fatter—the pitcher would
invoke, “Here we go again,” instead of, “Here I go.” Therein is the
difference between being the hunter and being the prey.
Some of the indicators I’ve witnessed at such times were:
immediate drop of velocity, over-throwing, terrible body language,
complete loss of interest and energy—quitting. Courage and
discipline were not in evidence.
It should be mentioned here that all of us, at one time or another,
meet with adversity away from the field, as well. The serious illness
of a family member, for example, can be a terrible burden and
distraction. At the ballpark my advice to players in such cases has
been simple and direct. First, it must be determined whether the
player should be elsewhere. Is there something he can do to remedy
the situation or solve the problem? If so, then I encourage him to
stop agonizing about what to do and fulfill his responsibility. Do what
needs to be done.
 If there is nothing that can be done—no immediate control the
player can exert over the adverse circumstance to improve it—I try to
help that player concentrate on what he should be doing at the field.
That is, functioning professionally and effectively during a
complicated time. Easy to say, hard to do. How many times will the
reader see these words on these pages? If he had a dollar for every
time...
A pitcher may feel ill himself—or tired—before and during
competition. The best competitors pitch effectively even when they
are not at their physical best. Actually, the body most often will
provide the pitcher what he asks for if he wants to “win the war.” The
body’s sympathetic nervous system kicks in as compensation for the
fatigue or illness. A “battler” will get an extra adrenal charge.
Everyone who has ever competed can remember a day (days!)
when, though he felt terrible, his performance was wonderful.
When facing adversity, a choice must be made. Will it be fight—
or flight? “Tough” pitchers will last longer than tough times.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize that he will inevitably be faced with adversity in his

professional and/or personal life, rather than ignoring or
denying that eventuality.
∎ Consider, philosophically, that an adverse circumstance is a
challenge, rather than a threat.
∎ Be self-assertive, rather than self-pitying.
∎ Think of possible solutions, rather than the problem.
∎ During competition, think about what to do (see the target;
execute the pitch), rather than give in to how he is feeling.
∎ Recognize what is happening; get off the mound; gather his
thoughts; coach himself with positive self-talk—”C’mon, attack
the strike zone,” “Good low strike here,” “Throw through the
target,” or whatever MANTRA the pitcher chooses. All this,
rather than forfeiting his internal control to adverse external
factors of the moment.
∎ AGGRESSIVENESS
One of the synonyms for “aggressive,” as noted in The American
Heritage Dictionary, is “assertive.” The term will serve those well who
wish to understand what aggressiveness should mean to a pitcher.
In order to be assertive, a pitcher must put himself in an attack
mode. He must attack the strike zone—and establish the count in his
favor. Success for a pitcher, in his confrontation with the hitter,
comes from adopting that philosophy and putting it into action.
By being aggressive in the strike zone, the pitcher increases the
personal likelihood of success beyond the statistical one built into the
game. The statistical history of the games indicates that in the on-
going battle between pitchers and hitters, the hitters will “fail” more
than seven times out of every 10 at-bats. The assertive pitcher—the
one who throws strikes with his best stuff early in the count—
improves that statistic for himself.
“Best stuff” should be applied to each pitcher as an individual.
Jamie Moyer’s best stuff may be best represented by a changeup,
Roger Clemens’ by a fastball, Kevin Brown’s by a sinker, Pedro
Martinez’ by his entire repetoire. The test is not what the pitch is, but
how it is thrown—with commitment, confidence, assertiveness. Just
throwing hard does not make a pitcher aggressive. Being under
control is required to locate pitches and to command the strike zone.
Greg Maddux is far from over-powering, but he is considered to be a
very aggressive pitcher. He attacks and commands.
To be aggressive on the mound is to be pro-active, rather than re-
active. The hitter will recognize the difference quickly—perceiving
the pitcher to be aggressive or passive—or, worse yet, submissive. If
the pitcher’s goal is to avoid contact of ball with bat, he’ll end up
pitching mostly in hitters’ counts, throwing strikes only when he “has
to,” often guiding the ball over the plate, instead of letting loose with
his good stuff. This is an all-too-frequent occurrence. A hitter loves it;
his confidence grows. The pitcher has established himself as non-
aggressive, to put it in most polite terms. He’s forfeited his edge, to,
again, say the least.
How many times have pitchers also been told they have fielders
behind them to make plays? How often have they heard that their
infielders are on their toes when pitchers are aggressive—and on
their heels otherwise?
Aggressors have usually been victorious throughout history,
because they intimidated through confrontation. If the pitcher forfeits
the advantage built into the game for him, the hitter becomes the
aggressor. The pitcher is the vanquished, not the victor.
I haven’t met a pitcher who argued any of these points. Pitchers
know. Intelligence and understanding are there. What is missing?
Trust, courage, discipline—and, inevitably, assertiveness.
It is possible to be too aggressive. Remember, the Greeks said it
2,500 years ago: “Nothing in excess.” Balance is required—control.
Over-aggressive pitchers overthrow. They “try” to attack the strike
zone, but strikes don’t result; there is little or no command of the
body—or the pitch.
A number of the many pitchers with whom I’ve discussed this
problem have responded to my criticism with, “But I’m a
COMPETITOR!” An ineffective one, I answer. It’s one thing to want
to win; it’s another to know how to win. Over-throwing doesn’t get the
competitor what he most wants—success. [See COMPETITOR]
The pitcher who is too aggressive accelerates his thought
process, which quickens his delivery and tempo, tightens his arm
and grip on the ball. Command thereby suffers (the pitch is usually
up—in or out of the strike zone), and velocity decreases. Poor
control and less-than-good “stuff” both work against the
“competitor’s” aggressive intent. Too much becomes too little.
Years ago, I told a minor league pitcher in the Oakland
organization that he pitched like a linebacker. “I AM a linebacker,” he
replied. I reminded him he was supposed to be a pitcher. He had, in
fact, been a linebacker at the University of Arkansas, but he learned
to harness the energy and competitive spirit he had brought to
football and control his emotions on the pitching mound. He got to
the big leagues and is now a minor league pitching coach. He
advocates an aggressive, controlled approach, I’m certain.
Toronto Blue Jays pitcher David Wells is a good example of
aggressiveness under control. He’s extremely competitive and
relentlessly challenges hitters with his fastball. He’s aggressive in
any count, yet rarely yields a base-an-balls. He knows how to
harness his intense emotions. He wins.
In 1998, Wells’ New York Yankees teammate, Hideki lrabu, was
not showing the same aggressive approach. Yankees’ pitching
coach Mel Stottlemyre commented late in the season that lrabu “gets
mad when he comes in here [the clubhouse], but I wish he’d just get
more aggressive with strikes.”
“Aggressiveness,” I once told a Double-A pitcher, “isn’t beating up
the water cooler in the dugout, it’s beating up the strike zone on the
field.” Like lrabu, he had it backwards.
A few words about pitching inside. Many pitchers are reluctant to
do so. Some fear having their pitches hit; others fear hitting the
batter. (Some both!)
Pitching coaches are in general agreement as to the importance
of pitchers showing a willingness to pitch inside. Most outs are
gotten on pitches away from hitters. But if the hitter is allowed to look
for pitches on the outer half of the plate—and comfortably anticipate
the location of the pitch there—and dive into it, the results are
usually going to be to the hitter’s liking.
A “purpose pitch” is one that delivers the message to the hitter:
“you’re getting hit if you don’t move.” The purpose is to create
discomfort for the hitter. It is part of the pitcher’s plan for pitching
inside, and should not be an emotional reaction based on frustration
or revenge.
Experience has led me to believe that a pitcher’s reluctance to
pitch inside is based on his poor mental preparation for doing so.
The philosophy of pitching inside may be clear to him, but the
approach is not. Because of this, the individual pitcher who makes
the attempt usually executes the pitch poorly. The most frequent
result is a hard-hit ball or a batter hit hard.
The pitcher who is afraid of making a bad pitch inside usually
aims the ball. He steers it to the spot inside on the hitter. He is being
very careful to get it exactly where he knows the hitter cannot hurt
him, whether it’s in off the plate or on the black. A “steered” ball is
not thrown with conviction or with a pitcher’s best stuff. Double
jeopardy: a “steered” ball usually does not get to the intended spot.
The result is poor; the pitcher decides, claims, believes he can’t do it
—and does not anymore. After a poor result, more than one pitcher
has told me that “pitching inside isn’t working for me.” He is surely
right. The fault, however, as Caesar was told, is not in the stars but
in himself. And so I advise the pitcher.
Those pitchers who do not learn to pitch inside effectively suffer
in other ways, as well. Their entire approach deteriorates. The
hitters, comfortable in the knowledge that pitches will be away, away,
away, have an easier time. They anticipate; they lean. I remember
the words of Early Wynn, a tough competitor and efffective pitcher
for the Cleveland Indians in the 1950s. “If my mother was diggin’ in
up there [in the batter’s box], I’d drill her too.” No tentativeness there.
No comfort for hitters he faced.
The step from being tentative to being submissive is not a long
one. Having taken this step, pitchers feel themselves far removed
from the confidence they value and need. A person who is non-
assertive needs to change his behavior before he can gain the
feeling of confidence. A pitcher must learn to act aggressively, even
though he is reluctant to do so. It does not happen over night; it is a
challenging process. The more ingrained the bad habit, the more
challenging it is to change it.
A pitcher’s fear of hitting a batter holds an interesting irony, I
think. So many hitters have told me of their fear of being hit by a
pitched ball. After all, they will feel the physical pain. Shouldn’t that
create another advantage for a pitcher? In theory, yes. But once
again, there is no advantage if it is given away. Why should so many
pitchers fear hitting batters, since it is not the pitcher’s physical pain?
Well, psychological pain can also be great. Nice people do not want
to hurt other people. But great competitors are not “nice people” on
the field of competition. [See NICE GUYS] That is not to say a
pitcher should want to hit a batter; it is to say that it is not the
pitcher’s problem if he does hit him. An aggressive pitcher will not
allow it to be his problem. If it becomes one, he no longer will be an
aggressive pitcher. If the mentality suffers, the pitch will suffer, as
noted above.
This is what so often happens: the pitcher either steers the ball
as far away from the hitter as possible—or he hits him. It will be
determined by the pitcher’s eyes—what he’s directing them at. In the
first case, the pitcher looks at the safest spot to assure he won’t drill
the batter. In the second case, he is so concerned with hitting the
batter, he continues to focus his thoughts, and subsequently his
eyes, on him. That’s where the ball will go because of that focus.
These are not my favorite scenarios for presentation to the reader,
but they are real. One cannot combat an issue he is not aware of—
or does not understand.
Finally, as Kevin Brown says—and now backs up with behavior:
“You had better understand that you’re going to make some bad
pitches along the way. That’s just the way it is. Bad pitches are going
to happen. But—and this is the difference—if you make a pitch
AGGRESSIVELY (his emphasis), you have a much better chance of
getting away with it. However, if you make a pitch tentatively or
cautiously, that’s when you get nailed.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Continually remind himself that built into the game is the

pitcher’s statistical advantage over the hitter.
∎ Use the advantage by attacking the strike zone aggressively
and immediately, in order to confront the hitter and get a further
edge (psychologically and through the count).
∎ Be aggressive by pitching with his best stuff.
∎ Force contact, rather than “allowing” it, or avoiding it.
∎ Stay in control of thoughts and delivery, rather than being over-
aggressive and out of control.
∎ Recognize when aggressiveness becomes extreme and make
an adjustment by getting off the mound and coaching self
calmly with positive, functional directions. Breathe deeply.
∎ Trust his aggressive approach knowing that the results will not
always be favorable.
∎ Understand the importance of throwing inside and behave
according and aggressively.
∎ Pitch inside with his best stuff, rather than guiding the ball.
∎ Focus with intensity on the target the catcher provides or the
spot the pitcher wants to “hit,” rather than looking at the batter.
 ∎ Let it fly, rather than dart-throwing the ball. If the batter is hit by
the pitch, so be it. Stay with the aggressive plan.

∎ ANALYSIS
The catch-phrases are clever and hold elements of truth:
1) “analysis equals paralysis”
2) “no brain, no pain”
3) “ignorance is bliss.”

But rather than accept the phrases at face value, an athlete, or

anyone else for that matter, should recognize what’s misleading
about them.

1) Too much analysis, the wrong kind of analysis, analysis at an

inappropriate time can result in “paralysis.” On the other hand,
without analysis there can be no adjustment. (How about this cliché:
“timing is everything”?) The major problem seems to be that
intelligent, sensitive people often “look for trouble,” and, having not
found any, they invent it. These inventions can become a multitude
of irrelevant and/or unlikely circumstances and consequences. Life
and baseball then become complicated and difficult to manage. The
most insignificant possibility is analyzed in the dim light of
improbability. If this process goes on directly before or during athletic
activity (pitching!), disfunction can result. Paralysis. The rational
system (brain) is not the initiator of this problem; the emotional
system (see “sensitive” above) is the culprit.

2) Though brains may register pain, they don’t cause it. Every
pitcher I’ve ever met has had a brain with enough capacity to allow
its owner to function well. Poor function by the pitcher comes from
poor use of that brain. Or no use at all. Also, I’ve seen players with
the most limited intellectual ability feel the pain of frustration and
failure. Pain is not exclusive to smart players. Actually, the bigger the
brain, so to speak, the more able a player will be to understand and
solve whatever issue is facing him. Yet, it’s also true that the more
fertile a player’s mind is, the more capable he is of inventing
scenarios that will cause “pain.” And that’s why the cliché of “no
brain, no pain” is invoked by so many players. (“Just kidding,” many
players tell me when using the phrase while talking with me. But
“many a true feeling is expressed in jest.”) Those who hold this
feeling thereby hold the brain responsible, instead of the self that
uses it ineffectively.

3) People tend to value comfort greatly, bliss even more, because

it is much more rare. Yet, the so-described bliss of ignorance—not
knowing what’s going on around or within you—has terminated more
professional pitching careers than any other factor I can think of.
Comfort, the diminutive brother of bliss, has kept more pitchers at a
level of mediocrity than any other factor I know. Real bliss for a
pitcher is being smart and using “smarts” to his advantage, not to his
disadvantage. Most of the pitchers I’ve encountered have not been
blissful, using either of these definitions. They tend to devalue their
intelligence and analytical capabilities, because they have not
adequately applied them before, during or after their performances.
So they yearn for the bliss they say comes with being ignorant. I,
myself, would rather take my chances with whatever intelligence I’ve
been allowed, deal thoughtfully with whatever pain comes my way,
and not create any for myself. (Or for others).

Catch phrases aside, let’s treat the specific tendencies of over-

analytical pitchers. First, I do not agree with their frequently
expressed view that they “outsmart” themselves. My experience tells
me that people—I know we’re talking about pitchers here—who
make that claim blame their intelligence. I attribute their behavior to
self-doubt, uncertainty, and a lack of confidence in and commitment
to whatever it is they’re doing—such as delivering a pitch. A pitcher
will formulate the proposition that he doesn’t know enough—he has
to analyze and assess—when he really just doesn’t trust himself, or
his talent, or the pitch selected to be thrown. And so on.
“I’m thinking too much.” Or, “I’m out-thinking myself out there.”
These are the people who look at other pitchers who seem to be less
intelligent (“no brain”), and wish they were like them. The “no brain
guys,” after all, don’t appear to care about consequences. “Those
guys are too dumb to worry about what can go wrong,” I’ve been told
more than a few times. It’s a shallow point of view. It’s also wrong.
Having analytical ability is an advantage, not a disadvantage. But
pitchers too often “over-analyze” what might happen to them—the
consequences—or what they shouldn’t do, rather than what they
should do. That is the textbook formula for developing negative
thinking, cynicism, fear. Effective pitchers have better perspective.
They are therefore able to convert rapid analysis into immediate
plan. What to do next is their focus.
Example: A pitcher senses he is dropping his arm during his
delivery. That “analysis” should not be an extended, disorienting
process during which the pitcher is distracted by his problem and the
possible catastrophe that can result if he doesn’t “get things
together.” (Meaning get his thoughts and himself together.)
“OK, I know what I’m doing.” The problem is understood. This is
the pivotal point in determining what kind of thinker—or non-thinker
—the pitcher is. The immediate plan (made off the rubber) is simply
to remind the muscles to “get the arm up.” Done. That’s an
adjustment. On the other hand, agonizing over the past poor pitches
and whatever might have resulted from them; feeling extended anger
and frustration; thinking about where the arm is during the windup or
stretch; focusing on the mechanic during the delivery—those are
analyses that lead to failure.
The other most common example, based on what pitchers have
told me over the years, has to do with pitch selection. Pitch
commitment, I should say. Bruce Hurst confessed to it while he was
pitching for the Boston Red Sox early in his career. He was in his
delivery, his knee was cocked, and he was saying to himself, “I
shouldn’t be throwing a slider here.” I’ve heard many variations on
that theme over the years. Pitchers themselves attribute the problem
to over-analysis—“thinking too much.” My responses to them:
“Trusting too little results in ’thinking too much. ’” And, “Wrong
thoughts; wrong time.”
It’s amusing to me that Greg Maddux has, over the past few
years, continued to tell the media during interviews, “I’m not that
smart.” Yet, he is credited with being a very analytical pitcher. His
“wisdom” is in knowing how to keep pitching simple while he’s
performing. (Socrates would be proud of him.) When asked about
prospective Cy Young Awards, or getting into the World Series, or
winning 20 games, or his earned-run average, Greg’s response has
been, “I just execute pitches.” One at a time. That’s his mantra; he
won’t be distracted from it. No analysis there.
But when he’s not pitching, he does study, he does learn. He
experiments in the bullpen during side work, and he is attentive to
hitters during games when he’s not pitching. So there is the formula:
analysis when not competing, simplicity during competition. Every
brain can then serve its master.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Value his intelligence and understand that analysis is a process

for becoming a more effective pitcher.
∎ Be a keen observer of the game and all its elements, including
opposing hitters, noting their strengths, weakness, and
tendencies.
∎ Analyze how others pitch to opposing hitters—which pitchers
are more effective than others and why.
∎ Understand that extended analysis should not take place
during competition. Recognize what is going wrong, step off
the mound, coach self with brief and functional directives. On
the rubber, get the sign, commit to the pitch, focus on target
and execute the pitch.
∎ Continue to develop and reinforce that philosophy. If others
(team-mates, parents, coaches) are over-analyzing, the pitcher
has the self-assurance to keep it simple for himself during
competition.

∎ ANGER
“Anger,” my friend Frederick Buechner has written, “in many ways
is a feast... The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is
yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.”
 People who are continually angry devour, at least, much of what
is good about them. An angry pitcher loses his capacity to think—to
rationally assess, understand and solve whatever needs solution
before his next pitch. Anger brings on the loss of control and further
results in disfunction. During competition, that is tantamount to
becoming a “skeleton.”
The angry pitcher’s brain systematically sounds an alarm system
for the automatic nervous system. Adrenaline pours into the
bloodstream. Blood pressure increases, breathing become
abnormal. The pitcher is ready for a “fight,” rather than “flight.” Yes,
he’s willing, but unfortunately, he’s not able. An angry pitcher can’t
think, can’t see the target, can’t control his muscles. That makes it
rather difficult to locate a pitch. He can’t control a ball if he can’t
control his thoughts. He’s not going to put up much of a fight.
And yet, I’ve had some pitchers tell me they like being angry.
These fellows are most often sensitive, non-assertive, inhibited, and
self-doubting, who finally explode, externally or internally, as a result
of “the straw that breaks their back,” as they’ve explained it to me.
The anger frees them from their self-consciousness. From feeling, as
they invariably do, that they are so terribly responsible for so many
things. They like the freedom anger seems to provide. “I just don’t
care anymore,” they’ve said. That’s only natural, since they have
been caring too much about too many of the wrong things. Those
concerns “just don’t matter,” when they are angry. For them, the
prospect of failure and always wanting to please others (what they
“care” about) is washed away in a raging torrent of adrenaline. They
pay a dear price, however. Because it rarely, if ever, works for them.
And it can’t be sustained if it does. [See AROUSAL)
Anger can work for a pitcher only if it is very brief in duration. It
may “clean the blood,” and then be used as an attention-getter for a
wandering focus; it must subside before the pitcher gets back on the
rubber. If anger continues, distraction from the task at hand
continues. The pitcher will be preoccupied by whatever provoked the
anger—usually frustrated expectations. Being mad is not being
prepared. He must deal with his anger before he is able to deal with
the immediate future: before the next pitch.
 The pitcher will not be able to fix what has already happened,
and if he doesn’t fix himself, he can look forward to further problems.
He’ll be punished, not so much for his anger, as by it.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand his personality and emotional tendencies.

∎ Recognize the degree of anger he expresses, the timing of it,
the causes of it.
∎ Understand that anger is a strong emotion that can pre-empt
rational response and interfere with controlled thoughts,
breathing, muscle movement, and vision.
∎ Having come to understand the importance of making
adjustments as quickly as possible, recognize anger during
competition, and separate himself from it quickly.
∎ With this recognition, learn to use anger, rather than allowing it
to use him, by motivating himself to “pay attention to business.”
∎ Then direct himself—off the mound—to calm down, breathe
deeply, and get ready to focus on the execution of the next
pitch. Only then should he allow himself to get back on the
rubber.
∎ Once again, take the sign, breathe, focus on the target, and let
go with his best stuff.

∎ ANXIETY
Performance anxiety and fear are not synonymous. Performance
anxiety most often produces negative anticipation; fear often results
in a flight from participation or dysfunction during it. The important
point to be made is that people have used the words without making
any distinction as to behavior associated with them. In the context of
performance, that difference should be established.
It is quite common for an athlete to be anxious prior to his
performance. When I was playing ball in college, I was assured by a
story I read about a lineman with the Kansas City Chiefs, whose
anxiety before games had been with him since he played in junior
high school. Before every game—through junior high, high school,
college and professional football—his stomach churned to such an
extreme extent that he was forced to throw up. Before every game.
One Sunday, he did not, and could not, actually. He tried to force it; it
didn’t happen. He told the team trainer to get him to the hospital,
where doctors discovered a significant intestinal problem. He knew
something was wrong, he said, because he didn’t have his “normal”
pre-game feeling in his gut.
A brother-in-law of mine, a professional singer, told me he threw
up before singing engagements that were particularly important to
him. (This after I had revealed to him my own performance anxiety.)
The performances of the football player, the singer, and my own,
for that matter, did not suffer from the anxiety. I cannot speak for
them, but I believe mine improved because of it. And I’ve spoken
with many athletes since who made the same claim: essentially,
when they were not aroused enough to feel anxious, they did not
play up to their expectations.
Performance anxiety is considered to be a heightened arousal—
an exaggerated internal response. As noted, it happens prior to
performance and can happen during it, as well. Usually before or in
the midst of a particular situation the athlete (pitcher) perceives as
important or threatening.
What happens? 1) The performer performs—there is no “flight”;
2) the anxiety subsides and then, most often, disappears as soon as
the competition or the situation is faced directly, physically; 3) the
initial heightened arousal is converted from anxiety to intensified
focus, that is, from tension to attention. The performer, having placed
such significance on the event, becomes more attentive in his
approach. The key is to properly channel the stimulus, so that
function is enhanced and dysfunction avoided. (Much like what must
be done with anger.)
Pre-performance anxiety is not an anxiety disorder. It may bring
“old age [on] too soon” (Ecclesiastes), and it may be an unpleasant
feeling, but if understood and managed, it is rarely debilitating once
performance begins.
[See FEAR]
What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Be aware of anticipatory feelings prior to the game, or the

feelings produced by the advent of a critical situation within the
game.
∎ If a feeling of pre-performance anxiety exists, distract himself
from it by re-directing his focus during pre-game preparation.
(Some pitchers put on earphones and listen to music {vocals
are particularly helpful because language is provided as an
alternate to the pitcher’s thoughts; the pitcher should be
attentive to the lyrics}. Others engage in conversation with
teammates. This is done, not to distract the pitcher from an
effective mental preparation, but rather to improve it. The
activity addresses anxiety-producing thoughts; the pitcher is
responsible for changing them. The timing and degree of
activity is adjusted, through experimentation, according to the
pitcher’s individual needs.)
∎ As the final preparation, focus on his plan: what he wants to do
vs. the opposition; reminders of his own mental “keys”;
reminders of his mechanical keys (keeping it simple). (He is
channeling mental energy, converting it from anxiety to
intensity. The focus is on the game not himself and his
feelings.)
∎ When the game begins, consider a feeling of anxiety to be just
another distraction, and treat it as such. Get off the mound,
coach himself, and be certain to employ self-talk, using action-
oriented, positive language. In other words—what he wants to
do.
∎ Usually, tempo suffers during times of negative anticipation.
Recognize these moments and make the appropriate
adjustment. He should gain control of his thoughts and his
body. [See TEMPO]
∎ Understand that there is nothing wrong with having pre-
performance anxiety. Many of the best athletes have it. But
they control it, rather than having it control them. As noted,
many use it as a tool for motivation for attentiveness. Be
attentive to function, rather than feelings.
∎ APPROACH
When talking with pitchers about their performance, I make
certain to lead the discussion toward how the pitcher approaches his
profession: his general preparation, that is, his daily regimen—
eating, sleeping, conditioning habits—and his routine at the ballpark.
We then move down to the bottom rung on the ladder of abstraction.
We talk about the very specific matter of his approach on the mound
during performance, his identifiable behaviors—internal and external
—during competition. Essentially, it’s the litmus test for a pitcher; his
approach will determine how successful he will be.
One of the meanings of the word ‘approach’ is: “the method used
in dealing with or accomplishing something.” ‘Method’ is the key
word here, indicating how one goes about trying to accomplish
whatever it is he sets out to do. In the case of pitching, the
accomplishment is in executing pitches successfully. Getting outs is
about results, remember. Making good pitches is about behavior.
THAT is what pitchers and I talk about; first making the distinction
between approach and result, then addressing the “hows.”
How to eat properly, how to regulate sleeping patterns, how to
get in shape and stay in shape are usually very obvious to players.
(Whether or not they apply what they know is another matter.) Less
obvious, and more difficult to apply even when understood, is how to
mentally prepare between appearances, during bullpen sessions and
during games (as a non-participant)—and how to think and act
during competition.
As a youngster in elementary school, I was taught in arithmetic
lessons that large fractions are unwieldy and unmanageable. It is, I
was told, too difficult to add, subtract, multiply, and divide them. For
example, how, as a fourth-grader, could I be expected to divide
160/48000 by 8000/24000? I was not, and I could not. (We had no
calculators then.) But I could manage 1/30 divided by 1/3. By
reducing to lowest terms—by getting those fractions to be as simple
as they could be—I could effectively deal with the example and get
the answer: 1/10. (The “lowest common denominator” was the
vehicle for approaching the addition and subtraction of the large
fractions.)
 Now, let me specifically and simply apply this lesson to a pitcher’s
approach—the way it’s supposed to be applied by the pitcher
himself. The lowest common denominator every pitcher shares is the
delivery of the next pitch. What has happened and what might
happen will vary with each pitcher and each circumstance. But the
next pitch must be made. It is a universal truth within the game. That
is how the game progresses. One manageable pitch at a time. That
is the focus of the moment—for observers and participants. That is
the action reduced to simplest term: the moment, the task at hand,
that next pitch.
But does this moment exclusively hold the pitcher’s attention? If
not, the approach suffers. A pitcher cannot expect the result he
desires. The more complicated and scattered his thoughts, the more
unmanageable his task. His distractions will force him to “think big,”
rather than “think small.” Focus on the target will not be intense. This
one “small” deficit becomes the pitcher’s biggest inhibitor to pitching
effectively.
The pitchers I’ve been with over the years have revealed any
number of different intrusive and distracting thoughts. It is the human
predicament to have conflicting thoughts and impulses. “Isn’t that
normal?” I’ve been asked many times, after having admonished a
pitcher for his poor approach on the mound. It is, yes, but to be
“normal”—ordinary—should not be the goal of an elite athlete,
particularly a professional. “Exceptional” is the goal; “normal” is the
excuse.
“Keep it simple,” I say constantly. It should be a pitcher’s mantra,
as it is Greg Maddux’, for example. Big thoughts, many thoughts,
conflicting thoughts all divide the pitcher’s attention, thereby
corrupting his approach. A task is not done well if not approached
well. It is critical for pitchers to understand and embrace the simple
approach noted below.
The approach leads to a result. A good approach has a much
better chance of producing the desired result. However, that is not an
inherent guarantee within the game of baseball. Results cannot be
controlled. A pitcher may execute a fine pitch—in his and everyone
else’s judgment—but the hitter battles it. That right-handed hitter
goes and gets the nasty slider low and away, stroking a line drive
double into the right-center field gap. Good approach by the pitcher,
undesirable result. He can control the approach. Always. He can’t
control what happens after the pitch has been delivered. Never. He
executed the pitch; he should repeat his behavior, instead of
concerning himself with what the hitter just did.
I tell every pitcher that he defines himself by the way the ball
leaves his hand. That’s what indicates the quality of his approach.
His plan, his poise, his intensity, his aggressiveness, his focus. His
breathing pattern, his tempo, his body language. That is behavior.
That is approach.
(Directly related, and as important, is the pitcher’s response,
which will be addressed in the “R”section of the book.)

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the manner in which he approaches his goals

and tasks identifies him to his teammates, his opponents, and,
if he is paying attention, to himself.
∎ Examine the quality and extent of his preparation leading up to
performance—his habits regarding sleep, nutrition, workouts,
and routines.
∎ Recognize his past behavioral tendencies during competition,
especially in difficult times and situations.
∎ Recognize that his approach is comprised of thought and deed;
it is entirely his responsibility and within his control. (Results
are not.)
∎ Understand what an approach to pitching, during the game
itself, actually means. [See above.]
∎ Be aware of thoughts and behaviors that are not conducive to
peak performance and make the necessary adjustments as
quickly as possible. [See ADJUSTMENTS]
∎ Remind himself to reduce pitching to its most manageable form
—one pitch at a time.
∎ Follow a consistent procedure during his performance. For
example, step on the rubber, take the sign, exhale deeply,
begin the delivery, focus on the target and attack the strike
zone. Any thoughts or feelings that intrude on that approach
 should be dealt with off the rubber. The more serious intrusions
and distractions will require him to get off the mound to make
the mental adjustment.
∎ Hold himself accountable for asserting the mental discipline of
an incorruptible approach.

∎ AROUSAL
Many players I’ve been associated with, when asked what
“arousal” means, tell me “being psyched-up—let’s go!” Others have
related the term to anxiety: having heightened feelings (heart
palpitations, sweaty palms, diarrhea), they say, stimulated by a
negative anticipation of the performance ahead. According to those
responses, a pitcher, then, may be “worked up” for better or for
worse. And so it is.
Studies have shown that athletes typically experience physical
symptoms before competition in which they invest meaning. The
best competitors I know invest the meaning of “challenge” to each
pitching performance. Bruce Bochy managed Kevin Brown in San
Diego during the 1998 season and was impressed by the challenge
Kevin saw before each performance—“the fire and intensity that he
[Brown] brings to every game he pitches,” Bochy said. Some
pitchers view competition as a “threat.” There are those who invest
minimal meaning to each game, and still others whose assessment
is “reliably unpredictable,” to borrow the words of novelist Brooks
Hansen.
Each pitcher’s arousal level is influenced by his interpretation of
the event or situation he is to face. It is also influenced by the degree
of trust he has in himself. The elite pitcher knows himself; he
manages whatever physical indicators exist prior to his performance.
He knows whether he has too much energy (“I’m hyper.”—“I’m out of
control.”) or too little (“I can’t get up for this.”—“I can’t get my mind on
business.”)
When a pitcher and I talk about finding an appropriate arousal
level, we first examine the type of personality he has. For example,
some people are introverted, others extroverted. Some are
hyperactive, others “laid back.”
We then consider the differences in types of activity and the
particular arousal level for each. Remember the linebacker referred
to earlier? When playing football, his high-energy, high arousal
served him because that gross motor activity involved strength,
stamina, physical contact, and bursts of speed. Pitching requires fine
muscle movements, precision and control, balance, and intense
concentration on a small field of attention (the target). During
competition, a pitcher is more likely to require “calming” mechanisms
(as would a golfer) than those requiring more “power” (as would a
weightlifter).
And personality? Many sports psychologists believe that
individuals have distinctive biological differences affecting arousal.
An extrovert tends to produce a slower and less pronounced
stimulus than does an introvert. For the extrovert, there is a need for
more intense input. The introvert, often the “more sensitive” person
spoken of earlier in the book, tends to produce a stronger sensory
signal for himself, and so requires less input to become aroused.
Many pitchers (many people) see the opposite as being true,
because of a pitcher’s outward appearance. They don’t see inside
the pitcher, however. They see fire in a Kevin Brown’s eye, perhaps,
but not in Jamie Moyer’s. They’ve seen it in Dennis Eckersley but not
in Bob Tewksbury. But all of these pitchers have a competitive
approach. And they have all developed their own methods for
optimal arousal, based on how they are predisposed to feel before
performance. The fact is, is a high-energy personality needs a
greater in-put to generate his greater need for excitement, more fuel
to keep that motor running. He has a higher threshold for arousal
and uses external sources of stimulation (a “big” game). Introverts
don’t require those outside signals. They tend to have more
developed fine motor skills. They are usually “control (command)
guys,” not power pitchers.
Most important is the ability of a pitcher to properly adjust and
channel whatever level of arousal he’s feeling. To “psyche up” or
“psyche down,” according to need. The metaphor I use is the flame
of a kerosene lamp. “If it flickers, it will be of no use,” I tell the
pitchers. “At the other extreme, you don’t want to burn the house
down! Heat and light, that’s what we want. Heat and light. The same
with arousal.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand his individual predisposition toward anticipated

competition.
∎ Determine the level of arousal he has had when his
performances have been positive, as well as the level when
they have not been satisfactory.
∎ Recognize the possibility that he may need to heighten his pre-
game arousal—turn the flame up. If so, he should concentrate
his thoughts on his game strategy and visualize past
performances when he has dominated, in order to get
adrenaline flowing early.
∎ Recognize the possibility that he may need to lower his arousal
—turn the flame down. If so, he should sit in a quiet place,
breathe deeply in a consistent pattern, relax his muscles and
employ self-talk in a calming and low-key manner.
∎ During the game, if necessary, get off the mound and make the
same adjustments, though for shorter duration. An example of
self-talk to heighten arousal: “Let’s go! Get focused; attack the
strike zone!” To lower arousal: “Be easy now. On the target;
good, low strike here.”

∎ ATTITUDE
[See APPENDIX A]
Viktor Frankl, in his profound book, Man’s Search for Meaning,
speaks of our ability to be self-determining. “Man does not simply
exist,” Frankl writes, “but always decides what his existence will be...
[E]very human being has the freedom to change at any instant... The
last of the human freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given
set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
 In other words, we are not bound to be tomorrow what we have
been today; we are not bound to act tomorrow as we have acted
today. We have the freedom to make a choice about our attitude.
Players I’ve come across who were considered to have bad
attitudes are, as their teammates so directly put it, “clueless” about
all this. The players with good attitudes act like “free” people, and
they are healthier and happier—and greatly valued by people in the
organization they’re with. And they play to their peak far more
consistently than “bad apples.” They always contribute to the team—
by their example alone.
The major point, for me, is that they are free. Players with poor
attitudes are unhappy—and victims of themselves, though they are
quick to blame circumstance or other people when confronted about
unacceptable behavior. They have forfeited their freedom. They wait
for the world to make them happy. It does not happen often, and
when it does, it doesn’t last very long.
To ask why people have bad attitudes is to open the subject
beyond what is necessary here. As it is to ask why people have good
attitudes. What is clear to me is that all the players I’ve met
understand the difference. I would further say that almost all
appreciate the benefits of having a healthy attitude. Some just do not
have the personal strength and self-discipline to work on changing.
They are victims, then, of their bad habits also.
In The Mental Game of Baseball, Karl Kuehl and I spoke about
attitude as it related to cooperation, openness to learning,
selflessness, responsibility and their opposite “bad attitudes.” We
spoke of the effect an attitude has on all dimensions of a player’s
performance—and his life. Whether it be in calm or troubled waters,
the relationship between the sailor’s attitude and his voyage should
be clear. A troubled sailor makes for a troubling voyage.
A pitcher doesn’t have to be a troublemaker on a team to qualify
as having a bad attitude. He is a troublemaker for himself. Negative
expectations burden him and inhibit his performance. His
perspective on his performance, and on life in general, is clouded to
such an extent that he cannot make necessary changes. He just
bemoans his fate and/or disparages himself. His self-talk works
against him. And on it goes.
 One pre-eminent pitcher in the big leagues had been accused of
having a less-than-desirable attitude. It annoyed others, at worst,
and it frustrated him, at best. He wasn’t entirely who he was
perceived to be, and he didn’t entirely like who he perceived himself
to be. When he was asked what his association with me was like, he
responded simply by saying, “He holds a [expletive deleted] mirror
up in front of your face and forces you to look in it.”
Then what? The pitcher has the choice of being honest about
what he sees, and the freedom to change what he sees and does
not like. Some encouragement may have been helpful; personal
commitment and determination on the pitcher’s part was responsible
for the change.
The best attitudes exist in pitchers who understand themselves
and the game of baseball. These pitchers are selfless, rather than
selfish. They do not pitch for their statistics; the team’s success
concerns them more. They understand the difference between
approach and result, so they are focused on their own behavior,
instead of what “happens to them.” It is amazing to me, though it
shouldn’t be, to observe the upbeat attitude of a pitcher who has that
perspective. His performance generally reflects it. The people who
play behind him feel it. Their performance generally reflects it.
A few words about the term “attitude” as used by those who say a
pitcher “has an attitude” when he competes. The extensional
meaning in that context defines the pitcher as tough-minded,
aggressive, and insensitive to irrelevant environmental conditions—
conditions which would distract someone without the “attitude.”
Exemplars: Todd Stottlemyre, Tim Belcher, Pat Hentgen. Years ago,
when I first saw Bob Gibson pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals, I
was struck by his relentlessness. Another outstanding attitude. Such
pitchers give no quarter; they are “pit bulls” who will have to be
dragged off the mound. Theirs is an “attitude” that gets respect in
their dugout and in the one across the field.
Our attitude is the state of mind with which we approach our
surroundings, our performance, our teammates, our opponents, and
our lives.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Make himself aware of his existing attitudes through honest
evaluation.
∎ Make the effort to understand why and how these attitudes
were developed.
∎ Appreciate the freedom of choice he has to change an attitude,
rather than feeling he is destined to stay the same because of
genes or circumstance.
∎ Recognize what attitude changes, if any, he would like to
make.
∎ Exert the consistent energy to forming and reforming desired
attitudes through self-awareness and persistence.
∎ Understand the many choices of attitudes that exist. Choices
between attitudes of being:
Pessimistic or optimistic
Cooperative or uncooperative
Open-minded or close-minded
Responsible or irresponsible
Selfless or selfish
Committed or indifferent
Realistic or unrealistic
A problem solver or a problem causer
Relentless or yielding—And so on.
∎ BALANCE
Baseball provides many lessons for players—lessons that are too
often lost because they become clichés. A cliché is timeworn and
familiar. But it is true, and that is why it has endured—to become a
cliché. What happens to the truth is that it’s heard so much that the
familiarity, though not necessarily breeding contempt, does breed
inattentiveness. It encourages people to take its meaning for
granted.
“Keep on an even keel” is one example. Many players don’t know
what a “keel” is. Most don’t know what it means in its original
context. They do say, when I ask them, that it means, “keep your
highs low and your lows high.” A mixed metaphor, for sure, but
they’re on a ballfield, not in an English class. The general idea is
understood.
Specifically, “an even keel” is supposed to present an image of
“steadiness.” The “highs and lows” address an appropriate range of
emotions, similar to the example of the flame discussed previously.
In this case, it is not so much about arousal as it is about the
extremes of elation and depression.
 The term “balance” is my choice when discussing the idea with
pitchers. The image is a balance beam. The trick in competition, and
in life, is to stay on the balance beam. “You can fall off to either side,”
I say. “One by being too aggressive, the other by being too
cautious/submissive.”
A pitcher will have a tendency to fall off a particular side. I tell the
pitcher that my preference is for him to be too aggressive, rather
than passive. An overly aggressive pitcher will scramble right back
up on the beam to try his balance again. The fellow who falls off
because he’s too cautious is often reluctant to get back on the beam.
Neither extreme will serve the pitcher well.
An analogy I often use is a racecar and its driver. The car has an
accelerator and a brake. The use of the accelerator will allow the
driver to win the race; the use of the brake will ensure that he
finishes. Speed is aggressiveness; brake is control of the car—no
walls being hit. The proper balance—“moderation,” the Greeks called
it, gives us all a chance in our races.
Another example pitchers can understand easily is the read-out
from an EKG. If the pitcher is having his heart checked, and the
graphic shows his beat to be irregular to the extremes—jumping
from too high to too low—the physician will be very concerned by
these extremes. If, on the other hand, the line is straight across the
paper, the pitcher is dead. Health is the consistent up and down
within a narrow range. The highs, low; the lows, high.
To have balance, as a pitcher, is to not be swayed by events,
surroundings, or emotions. It is to perform—“walk on the beam”—
with a command of attitude, with understanding of purpose, with a
trust in his ability and a relaxed focus on his task. It is to maintain
balance through a consistent perspective about pitching, about the
situation, and about himself.
King Harald the Ruthless (1015-1066) paid his highest
compliment to a particularly valued person by describing him as
unaffected by sudden events. “Whether it was danger or relief or
whatever peril loomed, he was never in higher or lower spirits, never
slept less or more, and never ate and drank save according to
custom,” said the admiring King. A 900-year-old balance beam.
 Here’s a favorite excerpt from The Way of Life According to Lao
Tzu:

Not to have edges that catch

But to remain untangled,
Unblinded,
Unconfused,
Is to find balance,
And he who holds balance beyond sway of love or hate,
Beyond reach of profit or loss,
Beyond care of praise or blame,
Has attained the highest post in the world.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that properly balanced behavior, rather than

extreme behavior, is conducive to peak performance.
∎ Recognize the individual predisposition for immoderate
behavior, that is, “Am I too aggressive or too passive?” (The
answer will be obvious, if the question need be asked in the
first place.)
∎ Apply the appropriate techniques and strategies, as presented
in ADVERSITY, ADJUSTMENTS, AROUSAL, et. al.
∎ Using the example of Lao Tzu, perhaps, maintain an
awareness of how the pitcher reacts to different situations and
people.
∎ Develop a personal definition of balance—or “credo”—to use
as a model for application on the mound and in life.

∎ BEHAVIOR
“Behavior” is the pay-off word. Everything already read in this
book leads to behavior. Everything that remains to be read leads to
behavior. Good behavior provides a good payoff; poor behavior
yields no payoff. Executing a pitch is behavior; battling is behavior;
throwing a fit is behavior; caving in is behavior. The most important
thing a pitcher can do is behave appropriately. Having done so, he
can take whatever happens like a man. He can come to terms with
results, because he has come to terms with himself. He did as much
as he could do. That is all anyone can ever ask of him. That’s all he
should ever ask of himself.
It is a lot to ask. Nevertheless, behaving well as a performer and
as a person is the entire responsibility he has. Preparation,
approach, adjustments—behaviors all. They stem from thoughts,
attitudes, and beliefs (the next topic to be discussed). Too often, they
stem from feelings. The pitcher who operates out of his feelings—
who concerns himself with his feelings—is the pitcher with whom I
spend the most time. He is the pitcher who invariably will get little or
no “payoff,” until he learns to perform in spite of feelings that are
troubling to him. If his behavior is driven by these feelings, I tell him,
he can expect more “trouble.”
The pitcher must train himself to act out what he knows instead of
what he feels. If he acts bravely and wisely, I suggest to him, his
feelings will change. The habit of behaving appropriately will be
established. Habit is powerful. He must, as Lawrence Durrell has
written, “begin by pretending, in order to end by realizing.”
(Remember the song from The King and I—“I Whistle A Happy
Thne?”—“Whenever I feel afraid, I hold myself erect ... for when I
fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well ... ”) I try to assure the
pitcher that if he fools himself for a short while, he will become what
he acts out for a long while. “The parody of goodness,” Durrell
added, “can make you really good.”
Angels pitcher Tim Belcher, in a recent interview, commented on
my propensity for saying to pitchers, himself included, “I don’t care
about your feelings—I care about your actions.” In other words, their
behavior. My recommendation is that, at the end of a performance, a
pitcher should evaluate himself according to that behavior—grade
himself out. [See APPENDIX B] The more he addresses behavior,
the more apt he is to be successful. Pitchers who have used
APPENDIX B regularly have found this to be true—not because of
the sheet, but because of their heightened awareness of their
actions. They shift their concern from outside distractions, feelings,
“pressures,” and concentrate instead on behaviors that will help “get
the job done.” Done well.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that behavior is driven by thought and feelings.

∎ Recognize the particular driving force within the pitcher before,
during, and after competition.
∎ During performance, be certain that the rational is in charge,
rather than the emotional. That is, focusing on what to do,
rather than on how he feels. If necessary, make the appropriate
adjustment. [See ADJUSTMENTS]
∎ Discipline himself to act out enhancing behavior, despite
inhibiting feelings.
∎ Through repetition, integrate what he knows, rather than what
he feels, into behavior.
∎ Hold himself accountable for behavior by grading himself after
each performance, using APPENDIX B.
∎ Pursue his own understanding of excellence, rather than
others’ expectations for him.

∎ BELIEF
One man with a belief is worth 99 with an opinion. Though
everyone in the game of baseball has an opinion, the opinions of
others should be of no concern to the pitcher. What should matter to
him is what he thinks of himself and what he knows about pitching:
his belief system. If he doesn’t have one, he’d better develop it.
“Man is what he believes,” Chekhov wrote. If every pitcher
(player, person) believed what others have said about him, he would
then be defined by those others, rather than by himself. It is an all-
too-common tendency—a “normal” human tendency. People are
often inclined to live from the outside in, rather than from the inside
out. They respond to others’ possible perceptions of them, rather
than developing themselves into self-assertive, confident individuals.
[See CONFIDENCE]
 It is impossible for a pitcher to be confident in competition if he is
concerned with others’ evaluation of him. He will act out of that
concern (“worry” is the word I usually hear). He will be terribly
distracted by it. As a result, aggressiveness suffers, focus suffers,
objective self-evaluation suffers. The pitcher suffers.
Dave Stewart did his share of suffering. In 1984, he had a 7-14
record with the Texas Rangers. In 1985, he was 0-6 with Texas and
Philadelphia. He had a much-publicized off-field incident. The
Phillies released him in May 1986. The Japanese team that had an
interest in Stewart told him to stay home. He was not coveted by
Major League organizations.
Dave Stewart’s belief in himself as a man and as a talent never
wavered. He won the Rangers’ ‘Good Guy Award’ for 1985. Lesser
men would not have shown up at the award ceremony to accept the
honor, in light of public knowledge of the off-field humiliation. Stew
showed up. He addressed what surely was an uncomfortable
audience, and put them at ease immediately. “Sometimes,” he
began, “good people do bad things....”
Dave Stewart could still believe in himself, while not believing in a
singularly weak behavior of his. He could also make the distinction
between belief in his talent and recognition of conditions within
himself and outside himself that resulted in his not winning a Major
League game for almost two years.
Coming to an environment where his belief system was
reinforced, rather than challenged, he became the outstanding
pitcher and community exemplar he had always known he could be.
(Twenty or more victories in four consecutive seasons with the
Oakland Athletics—1987-1990.)
I remember well a wager I made with one of Oakland’s minor
league instructors. This individual had been on the Texas coaching
staff in ’84 and ’85. He offered the wager against my spring training
optimism regarding Dave Stewart’s performance for the upcoming
season, 1987. “A steak dinner on me at any restaurant you choose if
he is anything better than a .500 pitcher,” he said. “If not, you buy.” I
took the bet.
We ate at Ruth’s Chris in Scottsdale, Arizona, in June. My
colleague had conceded. Stew’s record was 9-1 at the time.
 All environmental factors do not support our belief system. The
challenge is to rise above a poor or challenging environment. It is
another very difficult task on the road to self-fulfillment as an athlete
and as a human.
During an Oakland Athletics’ seminar on leadership training, I
had the opportunity to “set up” one of our staff members—to
challenge his belief system as an experiment. Of course, I felt he
would be a good sport about it, and he was.
The situation was set up so as to have three others, two coaches
and a manager, in on the experiment. They knew what was going on.
I stood at a writing board in front of the entire minor league staff.
They were seated in rows of chairs, and the men involved in the
“experiment” were in the front row. On the board I wrote the number
2; under it I put another 2, with a + sign to left of it. I drew a line
under the numbers. So it was a simple arithmetic example: two plus
two.
The “set-up” staff member was the fourth to be called on. The
first coach, having been asked for the answer to the example, said,
“Five.” The next person, a manager, said, “Five.” The third “plant”
answered, “Five.”
Now it was the victim’s turn. Without hesitation, he responded,
“Five.” The room was in an uproar. The victim was, despite initial
embarrassment, mostly angry with himself for selling out his belief. It
can happen that easily. I then tried to explain the process of having
that belief—the “absolute” knowledge that the answer is four—
eroded.
The first person says “five” and the victim says to himself
something like, “Is this guy wacky?” The second response of “five”
makes the victim look at the example on the board with more
“concentration,” asking himself something like, “What’s going on
here? What am I missing?” The third “five” leads to panic, the victim
knowing he has to speak in a moment. That fear of being wrong
leads to a collapse of his belief system.
It is a valuable lesson about how vulnerable people can be to
forces that may reveal a self they don’t want others to see. They
become blind as to what they want to be, seeing instead what others
might think them to be.
 To understand the results a placebo, a sugar pill, can get is to
understand the power of belief. Many medical studies support this
view. Psychoneuroimmunology addresses the theory, validated by
research, that the body manufactures disease fighting cells if the
patient, a person discovered to have cancer, for example, is upbeat,
aggressive, and an active participant in his own healing process.
This patient, who believes in himself and in life, is not a “victim.” He
is a battler, a winner. And it usually is revealed by pathology, during
his immune system’s battle with the disease. His “stats” for survival
are by far superior to those of someone who believes in the disease
more than in himself and his approach for combating it.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the power of belief. He is what he believes. [See

CONFIDENCE]
∎ Understand that every person is vulnerable to forces, outside
himself and within himself, forces that challenge his beliefs and
are capable of eroding them.
∎ Recognize that his own belief in himself and in his talent is
prerequisite for becoming an elite pitcher.
∎ Believe also in his knowledge of what it takes to be successful,
as gained from direct and vicarious experience.
∎ Remember that this faith and knowledge is of little value unless
“it informs every action” (de Duras) he takes.
∎ In competition, use his beliefs as an instrument to focus on the
task at hand, rather than on doubts that inevitably arise.
∎ Review the process of making that adjustment, if necessary.

∎ BIG INNING
(Preventing It)

Almost always on the agenda for spring training pitchers’

meetings is the topic, “stopping the big inning.” Pitching coaches
place great emphasis on trying to develop in pitchers the ability to
extricate themselves from potentially disastrous innings—innings in
which the opposing team scores many runs.
All manner of contributions may be heard during those
discussions—from both coaches and players. Each contributor is
trying to “find a way” to accomplish the task of “stopping the
bleeding.”
Pitchers frequently offer their personal bad experiences from
these innings—their thoughts and feelings as the disasters
developed. I have heard, “Before I knew what was happening, I’d let
five runs five in.” The words should be a terribly significant revelation
to those who hear them—or read them. Many of those in the room
where they were spoken, nodded their collective heads. One pitcher
said what others were thinking, “Been there, done that.”
Actually, nothing was done by the pitcher. “Before he knew what
had happened,” indicates that. He “was done” by the inning, so to
speak. If awareness is prerequisite to making an adjustment, not
knowing what is happening makes adjustments impossible. And that
is essentially the nature of the “disaster” the pitchers spoke of. They
felt helpless; they didn’t have a chance to recognize what they’d
been trying to do, what had gone awry, and how they were going to
fix it. The inning, as I indicated, had “happened” to them; they
themselves were not capable of making anything happen.
So the first order of business for “stopping the big inning” is for
the pitcher to stop himself. To gather himself [See GATHERING]—
get off the mound, collect his thoughts, recognize the situation and
have a plan before toeing the rubber again. By doing this, the pitcher
assures himself of “knowing what’s happening.” He then has a
chance of doing something about it.
Pitchers do not “stop the bleeding” if, as noted, they do not stop
themselves. The tendency of pitchers in trouble is to speed up [See
TEMPO] They want to get out of the inning quickly, get off the
mound, get into the dugout—now! The greater a pitcher’s sense of
urgency, the more he rushes his mind and muscles. Self-control
leaves him. The inning “wins”; the pitcher loses.
Other pitchers who “tell on themselves” in the meetings speak of
their internal reactions when they find themselves looking at runners
on every base, with no outs having been recorded. They talk of
being “overwhelmed” by the situation, at worst, and “very pressured,”
at best. What to do now? They didn’t know. Runs will almost surely
score. The focus is on forces outside themselves—on runners and
runs, rather than execution of a pitch. No solution there.
Still other pitchers have the perception that a “big inning” means
having had two runs scored. I recall a minor leaguer pitching for
Oakland’s Madison, Wisconsin, farm team years ago. He became so
angry after two runs had scored, he threw his next pitch over the
stands behind home plate—out of the ballpark.
I was witness to this adventure, amusing in an obvious way, but
not so to the pitcher. After the inning, in the dugout, I waited a few
moments and then went over to the young man. We had words.
Actually, I had words. When I finally gave him an opportunity to
speak, he explained the “terrible” results of the inning: two runs. I’d
like to believe his viewpoint has changed. Certainly, his behavior
has. (He’s still pitching, recovered from arm surgery, and will be in a
major league spring training camp this year.)
After all the confessions at the pitchers’ meetings, after all the
perceptions and definitions, the question of how to get out of the “big
inning” is addressed directly. At that time, pitchers are asked to
volunteer their more positive approaches. The first response from a
pitcher is a view held that, in a bases-loaded, no-out situation, if only
two runs score, “I’m golden.” A different pitcher says he will concede
the run from third base. And on it goes. But this discussion or dispute
is philosophical, not practical. What should the pitcher do?
Before I address that question in a meeting—and it is the
essential question—Iissue a warning. “Anytime,” I begin, “Anytime
the focus is put on the definition of an inning, the perception of it, the
concern for runners and runs, the idea of making special a particular
situation (the “big inning”—a negative, at that), something very
important—most important—will be pre-empted: the pitcher’s focus
on executing the next pitch.
“And that is what will give you a chance to avoid ‘big innings.’ We
get outs by paying attention to the task in front of us, not the runners
behind us.”
Calling attention to special situations [See SHUT-DOWN INNING]
is an attempt to forewarn pitchers of pitfalls. But being forewarned is
not entirely being forearmed. The warnings make distinctions
between “big innings,” big games, small games, tie games...and
such, in order to illustrate the variety of problems pitchers may face.
But the “last word” on the subject(s) is, “There may be any number of
problems; there is only one solution: Think small; execute the next
pitch. You can manage that.”
Reducing to lowest terms.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that preventing a “big inning” is a legitimate and

significant philosophical concern.
∎ Understand further that, though the prospect of a “big inning”
exists, the reality, the prevention of it, or the stopping of it
depends—to a great extent—upon the nature of his thoughts
and behavior.
∎ Recognize his own tendencies of thought and behavior
anticipating the adversity, during and/or after it.
∎ Understand that “big inning” is too large a thought to manage
during competition.
∎ Be aware of the tendency of people—pitchers included—to
speed up their thoughts and actions during perceived crisis.
∎ Remember, if this is the case, to break rapid tempo by stepping
off the mound, gathering thoughts, breathing deeply, and
focusing on task—pitch execution.
∎ At meetings and on the mound, know the difference between a
broad focus and a narrow, concentrated one.

∎ BODY LANGUAGE
A pitcher should ask himself this question, “Do I want to be
perceived as a focused and relentless competitor?” If the answer is
affirmative (if it is not, why is he reading this book?), then he must
know how to look the part before he can play it. A pitcher who gives
off signals of vulnerability will not act out appropriate behavior.
Furthermore, opponents and teammates will recognize these
signals. The actual perception of the pitcher will fall far short of the
one he values and desires.
Wearing one’s heart on his sleeve is dangerous in competition, if
it is not the “heart of a lion.” More appropriately, the heart of a
warrior. I speak here of body language, a language understood by
anyone who is paying attention. Why would any pitcher want to
project, through his posture and movement, the language of
frustration, uncontrolled anger, self-pity, fear, or complacency? He
would not, I believe. That the pitcher may be speaking through his
body in any of these ways is an indication that he has been
distracted and disturbed. He cannot effectively compete. He’s not fit
for combat.
It is hard for many to believe that the pitcher, himself, is most
often not aware of the signals he is giving off. But consider this: if
he’s distracted from attention to task because of his frame of mind,
then he is focused on the major concern of the moment. It follows
that, as absorbed as he is, he is inattentive to all else—including his
appearance.
It is natural enough for people to want things to go their way. It is
just as natural for them to be affected when they do not get what
they want. The test of each individual is how he responds to such a
circumstance. He can rise above his disappointment, or he can sink
below it. A pitcher’s body language indicates whether he is in the
process of elevating himself or burying himself. [See RESPONSE]
The nature and degree of disappointment will vary, but the
appearance of a pitcher during competition should not vary, for
consistent behavior leads to consistent performance. Poor body
language leads to poor performance. It is already poor behavior—
and not consistent with the pitcher’s physical actions when things
are going well for him. [See CONSISTENCY]
A few years ago, while seated in the Florida Marlins’ dugout for
the opening spring training game, I was chatting with one of our
pitchers. The opposing pitcher had taken his last warm-up pitches,
and we turned our attention to the game. Matters began to go poorly
for the pitcher, a veteran starter with more than 1,200 big league
innings under his belt. He began to be visibly affected. His arm angle
was different for each pitch; his release point inconsistent. Balls were
going in the dirt, wide to each side. He lost control of his delivery; he
had lost control of himself. He had taken on what Shakespeare
called “an antic disposition.” Balls that were in the strike zone were
hit hard, mainly because he was steering the ball, not pitching it.
“Look at that,” said the pitcher next to me. “He should know
better. He’ll never get out of this inning.” He didn’t. I’m sure he knew
better after he was out of the game. That is not the ideal pitchers
should seek, however. The fact that it was a spring training game—
the opener, at that—does not relieve a pitcher from responsibility for
his behavior. It’s his body he is getting in shape. His mind and
psyche play the game of life all year.
A number of years ago, a young pitcher came up from the minor
leagues to pitch for the Oakland Athletics during the second half of
the season. He pitched aggressively and effectively as a reliever; his
rookie season statistics pleased him. He had a 1.93 era, a strikeout-
to-walk ratio of almost two to one. He gave up only 45 hits in 72
innings pitched. The next season, however, he seemed a changed
pitcher. He was tentative, behind in the count quite often, and the
batters had much better swings at his pitches—and better results—
than they had the previous season.
His body language told the story. The year before, I had referred
to him as “a stalker” during our conversations. His posture was firm
and strong looking. His manner said to the catcher, “Hurry up and
give me the ball; let’s go.” He looked as if wanted to get back on the
rubber and attack—again and again. And he had done just that, the
way all aggressive competitors so.
But now, his performance was a different story; his body told a
different story. And watching him was like watching a different
pitcher. He clearly was not a “stalker.” Instead, he appeared to be the
one being stalked. He looked as if he didn’t want to throw the next
pitch; his tempo was excruciatingly slow. As he seemed to want to
avoid the next delivery, he also tried to avoid contact. He “picked,”
was behind in the count regularly, and the quality of his pitches
diminished. The hitters took advantage of it.
All this was rather evident to the pitcher. What wasn’t, I felt, was
how he looked out on the mound—the indicator of every bad thought
and feeling he was internalizing. I asked him if he had tapes from the
previous season; he did. We took a few recent tapes from the
current season and went to his apartment. The format was to view
them without comment. Just watch. He was astounded. He was
disgusted with his current body language—the signals he was giving
off. “This is what my teammates see?” he asked rhetorically. “This is
what opposing hitters see,” I added.
We then discussed the importance of a pitcher’s appearance to a
hitter. That hitter has perceptions of the pitcher, to a great extent
based on what he sees. One of my goals, I told the young man, will
be to intimidate the hitter in any way possible. The first way is to
show myself on the mound as a relentless and aggressive
competitor. If I look vulnerable, I am allowing the hitter to be
comfortable facing me. More confident. It can be a subtle difference
in the batter’s mind, perhaps at a lower level of consciousness. But it
will be there. As a pitcher, a tough competitor, I will not allow him to
see me suffer. If I’m in command of the game, it’s easy to act out
superiority. But if I’m struggling, it’s more difficult—and more
important. By expressing negative thoughts and emotions through
body language, I’d hurt myself. Not only couldn’t I make an
adjustment, but I’d be forfeiting my advantage to the hitter.
“This is exactly the garbage I’ve been bringing out there,” said the
pitcher.
The reason his behavior had changed from his rookie season,
and the process he went through to address his issues, are
irrelevant here. It is important to reiterate that the display of negative
emotions while performing is not the behavior of effective
competitors. Whether the body speaks in assertive or submissive
language, it is speaking. And speaking is behaving.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that his posture and gestures constitute what is

called “body language.”
∎ Understand, as well, that it is the tendency of people to
express their internal thoughts and feelings through body
language.
 ∎ Pay attention to his own body language during pitching
performances, through the use of tapes or by having others
observe and report.
∎ Recognize that tough-minded competitors show themselves to
be that, in part, through their physical presence during
competition.
∎ Establish the habit of acting out, through body language, who
he wants to be, rather than who he does not want to be,
knowing that acting the warrior will help him to be the warrior.
∎ Know that when faced with difficulty, an aggressive internal
adjustment—off the mound—should include the physical
posture he presents to the hitter, and to the world.

∎ BREATHING
“Breathe or die,” I warn pitchers. They don’t need the literal
warning. It is simply a verbal key, reminding a pitcher to pay attention
to the “when” of breathing and the “where.” The pitchers know how,
and they know why. Yet some tend to forget everything they know in
the heat of battle. It only seems to happen during periods of tension
—when the relaxation technique is most required.
Anyone who has ever been to a movie thriller has had a chance
to understand the relationship between tension and inhibited
breathing patterns. For example, during a Stephen King film, an ax is
held high, the killer poised to strike. Down comes the ax; off comes
the head... The scene ends abruptly. Cut away to a pastoral scene
now, quiet, peaceful. An audible gasp by the audience. People had
been holding their collective breath. The cutaway relieved the
tension; they could breathe again.
I have seen pitchers hyperventilate during competition, the result
of racing thoughts and a general disorientation. The hyperventilation
(shortness of breath) has mental causes and physiological effects.
Muscles tense up; the arm does not have a fluid function. The
delivery breaks down: coordination, range of motion, balance, timing,
power, and accuracy are adversely affected. All this is triggered first
by what the mind has focused on (danger) and, then, the
unsatisfactory ratio of carbon dioxide to oxygen in the bloodstream.
To use the race car metaphor once again, carbon dioxide acts as
a brake; oxygen acts as an accelerator. Carbon dioxide slams down
on muscles; oxygen propels them smoothly. When exhaling deeply,
pitchers release carbon dioxide from their blood stream and allow
oxygen to take over.
The last act of downhill Olympic skiers, before they push off for
their run, is to exhale deeply. Most basketball players do the same,
before taking a foul shot.
Pitchers often forget. They breathe, for certain. But during crisis,
many think about “the falling ax,” and their breathing either becomes
shallow or it stops. The skiers and foul shooters are not in the midst
of action. Their breathing precedes it. And that, too, should be the
case with pitchers. Breathing should be part of their preparation on
the mound—on the rubber—before each pitch. As with every other
good habit, the more consistent the breathing pattern, the more
consistent the total approach.
How, specifically, can breathing help a pitcher’s approach? First,
it relieves muscular tension and enables the pitcher to maintain his
typical physical/mechanical behaviors. Second, it will aid the pitcher
in calming himself. In slowing himself down. The tendency of a
pitcher in trouble is to rush—to speed up his tempo and his delivery.
He will jump out. He usually will not come through with his arm, and
his release point will be too high. As will the pitch. Power, as
mentioned above, will be lost. But the major loss will be his ability to
slow down his thoughts. How many times can such a pitcher be seen
letting out a gasp when the catcher is returning the ball? Many times.
He has no chance of making appropriate adjustments because his
mind is racing. He has forgotten to breathe, and he will forget to get
off the mound to fix himself.
It is easiest to create a pattern, a habit, of breathing if it is
practiced. And it is easy to practice. It can be done in a pitcher’s
room and should be done during his side work in the bullpen.
Working out of a stretch is conducive to developing a natural, deep
exhalation. As the pitcher brings his arms down slowly in the stretch,
he can slowly let air out from his mouth. It is a naturally coordinated
procedure. Working out of the windup, a pitcher can look in to the
catcher, take his sign, exhale slowly and then begin his delivery.
Effective breathing is not gasping. It is not necessarily a
discernible action. It should be a regular one. A number of pitchers
have involved themselves in martial arts training, the better to
regulate and develop effective breathing patterns. Dave Stewart was
a prime example. Reliever Robb Nen is one of the most consistent
and regulated “breathers” among pitchers. (As a closer, he always
works out of a stretch.) It is the first aspect of his approach he
checks, when he’s not satisfied with a performance during which
might have rushed himself.
Each year, it seems, more pitchers learn to incorporate patterned
breathing into their approach. It becomes obvious to them that
random breathing is not as helpful to them as regulated breathing.
Or no breathing at all.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that breathing patterns—or no pattern, at all—have

physiological effects on him during performance.
∎ Recognize what these effects are.
∎ Realize that breathing will involuntarily change during times of
crisis and/or tension.
∎ Practice creating a consistent pattern of breathing before
delivering each pitch, in order to relax his muscles and himself.
∎ Stand in front of a mirror in his room to see what seems to be
best for him, and to feel what seems to be most natural.
∎ Experiment in the bullpen, until he is satisfied with his
technique.
∎ Use it before every delivery, in order to integrate it fully into his
approach.
∎ Check himself regularly, when making adjustments during the
game and when reviewing behavior after the game. [See
APPENDIX B]
∎ CATCHERS
One goal a pitcher should consider is to have a catcher who is
capable of being the pitcher’s doppelganger—his alter ego on the
field. The example most often referred to is the Steve Carlton-Tim
McCarver relationship. Such a snug fit is the exception in a peg-to-
hole metaphor. Unfortunately, there seem to be more round peg-
square hole relationships. The former, an ideal fit, is often
unattainable; the latter, a non-fit, is unacceptable.
At spring training camps of teams I’ve been with, catchers’
meetings have been held more regularly than pitchers’ meetings.
The subject at pitchers’ meetings is usually “pitching.” The subject at
catchers’ meetings is usually “pitchers.” Catchers and coaches
discuss their tendencies, their strengths and weaknesses, and the
individual needs of pitchers in specific situations. The discussions
have one purpose: to inform the catchers, in order for them to be as
helpful as possible during a pitcher’s performance.
When I was a young boy, my father, a horseplayer, categorized
race-horses into three classes. The first, he said, a jockey can just
“hand ride. That horse will take care of business on his own.” The
second type required the jockey to “show him the whip” at regular
intervals “to keep the horse’s mind on his business.” The third, he
said, “the jockey’s got to beat the hell out of.” He added, “Much like
people.”
But not exactly. Some pitchers—people, after all—need a more
sophisticated style of coaxing, need more encouragement, need a
better plan when they are in trouble, a slowing of tempo, and so on.
Catchers are not jockeys. They deal with people whose thought
processes are more complex than those of horses, though their
behavior sometimes challenges that notion.
Catchers should want to know how to help pitchers enhance their
performances, because, in part, those performances reflect on the
catcher. And pitchers should want catchers to know.
In 1988, Terry Steinbach was still learning about catching. He had
been a converted third baseman and had caught for only two years
before getting to the major leagues. Bob Welch was a veteran
pitcher. Bob was a fierce competitor, who would “go harder” when
adverse situations developed. [See TEMPO] It didn’t work when the
approach went out of control. Terry was concerned about it; he had
felt responsible to help, but Bob’s tendency continued. We got
together and discussed the issue—and a discovery was made. Terry,
a fierce competitor himself, would recognize the adverse situations
and “encourage” Bob by shaking his fist at him. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Accompanied by a fierce look.
In retrospect, Terry recognized that “it only made Welchy more
fired up, which wasn’t what he needed.” And so, the catcher’s tactic
when he saw Bob on the brink was to put palm and glove facing the
ground and give a slow-down, be easy signal. This they discussed
beforehand, so the problem was clear to both, as was the “solution.”
It was effective.
After that, Terry wanted to review the tendencies of “his” pitchers
every spring training, at a regular lunch meeting we had at Coco’s,
on Scottsdale Road. Because of his understanding of pitchers and
his intelligence, Terry Steinbach’s reputation for “handling” pitchers
equaled (surpassed?) his reputation as a hitter.
If a pitcher understands the importance of working effectively with
his catcher, he can save much valuable time by initiating and
developing a good relationship with him.
What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the importance of having a good working

relationship with his catcher.
∎ Work at developing that relationship.
∎ Share with the catcher the pitcher’s preferences, behavioral
tendencies, mechanical cues and all else he wishes the
catcher to know, thus enabling him to recognize signs of need
and be able to address them.
∎ Inform the catcher of the specific “keys” and “cues” the pitcher
uses for himself, so the catcher can provide them when
necessary.
∎ Establish a “total” plan with the catcher before performance,
regarding pitching strategies and behavioral patterns (e.g.,
tempo, body language).
∎ Remind the catcher of the verbal approach (e.g., tonality) that
works best for the pitcher during the catcher’s visits to the
mound.
∎ Confer with catcher in between innings. Make the conference
brief and to whatever point either player wants to make.
∎ Support the catcher with “professional” responses.
∎ Be honest, despite possible conflict of opinions.
∎ Take responsibility, rather than blaming the catcher for
whatever is displeasing the pitcher.
∎ If a less-than-desirable relationship exists, think of ways to
improve it—or rise above it.

∎ CHARACTER
I am compelled to write more than the “few words” originally
intended about this abstract term. The word is used and heard
frequently by and from many people involved with sport. The term
“character” is used regularly in and around professional baseball
environments.
 Not only do the people using the term often fail to agree on its
definition (and who can blame them?), they differ in the value they
give to “character,” as it relates to their players—particularly major
leaguers. This is discernable not so much by how they speak, as by
how they act. To be candid, baseball people do not differ in their
desire to win, they differ in the “price” they are willing to pay in order
to have a chance to win. For some, therefore, a player’s “character”
has value relative to his talent. Others note that there is no value in a
player who has character and little else. It is a valid argument. Once
again, the problem is how to strike a proper balance. And what is a
proper balance? I am thankful that these are not issues to deal with
on these pages.
As to why I believe “character” matters, first, I would quote
Goethe, “If you would create something, you must be something.”
The creation is only as good as the creator. The best pitchers I have
talked with have had the most “character.” It is no random truth.
Their achievements have been the result of talent, to be sure. But
their mental attitude, which is a major ingredient of “character,” is an
important part of their superiority.
Second, Lincoln spoke of “character” being like a tree, and
reputation—the judgment of others—like a shadow. The shadow is
what is thought of it—the tree is “the real thing.” Players often tell
teammates to “get real,” but not everyone knows how to be “real.”
Third, though not in order of importance, I share the view of the
philosopher Heraclitus, who felt that “character” is “a man’s fate.” A
pitcher is a man first. He is many other things to many other people,
before he gets down to a lower rung on that ladder of abstraction—
where he is identified as a pitcher. When statistics, expectations, and
evaluations are put aside, he is ultimately defined to himself by his
“character.” That is his fate, whether he understands it or not. His
“character” is his substance; his reputation is the symbol—in
baseball, his “label.” He should want to take control of defining
himself—first and foremost for himself.
A good number of thoughtful and interested pitchers, having read
about and heard the topic “character” being discussed—and having
a respect for the game they play—expressed the idea to me that
“baseball develops character.” My own view, I told them, is that
“baseball helps reveal character.” A discussion usually ensued.
“People develop their character,” I offered as explanation. “Or don’t
develop it. Circumstances reveal it, in either case. How a person
reacts to situations and circumstance reveals the person.” Thomas
Hardy wrote of “the influence of character upon circumstance.” We
spoke of character as a determinant of what happens to a man. His
fate.
And so it went; the talk expanded (particularly when Al Leiter,
intellectually curious by nature, was a participant) to the idea that,
while temperament may be inborn, “character” is acquired. That’s the
major point I always wish to make to players. And that time and effort
are required for its acquisition. “Character building begins in infancy
and continues to death,” Anna Roosevelt wrote. It is a life-long
process, and the building site is wherever the person brings himself.
Even to playing fields, where what is done every day, as Vince
Lombardi told his teams, helps define who they will be the rest of
their lives.
The Greek word “character” means impression. Pitchers should
learn to regard Lincoln’s words and make the distinction between
who they are and who they appear to be. Though the difference may
seem obvious, less so is the connection. This connection is
“impressed” on his being—all through his life—by everything in his
environment: family members, friends, teammates, newspapers,
television, money, fame, statistics, music, social contexts, and more.
Everything.
The impression is being made regularly—constantly. Put simply,
people may be shaped; “character” must be formed. To the extent
that each individual makes selections of what he defines as “right”
and appropriate, and to the extent that he acts upon these
selections, he develops his own “character.” He is his own man, free
of “impressions” that do not last, free of perceptions that do not
matter.
A topic soon to be treated in this book is CONFIDENCE. Can a
pitcher be confident if he believes he is defined by others? By
statistics? Rhetorical questions. When a pitcher acts out of what he
knows is “right,” he is building his self-confidence through the
process of developing his “character.”
 One of my lines to pitchers is, “Character is what you do when no
one is watching.” If someone knows an action or activity to be “right,”
he shouldn’t need supervision to give his full mental and physical
energy to it. It’s much easier to behave well when being watched,
whether by judgmental peers or by evaluating staff members. (It’s a
rare horse that can just be hand-ridden by the jockey. A special
horse—one with “character.”)
So people may act many ways in many places for many different
reasons. The cynical but humorous writer, Ambrose Bierce, fully
understood human tendencies. He commented with irony, “In every
human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. Diversity of
character is due to their unequal activity.” The choice, he implied, is
ours to make. Yet, people often choose to keep too great a distance
between who they are and who they wish to be. It is not so much a
choice to maintain that distance as a hesitancy to approach the task.
Narrowing the gap is, after all, a very challenging task. It takes some
“character” to develop more “character.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that he gives impressions of his “character”

through every singular act, on and off the baseball field.
∎ Examine his behavior and consider whether it is representative
of who (how) he would like to be as a person and as a
competitor.
∎ Understand that he defines himself not only by what he will do
—but also by what he will fail to do.
∎ Recognize that the pitcher portrays his “character” by how he
approaches his task and, even more so, how he responds to
resultant circumstances. He reveals it by how he responds to
failure—and how he responds to success. [See RESPONSE]
∎ Realize that “character” is related to attitude, and that his
interpretation of his world (“boring” drills included) emanates
from his attitude.
∎ Understand that what is impressed on him from the external
world is the world’s; what he projects to the world is his.
 ∎ Understand that when baseball people use the term “make-up”
in judging him, they are, in their way, referring to his
“character.”
∎ Believe that, whatever importance his “character” may hold for
others, it is most important to him. It is, after all, self-defining.
∎ Include in his commitment to his improvement as an athlete,
the on-going development of his “character.”

∎ CLOSERS
In 1983, Ozzie Smith and I had a conversation, during which he
mentioned his early days in the major leagues. In that time before he
had established himself as a pre-eminent shortstop, Smith was used
in the late innings of close games as a defensive replacement.
Said Smith, “A player put into the game for defensive reasons is
expected [his emphasis] to make every play. If you don’t, you’ve
failed. It was a no-win situation.”
The same expectation must be faced by a closer. And the ball is
in his hands—as is the game itself—with every pitch.
The closer’s role is to protect his team’s lead in the late innings,
the ninth inning. His performance is compressed into the action of
pitching to a few batters—or one batter perhaps. He is expected to
get the last out in order to preserve the victory—to “save” it. If he
does not, he fails.
Herein rests one of the distinctions the closer must make for
himself, if he is to be well suited for the role. Though he may fail to
achieve his goal on a given day, he is not the failure. One
interpretation speaks to task; the other personalizes the failure.
Responsible people feel the great responsibility of having a game
turned over to him, after his team has worked hard to keep or take a
lead. How the pitcher responds to that challenge (threat?)
determines his mettle as a closer.
“It’s all about how you handle the mental side,” Dennis Eckersley
has often explained. “You’ve got to be as positive as you can,
because a lot of negatives will happen to you [over time].”
 Robb Nen calls the responsibility “a mental strain.” Churchill
called it “the price of greatness.” But blown saves and bad outings
erode today whatever claim to greatness was gained yesterday.
“Those games make you feel like you’ve let people down,” Nen said.
“But you know you’ve got to go back out there tomorrow, so you’d
better be ready and confident you’ll get it done next time. You can’t
take the failure personally. That’s not easy to do sometimes.”
But that is exactly what needs to be done by a closer, or he will
not remain one for long.
The theme in BIG INNING relates to the pitcher’s perception of
the irrelevance of runners on base. A closer would have had to
develop this point of view early. Runners on base, runners in scoring
position, the winning run, at that: those situations are the rule, not
the exception for a closer.
Before facing these situations, the closer, during his walk from
the bullpen to the mound, should narrow his thoughts. “Get an out,”
should be part of the “reducing” thought process. Once he gets to
the mound, “Make a pitch,” becomes his focus. On the rubber:
selection, location, target—aggressiveness under control. A mature,
consistent, uncomplicated approach.
Over time, Yankees closer, Mariano Rivera has come to that
approach. In the spring of 1999, catcher Joe Girardi said of Rivera,
“He’s more mature ... He understands more about how to close,
about the mentality.”
The understanding that he cannot and will not succeed all the
time is one that must be clear in a closer’s mind, if he is to remain
rational and functional. At the same time, he cannot use this truth as
an excuse before he “goes into battle.” That viewpoint at that time
will usually lead to problems. The thoughts are not part of a
preparation for success, but, rather, an explanation of failure. And
failure will be the likely result. As has been discussed earlier,
balance is required, and the beam can be narrow sometimes.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the mental requirements for a closer are

distinctly unique, because of the circumstances he faces on a
 regular basis.
∎ Understand that these requirements include the psychological
response a closer has to others’ expectations of his success.
∎ Welcome the responsibility.
∎ Recognize the inevitability and impact of failures in the role.
∎ Address failure by defining it in situational terms, rather than
personal ones. In other words, be certain perspective is clear.
∎ Manage responses by using positive self-talk to anticipate the
next opportunity.
∎ Develop a routine for pre-performance time during a game,
making sure arousal level is kept down until the late innings.
For example, stay in the dugout during the game, to keep the
preparation environment (bullpen) separated from thoughts
and senses. Talk about matters of the game, rather than
thinking about his own impending performance. Incorporate
whatever works for him into a consistent routine.
∎ Know the game situation and have a plan before leaving the
bullpen.
∎ Use appropriate task-oriented self-coaching language on the
trip from the bullpen to the mound. (“Get an out.” “Be
aggressive.”)
∎ Have appropriate task-oriented focus when on the rubber.
(Selection, location, target, etc.)
∎ Attack.

∎ COACHING SELF
I tell major league players, “The most important coach you’ll have
from now on is you.” Surely the players have learned and will
continue to learn from others, but unless the information is properly
integrated into behavior, it will be of no value during performance.
And coaching behavior is, for the most part, what I am alluding to
when I speak of self-coaching. Self-coaching during performance.
It has been said that we are all brilliant in retrospect. Also, that
best laid plans often go awry. But past and future are not the concern
of those who coach themselves effectively. The present, the
moment, the task at hand—this is the appropriate concern. What the
pitcher does to help himself—or hinder himself—will be the precursor
of success or failure. (Recall the pitcher with the “antic disposition,”
who didn’t make it out of the first inning of a spring training game.)
Much of what has already been said in this book speaks to a
pitcher’s need to coach himself during competition. Making
adjustments, behaving properly and coping with adversity all require
the pitcher to direct himself or redirect himself. Doing this is an
internal process. No one except the pitcher knows what he is
thinking and feeling. (Sometimes even he doesn’t know!) [See
GATHERING] Pitching coaches can only respond to the observable
behavior of a pitcher. The cause of much of it is not revealed to him.
He can only guess, and such guesses can be risky for the coach—
and the pitcher. So it is imperative for pitchers to be aware of their
thoughts, feelings, and needs as they compete. Only then can they
help themselves by being good coaches. By knowing what to do,
when to do it, how to do it.
Pitchers tend to be hard on themselves. The language they use
when talking inside their heads—on or behind the mound—is often
nasty. The tone of their collective inner voice can be harsh and
overly critical—emanating from a disgusted attitude. That kind of talk
is neither positive nor encouraging. It certainly is not conducive to
building confidence. [See SELF-TALK]
I’ll often ask a pitcher what he says to himself when he’s
dissatisfied or unhappy with what he’s doing on the mound. I ask
what happens as a result. Those who are poor at self-coaching—and
I’ve found them to be a vast majority—tell me of their self-
flagellation. Here is a typical conversation:
“I beat myself up.”
“Does it work?”
“No.”
“If I were the pitching coach, and I came out to the mound and
said to you what you’ve said to yourself, what would you think of my
coaching?’
“I’d think it was horsebleep.”
“The how would you judge your own coaching technique?”
“Horsebleep.“
 “Then what are you going to do about it?”
I’ll end the report there, though that’s just the beginning of the
talk.
A good coach has to “know what’s going on,” and he has to know
how to respond to what’s going on. [See RESPONSE] Effective
pitchers have that understanding of game situations. The pitcher
must also understand his thoughts and feelings, as they affect his
behavior. As only he can know them. In effect, he is both a pitcher
and a coach.
The difficulty in knowing when and how to differentiate is
understandable. Simply put, when on the rubber, he is a pitcher;
when off the rubber, he can be a coach—if a coach is needed.
Naturally, when matters are going well—everything flowing smoothly
—he should “go with the flow,” just as the pitching coach should “let
it flow” without interference.
The only thoughts a pitcher should have on the rubber should
relate to pitch selection, location, and focus on the target. He should
have already coached himself to be aggressive and be under
control. He should already have given himself mechanical “cues” he
might have needed. This he did behind the rubber or off the mound,
depending on how much time he required to gather himself and
coach himself. He has told himself what to do and how to do it—off
the rubber. The quality of the next pitch he throws is greatly
determined by the quality of his self-coaching.
Many pitchers admit to being much better coaches of others than
they are of themselves. Their awareness of the difference is helpful.
They recognize the fact that they know what to say and how to say it,
albeit to others. “I’m smart for others and stupid for myself,” one
pitcher told me recently. “It’s hard to see the picture, when you’re
inside the frame,” I answered. “And when you’re in the heat of battle,
you’re inside the frame.”
That is why it is so important to get off the rubber and/or off the
mound and become a coach, instead of a pitcher. By first “getting out
of the frame.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 Understand that only he is capable of knowing what he is
∎ thinking and feeling, so only he is capable of addressing these
matters as a coach, during performance.
∎ Be aware of what is happening in the game and within himself.
∎ Know that, while on the rubber, he is the pitcher, not the coach.
(Selection, location, target.)
∎ When necessary, coach himself first by staying off the rubber,
getting behind the mound, perhaps turning his back to
homeplate and rubbing the ball while employing positive self-
talk. Use tonality that is appropriate to the need. That is, if the
pitcher is being complacent or tentative, use strong directives
with an aggressive tone, in order to heighten arousal and
intensify focus. If arousal is too high and/or tempo too fast, the
pitcher should employ calming language and tonality.
∎ Use positive, functional, task-oriented directives before getting
back on the rubber.
∎ In between innings, according to need, quickly review his
mental approach during the previous inning. Prepare himself
by bringing to mind the mental adjustments desired when he
goes back out for the next inning.

∎ COMPETITOR
Pitchers who express admiration for other pitchers tend to identify
their most admirable trait as being “a tough competitor.” Though I
share the object of their admiration, I believe the term they use to
characterize it to be a redundancy. To my mind, a pitcher who is not
mentally “tough,” is not an effective competitor at all. That toughness
(my own working definition is “mental discipline”) is prerequisite.
It seems that many people hold an image of a tough competitor
to be a pitcher, for example, with fire flaming from his nostrils. He
scowls, he snatches, he swears, he sweats. Sort of an unpleasant
dragon in a china shop. More assassin, perhaps, than linebacker.
The term “killer instinct” is frequently used, and aptly so. That instinct
is admirable and necessary, if one is to be a tough competitor. But a
“calculated cool” must accompany the instinct if the job is to be
“executed,” so to speak. I would not send a dragon or a linebacker to
do the job.
Philip Roth, in a short story entitled “Defender of the Faith,” wrote
of a soldier learning to have an “infantryman’s heart.” That is what an
effective competitor must have. Think of these possibilities:
infantryman A runs from the battle (quitting); infantryman B freezes
during it (panic); infantryman C rapidly unloads all his ammunition,
firing his weapon aggressively but aimlessly, hitting no one (loss of
control and focus); infantryman D sets up properly (courage), aims
carefully (focus), fires with deliberation (poise), hits his target
(execution—indeed).
I want infantryman D on my side—on a battlefield—and on a
playing field. He is the true competitor, the balanced performer, the
guy with mental toughness, who faces fire and takes care of his task,
rather than fearing consequences. He’s got the “infantryman’s heart.”
The image of Greg Maddux during competition comes to mind.
Prepared, controlled, focused. A pit-bull, not a raging bull. The term
dogged perseverance seems to be similarly applicable. No giving in,
no grandiose gesturing, Maddux executes pitches with the consistent
intensity, irrespective of score or circumstance. That his agenda, at
least.
Yet the best competitors can “lose” their approach from time to
time. It does not take them long to get it back, and they “come at
you,” as pitchers are wont to say, with renewed determination. Kevin
Brown told the media in 1998 that he was still learning to guard
against such a loss of perspective. Pitching for San Diego that
season, he had a no-hitter for seven innings against the Dodgers,
then gave up a number of “choppers, hardly a clean hit”—and lost
the game, 4-2. “If you’re a competitor, that can really bother you, and
it bothered me,” Brown said. “But you have to learn not to dwell on
the past. I had to focus on the next game, the next day. It’s not easy,
but it’s essential.”
The point has been made in earlier pages: a pitcher’s
appearance is not the determining factor in judging his competitive
efficacy. His behavior defines him. Stomping and ranting is usually
just posturing—behaviors of an actor, not a competitor. How the
pitcher “goes after it” gives meaning to the man.
 Many pitchers have “competitive spirits.” Of course, they all want
to win, to succeed. Who doesn’t? Spirit alone, however, does not
suffice. A will—and a “way” must accompany it.
One of the measures of a pitcher’s competitive tendency is not
how he pitches with his “best stuff,” but by how he pitches when his
stuff has deserted him. Ineffective or poor competitors panic, try to
do too much (overkill) or give in to “one of those days” (surrender). A
true competitor recognizes the need to compensate for lack of “stuff”
with intelligence and persistence. Courage is required, as well, and it
is a competitor’s instinct to stick to his battle plan, rather than
succumbing to disorientation or losing his spirit (heart and soul). The
true competitor holds himself even more accountable to employ all
his mental resources on those days when his physical skills seem to
be unavailable. Seem to be.
Quite often I have witnessed pitchers, in the course of the battle,
“find their stuff.” The phrase they use is significant. Pitchers who
“found it” were not searching for it. As they focused on task, and kept
themselves and their team in the game, the “stuff reappeared.” I
often use a particular metaphor for explaining this to young pitchers.
I will ask the question, “How do you catch a bird?” I answer the
question for them. “Not by doing this,” I say, as I snatch at the air
with my hand. I open my hand and hold it still with my palm up. “This
is how you ‘catch’ it; open your hand and trust it will fly in.” The same
theory applies to stuff. The bird will not always alight there, but a
grabbing, flailing hand surely will never catch it.
Pitchers who have the courage to battle with limited resources
and trust themselves give their muscles time to get their “rhythm” (a
term often used by pitchers) because of their indomitable spirit—and
will—and approach.
Along this line of thought is the evaluation of “stuff” a pitcher
makes when warming up in the bullpen. So many pitchers, especially
young ones, use that evaluation as a forecast of what they will take
into the game. Yet so many pitchers will say there seems to be no
correlation between bullpen “stuff” and game effectiveness.
Information gained in the bullpen can be useful, predicting the future
is not. So long as the pitcher knows how to behave, and his
impression of his bullpen “stuff” does not alter that behavior, he’ll be
fine. The information relating to what pitch seems to be working well
on that day and what pitch does not may help the pitcher when he
enters the game. But very often the information is limited only to
what is going on in the bullpen. When game “stuff” is executed, it
may change. The point to be made is that a pitcher’s predicting his
physical efficacy—for better or for worse—too often leads to the
corruption of mental efficacy. It is to be avoided.
A notion some pitchers have expressed to me is that to be a
fierce competitor one must be an arrogant, ignorant, and obnoxious
person. As stated, this view is most widely held by intelligent,
sensitive, often deferential people [See NICE GUYS] Intelligence is
an asset “between the lines”; sensitivity and deference are not. A
fierce competitor’s concern is knowing how to go about his task and
battling to give his team and himself a chance to win. He has no
other concern; he is insensitive and unyielding. He is not a terrible
person. “Nice guys” might identify him as such, because they feel
they themselves are not capable of competing fiercely, and use
personality as an excuse.
Rick Honeycutt, to use a favorite person of mine, is a
“gentleman,” a “nice guy”—off the field. He pitched for 20 years in
the big leagues, not because people liked him, but because he was
given the ball often and competed always. He reminded me of an old
English sea captain Thomas Fuller wrote of. Fuller noted that
Captain Somers, a veteran “of many Atlantic voyages” in the late
1500s, was “a lamb on the land, a lion on the sea.” Rick Honeycutt
and other gentlemen still pitching are sensitive, caring people who
become fierce competitors on the mound. They know how to win
battles.
One of the wonderful aspects of sport is that warrior metaphors—
battles and infantrymen and sea captains—can be used when
speaking of great competitors, pitchers who “take no prisoners,” but
cause no fatalities. Because intense competition, in the words of
William James, is just “the moral equivalent of war.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 ∎ Understand that behavior, rather than appearance, is the
determining factor in becoming an effective competitor.
∎ Understand that the mentally tough competitor responds to
fear, frustration, or inadequacy by being able to direct and
maintain his thoughts and focus on what he can control—his
behavior.
∎ Remember that the intensity of a competitor is directed to
executing the next pitch, rather than thinking about outcome.
∎ Remember that aggressive behavior must be controlled. A
proper balance must be struck.
∎ Develop a consistent, persistent approach, one not related to
score, circumstance or “meaning” given to the game. In every
outing, “run through the finish line.” Battle to the end of his
performance.
∎ Be unyielding, even when he does not have his “best stuff.”
∎ Develop his concentration skill to a level at which he can be
oblivious to irrelevant external cues and aware of relevant
internal cues.
∎ Understand that the hitter is an irrelevant, external cue. Focus
on the target.
∎ Remind himself of the difference between being a gentleman
off the field and being a fierce competitor on it.

∎ CONCENTRATION
[See APPENDIX A]

Concentration is prepotent. Whatever troubles a person might

have, if he also has a highly developed ability to concentrate, he will
be able to focus intently on whatever task is before him. Prepotent,
his concentration will be more powerful than any possible distraction.
That is the ideal. Rarely do people have such a highly developed
prepotency. As important as concentration is in athletics, it is
surprising to find how small is the percentage of athletes who
actively work on improving theirs. A player can learn how to pay
attention to his task. It is a skill and should be practiced regularly, in
order to bring it to a high level of development and maintenance.
 Distinctive differences exist among pitchers, in both their natural
capacity to concentrate and to address the appropriate “object” of
their concentration—what they are paying attention to. For example,
one pitcher, let us say Jamie Moyer, is a calm, apparently low-key
personality. Another, let us use Kevin Brown as an example, is a
more “high-key” type. When I have asked other pitchers to
conjecture on the effectiveness of concentration of those two,
responses would tend to name Kevin Brown, because he appears to
be more intense. His external manner, his type of personality, would
lead people to that conclusion. In contrast, observers would see
Jamie Moyer as a more “mellow” type. If they missed the point, it is
because I asked the question in a somewhat vague and misleading
way.
The real question to be asked about all pitchers should refer to
selective attention—identifying not only the intensity of their
concentration, but also the quality of it. This quality is measured by
evaluating their ability to focus on the specific needs and tasks of the
moment, and also by determining the length of time that focus can
be sustained. It should be obvious that the most effective
performances will result from a pitcher’s ability to identify the
appropriate object of his attention, focus with intensity, and sustain
that level and direction of that focus.
So, getting back to Moyer and Brown, the answer to who is
concentrating more effectively can only be found in the pitcher’s
hidden agenda: who is thinking about what he is supposed to be
thinking, who is seeing clearly what he is supposed to be seeing, as
noted above. External demeanor is not the entire or accurate
measure of what is going on internally. Unless, of course, the
observer sees body language that indicates a “hurricane in the
head”—the performer losing control of himself.
I have referred to Jamie Moyer and Kevin Brown for a reason.
First, they are different personality types. Second, they developed
their concentration efficacy based on different needs. That is a major
point I wish to make here: a pitcher must recognize the flaws or
weaknesses in his concentration skills, and then he must know what
to do to address them. And he must have the will to do so.
 Before getting to the specifics of that practice, a reminder about
distractions. Pitchers, when asked, provide me with a catalogue of
distractions. One “appears” most frequently—by far. Since it has
been discussed in earlier pages, I will identify it but not elaborate.
The most common distraction relates to self-consciousness. The
pitcher pays more attention to himself, his desires, his doubts, his
fears, his image, the consequences of his actions, and whatever
other needs he might be addressing, than he does to his task. In
order to effectively compete, the pitcher must learn to redirect his
thoughts and move his attention to his responsibility. This ability will
combat anxiety and other distractions. The stronger the
concentration skills become, the more the distractions diminish in
strength. At the highest level, the skill, as noted, becomes prepotent.
Concentration requires self-discipline; practice requires self-
discipline. A typical form of practice for pitchers is “PFP”—pitchers’
fielding practice. During spring training, instructional league and
regular intervals throughout the professional season, PFP is used as
a standard, essential drill. The routine includes practicing all the
fielding plays a pitcher will be called on to make during a game.
Practiced over and over—and over again.
The pitchers’ bodies are out there on the field, but where are their
minds? A short period of observation is all that is necessary to
determine that. Each individual reveals himself as he goes about his
business—and it is his business.
Pitchers have complained to me that these drills are “boring.” A
drill is a drill, I tell them. Their perception defines it; their attitude
paints their perception. The question is, what’s the purpose of the
drill? Does it have value? In theory, yes. But the pitcher’s behavior
will define the actual value for him. The drill will be as effective as the
pitcher. He’ll get out of it no more than he puts into it. If he is
“boring,” so too will the activity be “boring.”
Tom Seaver said that he appreciated anything that helped him
reach his goal of being a successful pitcher. When pitchers
acknowledge the theoretical value of a drill but devalue the activity
itself, they speak volumes about themselves, not about PFP. They
reveal their perspective and their self-discipline. Or lack of it.
Concentration is connected in the eyes and mind to both perspective
and self-discipline. Bad memory is rooted in bad attention. That
includes muscle memory. The pitchers who regularly “make the
plays” during the game, regularly attend to them during practice.
PFP can be a great opportunity for a pitcher to work on his
concentration skills, as well as on the plays he is supposed to make.
By holding himself accountable for sustaining his intense focus
during the activity, and by monitoring himself, he can enhance his
ability to have selective attention and increase the span of his
attention.
Sidework in the bullpen is another activity that a pitcher can use
to help develop better concentration skills. Whatever the purpose of
the work, a conscientious pitcher addresses it with intensity. If there
is no specific mechanic to be worked on in the bullpen, the pitcher
should be certain to maintain a disciplined focus on the target.
Everything done should have a purpose, and, in the absence of any
other, concentration alone is ample purpose. Concentration is not
just looking at a target, but seeing it. (Recall the Rapp anecdote: he
had no recollection of seeing the target, though he was “looking at
it.”)
Just one final clarification. I use the words “concentration” and
“focus” as synonyms. The American Heritage Dictionary says that to
concentrate is “to pay close attention”; to focus is “to concentrate
on.” “Focus” has become the more popular term with ballplayers. But
when San Francisco pitcher Shawn Estes said in September 1998,
“My focus is just not there,” he was saying that his concentration was
poor. “It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be,” Estes added. Definitions
are easier to come by than skills.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize the prepotent power concentration has over

distracting thoughts.
∎ Understand that concentration is a skill that can be developed
and improved through specific activities and a disciplined
approach.
∎ Apply this understanding to every practice activity on the field.
∎ Apply this understanding by practicing his concentration, using
the exercises suggested below or any other that the pitcher
knows or learns elsewhere.
∎ Draw a grid with 100 small squares. Make a number of
photocopies. Fill in one grid randomly with the numbers 00
through 99 (use 01,02, etc., so every number is double-digit.)
Use a pencil or pen and go through the grid by crossing out the
numbers in numerical succession. [A favorite drill of Jamie
Moyer.] Time the activity from start to completion. If one
number is illusive, stay with the activity, fighting frustration with
refocused concentration. Work the grid activity regularly.
Change the number placement on grid (using the blank copies)
to avoid memorization. When skill increases noticeably, put on
the radio or CD player. Have instrumental music at first;
progress to music with lyrics, preferably from songs familiar to
the pitcher. Continue the progression by increasing the volume.
Create whatever variations the pitcher can think of.
∎ Tie a heavy key or a finger ring to a piece of string nine or 10
inches in length. The weight of the object hanging on the string
should pull the string taut. The pitcher should lean his elbow on
a table, keeping his (pitching) arm firm and stable as he holds
the string in a relaxed manner between his thumb and
forefinger. His hand and forearm should be at a 45-degree
angle to the surface of the table. In this relaxed manner,
attention should be concentrated on the object at the end of the
string. Focus intensely on the ring (or key), “seeing” it revolve
in a clockwise orbit or circle through this concentration. The
pitcher should just relax and be easy with his hand. Soon, he
will feel the object move in the pattern of his concentration, with
no apparent movement of his hand and/or arm. He can then
understand how muscles are capable of responding to
concentrated thought. (Appropriate thoughts will help produce
appropriate muscle activity, as inappropriate thoughts will have
the opposite effect.)
∎ Sit in his room and look at a picture or poster on the wall. Now
see the picture. See it entirely. Next, he should narrow his
focus. Concentrate on a particular image. If it is a flower, for
 example, see the flower. Then a petal. Then the tip of that
petal. Sustain concentration, noting how his mind wandered,
when and how long before he returned attention to the end of
the petal. (Can PFP be as “boring”? No physical activity here,
aside from the eyes. But the mental discipline of sustaining
concentration is the activity’s purpose.)
∎ At the ballpark, use the same exercise, attending to outfield
signs.
∎ Visualize performance while doing distance running. Maintain
concentration on a particular sequence of behavior during the
performance.
∎ Be an observer. Notice everything. See everything. Be active
during a game, while not performing, by being attentive to
details within the game.
∎ Understand that the mental discipline and energy devoted to all
such “ordeals” (PFP included) will help to bring the pitcher’s
concentration skills to a higher level of development.

∎ CONFIDENCE
[See APPENDIX A]

“Confidence,” wrote Cicero, “is that feeling by which the mind

embarks in great and honorable courses with a sure hope and trust
in itself.” It’s difficult to imagine pitchers, or anyone else, for that
matter, having a consistently “sure ... trust.” Circumstance will
challenge a person’s confidence daily, particularly an athlete’s. Yet
confidence, players tell me, is the most significant influence on their
success. Pitchers say they “know” they will do well when their
prevailing feeling is one of confidence, rather than doubt.
Doubts come with being human. A “confident pitcher” will still
have his share of occasional doubts. That is not all bad; doubts are a
countervailing force against complacency. Fred Buechner has
written, “At least doubts prove that we are in touch with reality, with
the things that threaten faith, as well as with the things that nourish
it.”
 Being grounded in reality can serve as more than insurance
against complacency. It can also—and I am constantly speaking to
them about this “reality”—assure pitchers that failures on the
baseball field are not as catastrophic as they may be inclined to feel,
when they perceive that “the sky is falling.” [See FEELINGS] [See
PERCEPTIONS] And I assure pitchers that fluctuations in
confidence level do not make pitchers dysfunctional. Trust the talent,
have a plan, function. Confidence will heighten. The process itself
can be helpful. “Suffering is good for you,” my father advised me,
when I was a complaining young boy.
Newspaper sports pages are textbooks, I tell players. “Read
them. Just about every day a ballplayer is talking about confidence.
It comes and goes for most. That’s the first thing to realize.” I then
recall with them ideas related to confidence. Some are already
discussed on these pages, such as ADVERSITY and ATTITUDES,
BALANCE and BEHAVIOR, for example. The relationship between
the rational and the emotional is reiterated. How we think vs. how we
feel—to be specifically treated on pages to follow.
Now, to the sports pages—to random clippings from the 1998
season. Item: Los Angeles “occasional” closer, Antonio Osuna, after
two saves in consecutive appearances in June said, “At the start of
the season, I did lose my confidence, but I’ve been pitching well
lately, and it’s back to normal.” So performance got “back to normal”
despite lack of confidence. No catastrophe there. He must have
done something right.
National League Rookie of the Year, Kerry Wood, spoke about
the 20-strikeout one-hitter he pitched against Houston on May 6. “It
helped me finally realize that I was capable of pitching at that level,”
said the Cubs’ right-hander. “Finally.” Four prior starts had been
“rocky.” He must have done something right against Houston.
Lefthander Al Leiter, pitching for the Mets in ’98, had this to say in
August of that season: “Three years ago, if I had runners on second
and third with nobody out, they’re both scoring.” [See BIG INNING—
again] “Just through lack of confidence,” Leiter said. “And that’s just
the difference between having a good year and a bad year.” The
confidence came from somewhere!
 I find a clipping from 1984, one yellowed with age. White Sox
pitcher Britt Burns, more recently a staff colleague of mine with the
Florida Marlins, spoke these words at that time: “After pitching some
good games and losing, you go out and are a little apprehensive.”
Confidence eroded, even after pitching “good games.”
In 1985, Cardinals pitcher Ken Dayley had this to say: “I think
struggling made me stronger. Pitching is 80% mental, and
confidence is an awful lot of that mental part... I just needed a little
boost.”
Finally, a “Peanuts” strip I must share. Four frames. In frame one,
Charlie Brown says to Lucy, “You never have any self-doubt, do
you?” “Me?” asks Lucy in the second frame. She laughs raucously in
frame three: “HA HA HA HA!!” In the last frame, Charlie Brown,
looking like he feels, says, “No, I guess not.” Whatever the truth may
be, Lucy acts as if she’s confident.
A pitcher must remember that an appropriate approach will “get
the job done.” And that concentration can be prepotent. He must
remember that a feeling of confidence is still a feeling. So much the
better if he has a good feeling, but good behavior is the payoff.
The major problem with loss of confidence is that a pitcher will
tend to perform out of that feeling, that loss, and forget what he
knows about his approach. The degree to which he believes in his
talent and in his ability to be effective will affect his efforts to produce
a positive outcome. A confident pitcher will exert greater effort to
attack challenges. On the other hand, a pitcher who lacks confidence
will tend to greet the first sign of adversity with the “here-we-go
again” syndrome. Lack of confidence is lethal when it changes a
pitcher’s approach and response. Succumbing to self-doubt is not an
option for a pitcher who aspires to being an elite performer. Fighting
through self-doubt is pre-requisite. [See COMPETITOR]
The challenge, then, for a pitcher “invaded” by self-doubts (and
he is often responsible for having “opened the gates” to them) is to
discipline his mind to focus on task, irrespective of turmoil in his
heart. Discipline may not make the heart grow fonder, but it will
surely make it grow stronger. Most important is that the pitcher revert
to his plan of attack. [See APPROACH] The pitcher’s sense of being
prepared [See PREPARATION] is a seed for his confidence and self-
trust, which grows as he nurtures it with appropriate and consistent
behavior. [See CONSISTENCY] Further fed by the knowledge that
he is capable of struggling through difficult times.
People differ in their degree of self-confidence. So much of what
they feel about themselves is based on what they heard about
themselves while growing up. The expectation people have is that
precocious young athletes hear messages that build their
confidence. Not so. Parents may have their own agendas and may
have their own problems. Abused children have their confidence
destroyed at an early age. I’ve dealt with a number of major and
minor league players who were abused by an alcoholic parent. A
young person’s outstanding physical talent may vault him into
professional baseball, but he brings a bruised psyche with him. Self-
doubt is always there, until he addresses his issues and becomes
the man he knows he can be, instead of remaining the child he has
always felt himself to be. It is an arduous process, starting with pain,
ending with pleasure. And self-confidence.
Often, parents and coaches seem to be supportive of the young
player. But their expectation is for the youngster to be perfect. [See
PERFECTION] The young player sees that he is unable to meet
such an expectation. He believes he is doomed. With the help of
those who hold such expectations for him, he considers anything
less than perfect to be failure. Such a perception is not conducive to
building confidence.
Recently, a pitcher sat with me in the room where I write these
words. He spoke of his difficulties developing a positive belief system
—confidence—because all he ever heard as a boy was criticism. “If I
would have struck out 26 kids, I’d be jumped on [by a parent] and
asked what happened with the kid who hit the ball.” The
exaggeration is clear, but so is the theme. “It seems like my whole
life has been justifying my past and worrying about my future.” And
ignoring the present, he might have added.
I hear many such stories, with a variety of particulars, but
similarity of theme—parents living vicariously through their children.
Damage can be done. The child must explain every mistake he
makes; the boy does that and also learns to twist the truth; the man
does both and also makes excuses. For such a person—such a
pitcher—converting self-doubt into self-trust becomes a long and
arduous process.
The healthiest person is susceptible to external “impressions”
that change his level of confidence. Recall the anecdote in BELIEF—
2+2=5. I have done the following experiment in a college psychology
class: An individual is sent to read a notice aloud to two groups of
students in two different rooms. In the first room, he reads with
energy and enthusiasm—confidence. He considers himself to be
superior to this group; he is older, and they are remedial students.
He then goes to the room where senior, older, students work in a
physics lab. They are the intellectual elite of the college. His words to
them are barely audible and rushed. He cannot wait to get out of that
room, and he doesn’t wait long.
It is tough on those who live from the outside in, rather than from
the inside out. Confidence can disappear quickly. Think about social
settings people are in. When they feel confident, they are
comfortable, chatty, glad to be there. When they lack confidence
because of the particular environment they are in, they are ill at
ease, quiet, searching, perhaps, for someone who they think looks
more vulnerable than they feel, and they look forward to leaving.
Some would not even attend.
A final “type” of confidence problem for pitchers. Professional
athletes have, as noted, been precocious, in terms of talent, from an
early age. They dominated the opposing hitters, and, as they
progressed in age, they saw their future as a professional. After
having become a professional, they saw—at some time—the
“playing field level.” The players they dominated were not good
enough to be pros. The competition became more talented. Where
the opposing lineup might have included a couple of hitters worthy of
respect, lineups became more imposing. The good hitters, like good
pitchers, advanced.
But good pitchers get good hitters out most of the time.
Somehow, pitchers lose that truth. They can find it only by looking
within. Yet, pitchers often pay an inordinate amount of attention to
hitters. They can “learn” to give “too much respect to opposing
hitters.” These words have been spoken by many, many pitchers, in
their owning up to why they lose their confidence. They think about
what hitters might do to them, rather than what they are going to do
to the hitters. The confident pitcher knows that if he executes
pitches, he will get hitters out. To think otherwise is to interfere with
the ability to maximize that effort.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that confidence is not a constant.

∎ Realize that self-doubt is to be expected but not encouraged.
∎ Focus on task during performance, rather than feelings.
∎ Be the pitcher he wants to be, rather than the one he is
expected to be.
∎ Be accountable for behavior, rather than outcome.
∎ Know that life-threatening, catastrophic consequences will not
result from a poor pitching performance.
∎ Understand that failing at a task is not synonymous with being
a failure as a pitcher.
∎ Know that he has done everything possible to prepare for
performance, and that he is ready to do what he has done
successfully many times before.
∎ Take responsibility for his own goals and actions, rather than
being influenced by others and feel the need to apologize or
make excuses for mistakes. Let his behavior speak for him.
∎ Take risks, rather than be careful.
∎ Be rational; examine any fears that might erode confidence
and identify them as irrational—emotional.
∎ Be prepared. Have a plan, an approach that is aggressive and
clear. Be confident in this preparation and focus on the
behaviors within it.
∎ During competition, remember to coach himself regularly, using
positive, task-oriented self-talk.
∎ Focus on what he wants to do, rather what the hitter might or
might not do.
∎ During periods of diminished confidence, remember to trust his
talent and know that “this too shall pass.”
∎ CONSISTENCY
Change is inevitable. The ability to change indicates an open
mind. [See LEARNING] But when speaking of a behavioral approach
to pitching, an established and appropriate approach, a pitcher will
value consistency. He values it because he has defined and
established his pitching approach; he has reached an understanding
of what it takes to be an outstanding competitor, and so on. He
learns more about the game and himself as he continues to pitch.
And he adjusts—changes—accordingly. But as he goes about
pitching, he trusts his behavioral plan—and sticks to it. His
consistency is an indicator of his mental discipline.
“Consistent behavior leads to consistent performance,” I tell
pitchers. To stay with what a pitcher knows will work for him is to be
rational, rather than emotional. It is a sign of trust, which requires
courage. It is a focus on what to do, rather than how one feels.
Consistency reinforces what the pitcher knows is appropriate, and
this behavior becomes a habit. [See HABITS] By re-enacting these
habits on a consistent basis, pitchers, to use one major leaguer’s wry
statement to me, “have a hard time doing the wrong thing.” And his
behaviors are pro-active, rather than re-active.
The consistency of performance will indeed be greatly
determined by the consistency of a pitcher’s state of mind—his
thoughts and the resultant habituated actions. In competition, the
pitcher strives to be unwavering, indiscriminate, methodical
(meaning having a method and sticking to it), reliable...He practices
with the same consistent intensity and focus. He always applies his
mental energy to his purpose: to being a “winner.” As Vince
Lombardi reminded his players, “Winning is not a sometimes thing.”
The striving for excellence must be consistent, the execution must
be consistent, and then only can the performance be consistent—a
“winning” performance. [See WINNING]
Bobby Cox had this to say about Greg Maddux in 1995: “After
watching him for two and a half years, you come to appreciate the
consistency in performances, the consistency in his work between
games, the consistency in his thought processes, the consistency in
the excellence of his innings, his games. It is amazing, just amazing
to watch. It just never varies.” Years later, it still hadn’t.
Greg Maddux continues being spoken of as an exemplar,
deservedly so. Readers are well aware of his achievements and
approach by now. But how about Bruce Walton? “Who?” you ask.
Bruce Walton is currently a minor league pitching instructor for
the Toronto Blue Jays. He was selected by the Oakland Athletics’
organization in the 16th round of the 1985 free-agent draft, and
pitched in the minor leagues for Oakland from ’85 to ’92. Every
spring, to my best recollection, he was a candidate for release. One
or more minor league staff members always spoke up for keeping
him, and so he was retained. Every year he had to fight his way onto
a roster, and every year he did his job. He was unflappable and
consistent. He loved the game and he loved pitching. Moreover, he
was dependable, reliable. He took the ball as a starter, a middle
reliever, a closer. “Whatever,” he said. “I’m just happy to get the ball.”
He got the ball consistently, and he threw it with consistency.
In 1991, he was rewarded for that behavior—and by that
behavior; he was called up to the major league team. Here was a
pitcher with limited talent, that fact agreed upon by staff and by
Bruce himself. But his approach never varied. He competed as if he
were a “prospect,” which no one considered him to be. He always
pitched aggressively, and pitched ahead in the count as a result. His
composure was remarkable. His achievement worthy of his make-
up.
I recall this event: Oakland’s Triple-A team, Tacoma, had a very
bad flight time after a get-away game. The team was flying to Las
Vegas; the pitching staff had been ‘used up,’ shot; a daytime
doubleheader was to be played after the late-night/early-morning
arrival. Walton was asked if he could start the first game. “Give us
five innings, if you can,” the manager coaxed. (Walton had been
relieving.) Of course, he consented—and pitched a seven-inning
shutout. His value to the organization was not based on talent; it was
based on a trust of how he would behave on the mound when he
took the ball, irrespective of the game’s circumstance—or his own.
Bruce Walton was dependable, consistent.
 His pitching career ended after the 1994 season. His winning
percentage as a major leaguer is 1.000—2-0.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Realize that consistent performance is the result of consistent

behavior, and that consistent behavior requires a consistent
pattern of thought.
∎ Understand that consistency is developed through mental
discipline—repeatedly doing the “right thing,” irrespective of
circumstance or consequence.
∎ Reiterate on a regular basis his “plan” (i.e., approach,
behaviors, techniques, keys, etc.)
∎ Hold himself accountable for the consistent implementation of
this “plan” on the practice field and on the playing field.
∎ Evaluate the consistency of his behavior on a daily basis—his
work habits and game habits.
∎ Be aware of the factors that tend to “throw him off the beam”
and work rationally so as to be able to quickly “climb back on.”
∎ Remember that consistency also results from an unwavering
trust in his own appropriate thoughts and behaviors, as they
are reinforced through repetition and reinforcement. And that
inconsistent views expressed by media, fans, opponents, et.
al., are irrelevant.

∎ CONTACT
Many pitchers try to avoid contact of the ball with the hitters’ bat.
They do so either by trying to strike everyone out, thereby
overthrowing, or by “picking”—“nibbling”—pitching out of the strike
zone, where the hitter is unlikely to reach the ball. Neither of these
two approaches is ever successful over time. (I am tempted to say
anytime, but will restrain myself from throwing around absolutes.)
What little can be said about this topic is nevertheless essential.
First, it should be noted that successful pitchers do not avoid
contact; neither do they allow contact. Successful pitchers force
contact. They want the hitters to put the ball into play, and they make
the hitters do so. The sooner, the better.
Effective pitchers recognize and trust the probability of outcome
being in their favor when a hitter makes contact. Statistics have
taught him that. And they know from experience that when they
attack the strike zone, when they act aggressively and confidently,
they will most often have a positive outcome from a ball put into play.
Intelligence tells the pitcher this. Courage reminds him of it, when
his left brain deserts him. With this appropriate mental message, the
pitcher’s talent will best be able to express itself. He will be in the
“attack mode” when his message to the batter is, “Here, hit it.”
The pitcher who values contact, shows that he values the
defensive teammates behind him. His fielders reciprocate that
feeling; defensive players love pitchers who force contact. Infielders
particularly are quick to admit they are “into the game more,” when
hitters are swinging their bats. The defense is on its toes, rather than
its heels, as it is when pitchers are trying to avoid contact.
The irony in a pitcher’s reluctance for, or fear of, contact is that
his behavior plays into his fear. He is feeding the monster he fears,
rather than starving it. By avoiding contact, or by squeezing the ball
and overthrowing, the pitcher invariably falls behind in the count.
[See COUNT] When he feels he must throw a strike [See STRIKES],
he does so in the hitter’s count, and he usually steers or aims the
ball. This is done with considerably less than his “best stuff.” When
the pitch is then hit hard, his fear or reluctance is validated. The
monster has been fed.
The hitter has not been first cause in this event, though the
pitcher’s perspective often makes him see it that way. First cause
must be traced to the pitcher’s thought pattern and the resultant
behavior. Responsibility rests there, and the pitcher must re-examine
his thinking and his approach—and adjust them.
Part of this re-examination, particularly for starting pitchers,
should include the recognition that “going after hitters” will reduce the
pitch count. By forcing contact, pitchers will be able to stay in games
longer, thereby allowing themselves to compete more effectively and
help the entire staff to be better rested. They also will better preserve
their own arm strength by reducing the number of pitches thrown.
 When I have shagged in the outfield with pitchers during batting
practice, I’ve spent considerable time watching what hitters are
doing. Many hitters are outstanding “five o’clock hitters.” But at 5:40
P.M. many seem to become less effective. That is the time coaches
are apt to say, “This last round is for basehits.” Approaches change,
hands and muscles tighten. The hitters “have fun” as they “try” to get
basehits. (A result goal.) The proportion of basehits to attempts is
low.
If a hitter is at all susceptible to that kind of stimulus as an
influence on his approach, what might happen during a game? The
question is addressed to whomever I’m standing with in the outfield,
as we watch balls popped up or pulled on the ground during this
“round for hits.” The pitcher knows the answer, and he also knows
his “stuff” is superior, by far, to that of the coach throwing batting
practice.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Review the statistical history of pitcher-hitter confrontation.

∎ Remember that aggressiveness is a desired aspect of an
effective pitching approach, and that it implies “going after
hitters.”
∎ Understand that an aggressive and competitive pitcher does
not want to avoid having the batter make contact, nor does he
want to allow contact. Rather, he makes the batter have
contact by attacking the strike zone early and often during the
at-bat.
∎ Identify himself with the aggressive action of forcing contact,
thereby defining the hitter’s behavior as a reaction to his own.
∎ Understand that establishing the above behaviors is
establishing one aspect of a pitcher’s “dominance” over hitters.
∎ Value groundball outs more than strikeouts, as a general
philosophy.
∎ Minimize the number of pitches thrown during each
appearance by aggressively forcing contact early in the at-bat.
∎ Understand the related value of throwing fewer pitches, in
terms of benefits to the defense, the rest of the pitching staff,
 and for his own arm strength and health.

∎ CONTROL
The term “control” is misunderstood by many pitchers. The initial
response when defining the word reveals an individual’s belief that
someone “under control” does not have strong emotions. This
violates a pitcher’s sense of competitive spirit. That is why I always
remind such an individual that “aggressiveness under control” should
be a competitor’s mantra. The accelerator and the brake. Without the
accelerator, the race cannot be won; without the brake, the race
cannot be completed. The aggressive, competitive spirit is a great
asset to a pitcher. But it must be accompanied by an ability to control
strong emotions.
Control is also required of pitchers who tend to falter in
competitive settings by having distracting thoughts related to failure.
Doom and gloom. Their self-control must address the issue of
passivity—not challenging hitters and/or not focusing on the task at
hand. As noted in BALANCE, a pitcher can fall off the balance beam
to one of two sides—being too aggressive or being too passive. In
either case, falling off the beam implies a loss of control.
The popular “serenity prayer” addresses an essential point about
control. In it, the speaker asks for help in order to understand and
dismiss what cannot be controlled, strength to deal with what can be
controlled and the wisdom to know the difference between the two.
That wisdom, a prerequisite, can be hard to come by. It requires an
introspection and awareness that is often obscured by the emotions
of the moment. During competition, unharnessed emotions will send
all the wrong messages to the pitcher’s muscles. The pitcher must
either be in control of his muscles or regain that control. Without it,
he cannot compete effectively.
Part of a pitcher’s understanding of how to better be in control of
himself comes from making a distinction between “control” and
“influence.” Pitchers have told me they have lost control—of
thoughts, muscles and the strike zone—to circumstance and
surroundings in a game. But they do not lose control to them. They
were influenced by events and environment; they lost control
because of them. But they also lost control because they allowed
their response to these factors to affect them in a way that forfeited
control. The final responsibility was—and remains—theirs.
It should be made clear, therefore, that a pitcher “in control” is a
pitcher in control of himself. It may appear that he is in control “of the
situation,” as a pitchers have said to me when things were going
their way. But a pitcher cannot control a “situation” or results. An
opposing player’s actions are involved; the direction in which a ball is
hit is involved; an umpire’s questionable judgment can be made.
Wind, rain—all uncontrollable. The pitcher can, however, control his
own thoughts, his own body, his focus—the ball as it leaves his
hand. His self-control influences outcome in his favor, in the long run,
despite the workings of factors beyond his control.
Let me now identify a sampling of factors that can affect a
pitcher’s sense of control. The following list will serve that purpose:

• Anxiety related to results

• Pitching for statistics
• Men on base
• Giving hitters too much credit (fear of contact)
• Expectations of others
• Feeling a lack of preparation
• Perception of a threatening situation (big game, big inning)
• Sense of not having “best stuff”
• Disappointment (after a big hit or an error)
• Having a few bad outings
• Trying to please the manager or coach
• Trying too hard
• Frustration over last pitch

Just a sampling. The pitcher will either try to do too much

(overthrow) or lose aggressiveness (try to avoid contact). He will
have been influenced by any of the above factors, and as a result his
thought pattern changes. He is distracted from his task, and in that
way loses control of his approach, because of his attention to
matters he cannot control.
 The most common loss of control at the big league level is a
pitch-to-pitch unhappiness, annoyance—frustration. Unless an
adjustment is made before the next pitch, command and control will
be lost. Brilliance in retrospect is not good enough for those who
aspire to be excellent. The adjustment—off the mound—can just be
a simple reminder to re-focus. “I’ve brainwashed myself to remember
that you can’t control your last pitch,” said Kevin Brown. “It’s already
been thrown. So get over it. All you can control is the next pitch
you’re going to throw.”
Greg Maddux learned long ago to distinguish between what he
could and could not control. “I can control the pitches I make, how I
handle my mechanics, how I control my frame of mind. [It] benefited
me most... when I realized that I can’t control what happens outside
of my pitching,” he explained.
In 1995, Philadelphia outfielder, Ryan Thompson, said of
Maddux, “He’s so good he’s funny. It’s like he’s controlled by
somebody.” Funny to say, the somebody is himself.
Francis Bacon wrote, “The instruments of the mind...are as
important as the instruments in the hand.” A pitcher who controls his
mind, will control the ball.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand there are matters he can control and those he

cannot.
∎ Know the distractions which typically intrude on his thoughts
before or after competition.
∎ Work at rationally diminishing and/or eliminating these
uncontrollable elements.
∎ Be attentive always to the nature of thoughts that exist during
competition—and control them so as to assure appropriate
focus.
∎ Make necessary adjustments when there is a sense of loss of
control by re-directing focus to task, getting off the mound and
coaching self.
∎ Recognize that concentration, arousal, breathing, and all other
behaviors are entirely within his control.
 Fortify himself regularly by reiterating his approach, with the
∎ goal being to have a mind impenetrable to distractions during
competition.
∎ Should adverse circumstances develop during competition,
remember to focus on what is most important and most
controllable—the next pitch to be delivered.

∎ COUNT
” ...[C]ommon sense and statistics concur: Get ahead in the
count,” Tom Seaver has suggested. The thought is shared by
anyone who discusses the game of baseball from a pitcher’s point of
view. “A no-brainer,” as pitchers say. The statistics Seaver referred to
came from thousands of pitching counts examined by a computer
programmer. The three major league organizations I have worked for
kept their own breakdown of averages when hitters put the ball into
play on particular counts. Though their numbers vary somewhat,
their theme is identical: “the game is the count.” Bob Welch used that
phrase often. It is an accurate one, I believe.
The numbers indicate that batters hit less than .200 when they
are behind in the count, and that they hit over .300 on 2-0 counts,
over .320 on 3-1 counts. The statistics have indicated that batters at
the bottom of the order hit for higher average when hitting 1-0 in the
count than the third or fourth hitters in the lineup, when these hitters
are hitting 0-1. Another compelling statistic supports the cliché of
most baseball broadcasters: the leadoff batter who walks scores
almost 80 percent of the time. More statistics can be cited (there are
always more statistics), but the point, I hope, has been made. Those
who pitch ahead in the count will dramatically increase their chances
for success.
Let us examine the count from the hitter’s point of view. This I
have learned: batters do not like hitting while behind in the count. As
a result of having this attitude, many hitters put the ball into play on
the first pitch. They are often called “aggressive hitters.” But I
consider many of them to be “anxious hitters.” They have a particular
aversion to hitting with two strikes, so they make certain not to get to
two strikes. The stats on first-pitch batted balls are, as usual, in the
pitcher’s favor—by far.
With the count at 0-2 or 1-2, the hitter has a discomfort and
uncertainty about what pitch the pitcher might throw. Having created
that advantage by being aggressive, the pitcher should further that
advantage by attacking the hitter in his vulnerability. The further into
the count the pitcher gets by throwing pitches for balls, the more he
loses his advantage of count. Hitters become more comfortable as
they consider the pitcher to have fewer options of pitch selection.
Dennis Eckersley and Bob Tewksbury are retired. I will miss
seeing them pitch. The two were exemplars, insofar as establishing
a favorable pitcher’s count is concerned. It is unsettling to many
hitters to know they will surely be behind in the count. Many tend to
change their approach from being aggressive to being defensive.
Eck and Tewks could do that to hitters. David Wells has also been
noted as a good example of a pitcher who seems to have the count
in his favor at all times. Hitters know that and respond accordingly. A
pitcher should, therefore, be determined to put hitters in the
disadvantaged position of being behind in the count. To do otherwise
would be, as Seaver would remind him, to fly in the face of common
sense and statistics.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Be aware of the statistics that confirm the advantage of

pitching ahead in the count.
∎ Understand that part of that advantage is based on hitters’
discomfort, uncertainty and frustration in continually being in
pitchers’ counts.
∎ Recognize that pitching ahead in the count is a further
statistical advantage, in that the averages which typically are in
a pitcher’s favor become more so.
∎ Define as a goal the ability to establish the count in his favor on
a regular basis—by being aggressive and confident in the
strategy.
∎ Recognize that many hitters who know a pitcher is regularly
ahead in the count tend to become defensive, meaning
 anxious and unselective.
∎ Determine to get ahead in the count—and stay ahead.
∎ Attack the strike zone. [See STRIKES]

∎ COURAGE
One of my pat introductions to a pitcher I’m meeting for the first
time goes like this: “If I tell you that you’ll be successful if you give
me two things—intelligence and courage—and you tell me that you
can only give me one of them, which do you think I’d ask for?”
The answer is too often, “Intelligence.” Those who so reply, I
advise that throwing a baseball aggressively does not take all that
much intelligence. I find that for many, it does take a greater degree
of courage than they seem to have. It is, perhaps, understandable.
But it is not acceptable, if excellence as a pitcher is his goal.
I further explain that whatever “smarts” a pitcher may have is
negated by his lack of courage. H a pitcher acts out his fears, he
forfeits his intelligence, since he behaves emotionally, rather than
rationally. He loses a doubleheader.
The Latin cor means “heart.” To have courage is to have “heart”;
that term is heard often enough around ballparks. To many, it implies
fearlessness. But that is not the point of courage. To have courage is
to act bravely in spite of the existence of fear. Dennis Eckersley has
exemplified courage for as long as I have known him. Here is a
pitcher—a man—who fought and won the battle against alcoholism,
and who announced to the world that he was terrified of failure—of
public embarrassment and humiliation should he perform poorly. The
strategy was clear to him. Essentially, he said to himself, “If I don’t
want to fail, then rather than acting out what I feel, I will act out what
I know will help me to succeed.” And he did; he was a consistently
aggressive as a pitcher. And courage was evident in that
consistency, which he expressed irrespective of circumstance. As a
recovered alcoholic, Eck recognized that it is himself a person
abandons when he acts out of his fears. [See FEAR]
Courage is facing fear and “spitting in its eye.” Trying to avoid
danger, as so many pitchers do by trying to avoid contact, is not an
effective strategy. Nor does it bring safety. Rather, as has been said
earlier, it almost guarantees failure. The advantage a pitcher has
over the hitter is lost. The feeling of vulnerability is reinforced by the
lack of courageous behavior. Dennis Eckersley’s behavior pre-
empted his feelings. As a result, fear dissipated; courage prevailed.
Courage allows the pitcher to express all his other qualities;
acting out of fear suppresses them. Stifles them. Challenging fear
elevates behavior and elevates the man. It even seems to elevate
the pitching mound.
To not have fear is to not require courage. Remember earlier the
words of some pitchers: “No brain, no pain.” The implication is that
one is blessed who doesn’t know enough to be afraid. Yet some
people would wonder at a discussion of pitchers—professional
pitchers, at that—being fearful about playing a game. But all people
have fears, whether hidden or exposed—whether an athlete or an
accountant. Since one’s emotional system is the source of one’s
fears, the environment and activity is less significant than the
personality and perception of the fearful person. Baseball may just
be a “game” to a spectator, but it can be quite a bit more to a
participant.
Courage is more than acting against fears. For a pitcher, courage
is required to act against fatigue. Performance that reflects a
“feeling” the pitcher has of being tired also reflects a “giving in.” If
“fatigue makes cowards of us all,” as Vince Lombardi suggested, it
behooves a pitcher to be in shape. But well-conditioned pitchers may
still work hard enough to become tired. A courageous pitcher does
not let a decrease in his level of physical energy diminish the level of
his mental energy. Tired muscles should not be allowed to surrender
because they are being “led” by a tired mind. “Sucking it up,” as
pitchers say, is an expression of courage. Satchel Paige used to
brag that the more tired he became, the more effective he became.
Self-indoctrination such as that makes bravery easier to come by.
As discussed in an earlier section, battling through adversity also
requires courage. “Losing one’s heart” is really “giving one’s heart
away.” Not an act of courage. Having everything seemingly going
wrong during a performance tests a pitcher’s mettle. Umpires’ calls,
errors behind him, lack of “good stuff,” general bad luck—all can be
included in the test. The strong of heart fight through it. They pass
the test. [See RESPONSE]
Whatever the circumstances may be that might “threaten” a
pitcher, [See PERSPECTIVE] whether it be starting a “big game,”
facing an imposing hitter, coming into the game in a crucial situation,
the resolution to stay with his aggressive approach and the courage
to act it out will make a “winner” of the pitcher, irrespective of the
results.
All the qualities of a pitcher are better able to express themselves
when courage clears the way. Talent armed with bravery becomes a
formidable combination, as I tell those pitchers I meet for the first
time.
Unfortunately, I have seen too many pitchers disappear from
professional baseball because they could not so arm themselves.
The words of Sydney Smith apply exactly, “A great deal of talent is
lost in this world for want of a little courage.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Realize that courage, by definition, allows for the existence of

fear.
∎ Understand that a pitcher’s attempt to avoid “danger” is
focused on fear or caution and will most likely produce
whatever he is trying to avoid.
∎ Recognize that a fear has an emotional basis, whereas a plan
of attack has a rational one.
∎ Integrate a rational, aggressive plan—approach—into behavior
and fear is pre-empted by the courageous act.
∎ Know that behavior is entirely within his control, and that
courageous behavior is a “winner’s” behavior.
∎ Identify the situations or circumstances that challenge his
courage, so, forewarned, he is forearmed—and better able to
face up to these fears or worries.
∎ Understand that courage allows talent to express itself.
∎ DEDICATION
[See APPENDIX A]
Although every pitcher proclaims that he wants to succeed (I’ve
never had one ask me to help him fail), not everyone wants to do
what it takes to reach that goal. Yet, if the truth be told, and it is my
intention to do so, 95 percent of the pitchers I have been around
over the past 15 years—at the major and minor league levels—have
conscientiously dedicated themselves to their profession. That vast
majority wants to do “whatever it takes.” It is another matter “to know
what it takes,” but I’ll defer that point for a moment.
There are lapses in commitment, to be sure. Part of the human
condition. An example is the laxity too often displayed in PFP, as
discussed earlier. Pitchers may “skate” on conditioning more on
occasion—their running or lifting program. More than occasional is
their straying from a proper diet. All part of being human, but that is
not an appropriate rationalization. [See EXCUSES]
Anyone who dedicates himself to excellence in his field must
make sacrifices. In making them, he elevates himself to a level of
extraordinary behavior, separating himself from the ordinary. He asks
more of himself, within reason, rather than allowing less of himself.
He shuns instant gratification, the pleasure of mass man. Instead,
the exceptional man opts for behaviors with a long-term payoff. A
payoff that moves him toward his long-term goal through short-term
focus on daily achievement. Such acts require and further develop
trust, courage, discipline, intelligence, responsibility, focus, and such.
The process is not an unappealing one for the truly dedicated
pitcher. As Tom Seaver discovered quite a few years ago, whatever
enhanced his ability to do well became a joy to do.
The daily pursuit of excellence indicates a commitment to
personal and professional growth, which, in turn, helps build and
reinforce self-confidence. If it were easy, everyone would do it. It
isn’t; they don’t.
The pitcher who wishes to be an exceptional performer must
learn to be an exceptional “behaver.” First, as suggested above, he
must know “what it takes.” In addition to knowing what will help him
enhance and maximize his performance, he must have the desire to
do whatever he has determined to be required. And he should enjoy
the doing—the process—as well as the payoff.
This attitude does not come naturally for most. But attitudes are
choices, and any pitcher who aspires to excellence makes
“unnatural” good choices that, over time, become “second nature.”
Good habits are as hard to break as bad ones. [See HABITS]
Years ago, catcher Rich Gedman told me of Roger Clemens’
dedication to his physical conditioning. Clemens seems to be as
good as he ever has been, and it is more than 10 years since
Gedman shared his thought with me. That would be the mid-’80s. In
1997 and 1998 Clemens won his fourth and fifth Cy Young Award.
While Clemens and all those who work so diligently on their
physical conditioning are to be admired, it “takes” mental
conditioning, as well, to become a peak performer. The ordeal
involved in this process is a hidden one; the person on the outside
cannot admire a pitcher’s mental preparation the way he can the
physical. He cannot judge it—until it’s time for competition. And
though the observer cannot see inside a pitcher’s head, he can see
the expression of the pitcher’s thoughts and feelings—his
preparation or lack of it—through the pitcher’S behavior on the
mound. How he competes, how he makes adjustments, how he
approaches the hitters, how he responds to adversity—how he
executes his pitches.
And that is a big part of “what it takes.” Physical preparation and
mental preparation are the ingredients for success. After his trade to
the Yankees in February 1999, an executive of the team who traded
Clemens and who traded for him called Clemens “a warrior.” The
Toronto and New York general managers alluded to both of the
aforementioned ingredients. [See WARRIOR]
Pitchers who are diligent in their running program, who work on
their lifting program regularly and appropriately, and whose sleeping
and dietary habits are impeccable, are indeed preparing for
excellence. However, the mental and the physical must complement
each other. Extra running in the outfield the day after a poor pitching
performance, and I have witnessed this form of self-flagellation
numerous times, will not help a pitcher to learn how to get ahead in
the count, or replace negative thoughts with positive ones during
competition. Perhaps a pitcher is not aware of his actual needs. That
is one problem that is easier to solve than a pitcher’s flight from
doing what he knows he needs to do. I have had to address this
issue with a significant number of pitchers over the years. Their
reactions in words have often been much like their reactions in deed
(the extra running). It is a form of denial, as Byatt says, a “shrink[ing
of] reality to a single pattern.” Run more, lift more, run more, lift more
—understand less.
Extra physical work neither compensates for nor corrects an
unacceptable mental approach. For many, running is an easier task
than: A) confronting his mental/behavioral inadequacies; B) having
the self-discipline to make his “psyche sweat,” by working on the
improvement of the mental part of his game. Unless a pitcher
addresses A and B, he cannot consider himself to be “dedicated” to
maximizing his ability to perform. This book addresses the issues
and strategies of the mental game of pitching; a pitcher’s total
dedication is measured, after all is said, by what is done.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Learn “what it takes” to succeed, so he can do “what it takes.”

 ∎ Understand that any dedication to success includes the
sacrificing of instant gratification for long-term achievement.
∎ Develop an attitude that reflects an appreciation of whatever
process helps him develop into a more effective pitcher.
∎ Understand that physical conditioning is one factor of that
development and mental conditioning is another—and that they
are not mutually exclusive.
∎ Be aware of a possible tendency to react to an ineffective
performance by “working harder” at physical conditioning,
though the cause of the ineffectiveness has been his mental
approach.
∎ Identify the elements of the “mental game” and dedicate
himself to their development and improvement as regularly as
he does to physical enhancement. [See TABLE OF
CONTENTS!]
∎ Understand his own strengths and weaknesses, Le., the
specific skills he needs to work on.
∎ Be determined to hold himself accountable on a daily basis for
improvement of these mental skills. [See GOALS]

∎ DISCIPLINE
The longest chapter in The Mental Game of Baseball is the one
that treats the topic of mental discipline. The American Heritage
Dictionary defines discipline as “training that is expected to produce
a specified character or pattern of behavior, especially that which is
expected to produce moral or mental improvement.”
Mental discipline is the umbrella that covers just about everything
else concerned with “the mental game.” A pitcher can develop the
ability to effectively and consistently direct his mind through this
discipline. Courage in battle takes discipline; concentration takes
discipline; preparation, self-coaching, consistency, the breaking of
bad habits through the development of good ones are all under the
umbrella. Or, to use some players’ more palatable metaphor, mental
discipline is “the whole enchilada.” A pitcher who hopes to perform at
his highest level of physical ability must develop an insistent
discipline of the mind.
A more common term used in the game of baseball is “mental
toughness.” It is an adequate term, if it is properly defined. But my
concern has always been that it can be misunderstood, because, to
many people, the word “toughness” implies an aggressive action
exclusively, without the suggestion of self-control. The “tough” fighter
in the boxing ring, who fearlessly flails away at his opponent, can
console himself only with his fearlessness—physical toughness—
after he gets up off his rear end. “Mental toughness” requires
aggressiveness and control. “Physical toughness” alone does not
adequately define “mental toughness.”
After the defining of terms, I find it easier to use “mental
discipline” when addressing pitchers. They then understand that
what is under the umbrella requires discipline: patterned thinking,
controlled focus, controlled behavior, consistent preparation, and
persistent expression of will. That serves me better than just telling
them to “be tough,” though after the enactment of these behaviors,
they certainly get my respect for being just that.
In June 1998, en route to the Chicago Bulls second “three-peat”
of the decade, Michael Jordan noted that fans and critics had
expressed concern about the Bulls’ “physical tiredness” during the
finals against Utah. “You don’t become champions five times without
having some type of mental advantage. Right now, we are mentally
strong enough to defend what we have...The mental side counts for
something.” It counted for plenty. It helped them become champions
for the sixth time, though Jordan felt the Bulls “... may not be as
gifted [as Utah.]” The discipline was in playing with focus on function,
rather than on fatigue or the perceived “physical gifts” of the
opposition. After all was said and done, that was playing “tough.”
The expression of mental discipline requires great energy and
dedication. The process is an exhausting one for those who have not
previously held themselves accountable for such consistently
controlled and determined behavior.
In the late 1980s, the Oakland organization had a Triple-A pitcher
named Rick Rodriguez. (He is a minor league pitching coach these
days.) During his performances, Rick had a tendency of using much
of his energy by reacting excessively when he was unhappy or
frustrated by circumstance, or when he was angry with himself. He
would stomp around the mound, kick the dirt, and talk internal trash.
Of course, his attention would be misdirected.
He decided to work at changing that pattern of behavior, on
keeping his mind focused on task through self-discipline. The first
step toward that goal—his awareness—had already been taken.
Next, he needed a strategy—the “what to do.” When he sensed
himself “losing it,” as he would say, he separated himself from the
rubber and/or the mound. He changed his environment, so to speak.
He calmed himself, coached himself, established a regulated
breathing pattern and directed his energies toward the execution of a
pitch. He also controlled his responses to pitches and results. [See
RESPONSES]
The first time he integrated his strategy into behavior (which is
the last step in the process) was during a game played against the
San Francisco Giants Triple-A team at Phoenix Municipal Stadium.
Rodriguez was in trouble in every inning, it seemed. This, itself, was
not a particularly unusual circumstance. What was unusual was the
fact that he got out of every inning unscathed. Baserunners did not
score. In the past, he had been distracted—“annoyed”—by having
runners on base. That day he focused on the next pitch. On what he
would do, rather than what had just happened. No emotional
outbursts.
Rick Rodriguez was taken out of the game after seven innings
with a 2-1 lead. After a time, I left the dugout and went up the ramp
into the clubhouse, where I found him sitting in front of his locker with
head in hands.
“Nice going,” I said. “Are you OK?”
“I’m wiped out,” he replied. “Mentally.”
What Dante called “tutta spenta”—entirely extinguished—and
Rodriguez looked it. “That was bleeping hard work,” he continued. A
pause. Then, “That kind of game—in the past—I don’t make it out of
the third [inning].” Energy well spent. Harnessed, directed. He had
gotten out of jams each inning through the ordeal of self-discipline.
He had “hung tough,” if you will.
 It was a difficult task but, as Rick remarked the following day,
“Worth it.”
After having played his final hole in the Andersen Consulting
Match-Play Tournament in February 1999, Tiger Woods spoke of
being “mentally fried.” Said Woods, “I know what I have to do, so I
focus on that. But as soon as it is over, then you feel it.” Those who
work on it, feel it.
The process Rick Rodriguez and others have gone through is 1)
the identification of the issue; 2) the formulation of a strategy; 3) the
enactment of that strategy. The ‘problems’ and strategies are
presented within the covers of this book. These strategies may be
considered the “umbrella” of self-discipline. The pitcher is
responsible for keeping that umbrella open, holding it high, and
staying under it.
To have the ability to effectively address every topic in this book
is to have optimal mental discipline. Self-discipline is a form of
freedom. Freedom from laziness and lethargy, freedom from the
expectations and demands of others, freedom from weakness and
fear—and doubt. Self-discipline allows a pitcher to feel his
individuality, his inner strength, his talent. He is master of, rather
than slave to, his thoughts and emotions. A pitcher with great mental
discipline is usually a pitcher with great confidence. And as Al Leiter
expressed and hundreds of others have understood, confidence, or
lack of it, “.. is the difference between having a good year and a bad
year.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that by developing effective mental discipline he is

learning to control the emotions, thoughts, and behaviors that
would, if uncontrolled, be distractions during performance.
∎ Recognize that mental discipline addresses whatever
distractions or behavioral tendencies may adversely affect him
before, during, or after competition.
∎ Know that this identification is prerequisite for the process of
self-improvement, and includes eating habits, sleeping
patterns, and conditioning.
 Be aware also of the more subtle “weaknesses” that inhibit
∎ performance, such as lax practice habits, being less attentive
when his team is far ahead or far behind in score, not being
mentally prepared for a game which seemingly has less or little
importance.
∎ Understand that the process of developing mental discipline is
an on-going and demanding ordeal, requiring mental energy
and stamina, as well as the expression of will power. [See
WILL]
∎ Set as a goal the mastery of individual mental skills he wishes
to work on daily [See GOALS], knowing that a goal is a
promise, but self-discipline is keeping it.
∎ EMOTIONS
I refer again to pitcher Tim Belcher’s reference to an “attitude” of
mine: “... Like Harv always says, ’I don’t care about your feelings, I
care about your actions.’”
Perhaps I don’t let on that I care about players’ feelings, though I
do. The problem is that they do not need any additional caring from
me; they already care too much about players’ feelings. The trigger
to these feelings is the emotional system, and as I “always say” to
pitchers, “Work out of your rational system, your brain, not your
emotional system. You will dissolve reason by arousing passion.”
And many do. They operate out of what I call their “screaming
(emotional) needs.”
François Mitterand has spoken of examining “a situation with as
little emotion and as much logic and intelligence as you can bring to
it, which you cannot bring to it if your heart is breaking.” Or your
knees are shaking. A pitcher facing a situation to which he gives
importance, whether he perceives it to be a threat or a challenge, will
be required to master his emotions, if he is not to have them master
him.
 As has been stated earlier, no apology is ever needed for a
pitcher having the feelings. We all have them. As Diane Ackerman
has written, “It is both our panic and our privilege to be mortal and
sense-full.” But though a pitcher’s emotions may be “normal,” his
behavior as a competitor should be exceptional. Being normal, again
using the players’ vernacular, “doesn’t get it done.” [See CONTROL]
The ideal is to have what one feels be the same as what he
knows. In such cases, the pitcher’s preparation and talent makes
him confident, and that confidence allows him to behave accordingly.
A “feeling” based on rationality, rather than emotionality propels him
upward. When the stars of rationality and emotionality are aligned,
the heavens in his head are without turmoil. “You can hope for it kid,”
my father would say, “but don’t expect it.” Work for it, I would say.
The experience of emotion involves the combining of information
from three sources. A pitcher’s brain gets feedback from internal
organs, and body parts triggered by the sympathetic nervous system
produce a state of arousal that is not clearly determined. The
emotion experienced by the pitcher will be determined by the
interpretation he gives to his aroused state. [See AROUSAL] If he
interprets “threat,” he will feel the related emotions; if he interprets
“challenge,” he will feel emotions produced from that interpretation. If
he is bored, a corresponding state of arousal will be delivered to his
consciousness.
The feedback a pitcher gets from three sources will result from
his conscious experience of emotion. The sources are: 1) his
memory of past experiences, good or bad, and his assessment of
the current situation (whether or not he has done well under similar
circumstances or in a like environment); 2) information from external
sources colliding with his sensory system (hostile fans or the
league’s leading hitter at bat); 3) messages to the brain from his
organs and muscles (sweaty palms, tight muscles, dry mouth, etc.).
The messages the brain gets from these sources are many and
varied. So are the resultant emotions. Emotions such as: self-doubt,
tension, fear, embarrassment, confusion, self-consciousness, guilt,
susceptibility to intimidation, panic, frustration, anger, and more. My
message to pitchers is simply, “Know your enemies. Only then can
you learn to combat them.”
 I do not dwell on these feelings—on the emotional system—when
I speak with pitchers. Certainly, I recognize when performances are
being driven by disruptive feelings—when pitchers are stuck in what
Robertson Davies called “the gumbo of their emotions.” But my
responsibility is to help them learn how to get “unstuck.” And so,
after understanding what emotions have been controlling the pitcher,
and the reasons why, the compelling subject becomes appropriate
behavior—and the ways to produce it. The agenda of this book is to
take the reader through the same process. Once again, a pitcher
must be aware of the issue or problem, he then (with or without
assistance) develops a strategy, and he integrates it into behavior.
Only the first of that triumvirate deals with the emotions. The payoff
comes from steps two and three. Step three is his responsibility
entirely.
A pitcher’s performance declines when it is driven by any of the
emotions mentioned above. These emotions can sneak into the
pitcher’s system in the most subtle of ways. A dramatic circumstance
is not necessary to trigger trouble. The negative process can begin
when he wakes up in the morning and has the feeling; “This is not
going to be one of my days.” It is not uncommon. His prophecy will
be fulfilled. The way a pitcher interprets his warm-up in the bullpen
also has been the cause of a detrimental negative emotion. These
are but two examples to reinforce the point. The enemy can be
camouflaged.
How to fight back? With awareness. With an intelligence that will
help to control the emotions by preempting them with positive,
functional thoughts. And/or with courage, which will help give the
pitcher an opportunity to work through the emotions. The learned
habits based on rationality and inner strength make a pitcher much
less vulnerable to the disruptive forces of his emotions. But the
habits must become strong, because the emotions produced in a
highly competitive setting are formidable. Firm and constant
governance is required.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 ∎ Remember that behavior, rather than feelings, is what matters
in competition.
∎ Understand the way in which the conscious experience of
emotions is produced.
∎ Recognize that the many emotions which can intrude on his
performance are normal and universal, but that extraordinary
behavior is required of elite athletes.
∎ Understand that he can perform well despite intrusive
emotions, if he controls them with thoughts related to function.
Recognize, as well, that he can fight through them by applying
mental discipline.
∎ Coach himself to get off the rubber and! or the mound to gather
himself, breathe deeply, and to redirect his thoughts to task—
focusing on the next pitch.

∎ EXCUSES
Many years ago, as a boy, I came home after having played a
baseball game at Frankie Frisch Field in the Bronx. The team I
played for was the 52nd Precinct in the Police Athletic League, New
York’s beloved “PAL.” I had not pitched badly, but when questioned
about “how the game went” by my father, I managed to come up with
some excuse for one of the many imperfections in my performance.
He responded by calling me “Alibi Ike.” I hadn’t ever heard the name,
but did not confess my ignorance. After asking around, I was
informed of the source by one of my friends. Alibi Ike was a
character in a short story by Ring Lardner.
I found a collection of Lardner stories in the school library. “Alibi
Ike” was written in 1915. It was a baseball story, and Ike was,
naturally, the main character in the story. He was a talented baseball
player who nevertheless felt compelled to make excuses. Many of
them. A teammate named Carey described Ike as the most prolific
excuse-maker he, Carey, had ever met, though “prolific” was not
Carey’s term.
He explained, “I’ve known lots o’ guys that had an alibi for every
mistake they made; I’ve heard pitchers say that the ball slipped when
somebody cracked one off’n them; I’ve heard infielders complain of a
sore arm after heavin’ one in the stand, and I’ve saw outfielders
tooken sick with a dizzy spell when they’ve misjudged a fly ball.” But
Alibi Ike “got the world beat.”
Ike explained everything he did, the good and the bad. He was
an apologist and a bore. His personal weakness was apparent to his
teammates, if not to him. A mistake could be explained, and a good
performance could be improved upon “if only.” No act of his spoke
for itself.
Needless to say, I was not flattered by my father’s reference after
having read the story, and I vowed not to make that kind of
presentation again. I have since heard how obvious excuses sound
to the listener. And I grew to understand how harmful they could be
to the maker.
Excuses can be a double-edged sword. The main purpose for
their use is to deflect criticism. By doing that, the excuse-maker
keeps himself from learning to correct whatever mistake he has
made. There is a point on that sword, as well: the point of
irresponsibility. By not taking responsibility for his actions, he is
illustrating a lack of courage and lack of confidence in himself. That
is a painful slicing and sticking oneself.
Voltaire said that to understand a man makes it impossible to
hate him. One can hate an excuse, but should understand the
excuse-maker. Especially if it is the pitcher himself making the
excuses. In the understanding is the opportunity to fix the problem.
The excessive excuse-maker was probably the object of frequent,
and very often painful, criticism as a youth. Either he felt a need to
defend himself continuously—or he didn’t dare to, fearing further
“abuse” from the severe critic. Whatever the case, he dragged the
need from childhood into adulthood. [See FEAR OF FAILURE]
To oversimplify, as time passed, this youth perceived everybody
to be a potential critic. He tended to over-explain every action that
might seem to be questionable. The explanations took on the form of
apologies, which, as presented by him, became excuses in fancy
attire. His days can now be very difficult, often filled what might be
called a subtle, constant “psychological toothache.” Sometimes not
so subtle.
 An excuse engenders weakness, rather than courage. The
courage of honest introspection is a required first step toward the
changing of negative, ingrained habits. As has been said quite often,
awareness is the first step to change. If no one else tells a person
about his tendency, the person is left with himself as his sale
resource. If the reader, as a pitcher particularly, suspects such
tendencies in himself, he should re-read this material and then look
within.
It should be noted that the people who are hearing the excuses,
the excuse-maker’s audience, hear them as a confession of guilt, not
innocence, as was the original intention. The only person being
deceived is the excuse-maker, because he has trained himself to
believe his excuses, a form of denial, and/or because he wrongly
believes he is deceiving his audience. In either case, he does harm
to himself. He hears denial; the audience hears admission. In the
world of baseball, teammates lose respect for the pitcher who makes
excuses. The pitcher, himself, has little chance to build self-respect
through such behavior. The most compassionate verdict would be
“guilty with an explanation.” But still “guilty.”
Finally, I will present a list of excuses I have heard over time from
professional pitchers. It is my hope that the discussion of excuses
that precedes the list has revealed my serious concern for the issue
and the players who have tried to deal with it. I make mention of this
only because a self-actualized reader may think the subject to be
problematic. Others may feel the presentation to be made with an
amused, critical tone. Neither is true.

The list of excuses includes the following:

• A bad mound
• A bad catcher
• A bad defense
• A bad arm, undetected by medical staff
• Bad luck
• Bad seams on the baseball
• Too long a period of time between pitching appearances
• Too short a period of time between pitching appearances
 • Bad concentration, attributed to the perception that the
pitcher is only used “to mop up games”
• Distractions related to:
contractual situations
trade rumors (often only heard by the pitcher himself)
rumors of demotion in level
rumors of promotion
unidentified “personal problems”
a pitching coach’s poor opinion of his ability
a manager’s poor opinion of his ability
a minor league director’s poor opinion of his ability

Though I feel the list to be excessive as I write it, I also know it is

incomplete. The point, I hope, has been made. [See
RESPONSIBILITY]
The pitcher must first slay his demons, before he can slay
dragons. Excuses die, achievement endures.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the source of excuses.

∎ Be sensitive to any tendency he may have to make excuses.
∎ Recognize the damage done by excuses, including the inability
to learn and make corrections because the mistake is denied.
∎ Understand the source of his own behavior, but not so as to
use that as an excuse.
∎ Be introspective and identify the qualities that have enabled
him to reach the level he has, as a person and as an athlete.
∎ Build a positive self-image by taking responsibility for his
thoughts and actions, rather than by trying to excuse them.
∎ Understand that mistakes are surely not goals, but they are
opportunities for growth, if followed by learning, rather than by
an excuse or excessive explanation.
∎ Understand that mistakes are important, because they illustrate
the pitcher’s areas of need for improvement. Correction, not
excessive criticism—whether it comes from a parent, a
teammate or a coach—should be the focus. [See LEARNING]
 Realize that courage and conviction are required to change a
∎ negative habit, particularly if experience has taught him to have
the automatic response of excuse making.
∎ Know that, through his determination to change his bad habit,
he can learn to like himself more, even as he is not necessarily
liking some of his behaviors.
∎ Remember that all change is process.
∎ Pay attention to his “progress” on a daily basis.
∎ Know the very best strategy for controlling excuses is to keep
quiet and allow the deed to represent itself—for better or for
worse. And know that in either case, he is on the path to self-
respect, though it may be difficult for him to believe at the
beginning of the journey.

∎ EXECUTION
The execution of pitches, one at a time, is the singular task that
moves a baseball game from its opening to its close. All that appears
in this book is aimed at and reduced to the execution of each pitch
as it is delivered.
Unfortunately, all the complexities that are part of the human
condition, all the complications pitchers bring to the game of
baseball, too often engender the execution of a pitch. In order for
that pitch to be well executed, the depth, fullness, and complexity
that is part of being human must be replaced by the limited, narrow
focus, and simplicity of thought required to be a pitcher. An effective
pitcher, that is.
A character in an Iain Pears novel talks of someone who puts “so
much effort...into squeezing in knowledge that there isn’t room left
over for common sense.” Many pitchers are guilty of just that. They
try to squeeze information into their heads about their mechanics,
about the hitter, about irrelevant circumstances and consequences
and leave no room for the common sense of focusing on the target
and delivering the baseball aggressively.
Such pitchers fail to “keep it simple, stupid.” The simplicity of
“selection, location and target” is a required component of a well-
executed pitch. Also, a pitcher’s trust in his talent and preparation
allow him to be relaxed, aggressive, and under control. Anything else
gets in the way of effective execution.
I tell pitchers that they are defined by “how the baseball leaves
their hand.” By this I mean that the pitcher has control over his
approach (and response), but not over the result—what happens to
the ball once it leaves his hand. He is entirely responsible for how
the pitch is executed, but not for how the batter behaves. If he gets
an out on a poorly thrown pitch, he may be happy with his good
fortune, but he should not be satisfied because of the result. His
execution was not acceptable, and that is how he is measured—or
should be.
Conversely, if he makes a great pitch and the hitter manages a
“lucky hit” or battles the pitch and gets on base, the pitcher surely
has his momentary unhappiness about the result, but he did what he
wanted to with the pitch; he executed it well. He had better
understand that. [See RESPONSE] As he is competing, the
execution is all that that should matter—because it is what he can
control.
Ron Darling pitched with the Oakland Athletics during part of my
tenure with the organization. A very intelligent Ivy League college
graduate, Darling had a tendency to “think too much” about the
wrong things. His manager felt that, on the mound, Darling did not
use “common sense.” The penetrating thought required to arrive at a
complicated answer is not the stuff of effective execution of a pitch.
Darling, and the many others whose “profound” but distracting
thoughts inhibited their performance, would have been better served
by applying the wisdom of Occam’s Razor, which suggested that” ...
the simplest explanation of a phenomenon is usually the most
trustworthy.”
On July 18, 1998, Al Leiter returned to the mound for the New
York Mets, after having partially torn a tendon in his left knee on
June 26. He pitched six scoreless innings, giving up two singles. “It
was fun,” Leiter said after the game. “It’s such simple stuff. Move the
ball around. Change speeds. Locate the ball...Get ahead of hitters.”
Execute, pitch by pitch, in other words. It is better to “understand” a
little than misunderstand a lot.
 Tampa Bay pitcher Wilson Alvarez struggled through the 1998
season. In the latter part of the season, after having had downtime
because of an arm injury, Alvarez ran off five consecutive good
performances. He explained to the media, “I’m just trying to be
aggressive and not trying to throw the perfect pitch. I’m just letting it
go and seeing what happens because I’ve got eight guys in the field
who can make the out for me.” A simple—and appropriate—
assessment of his execution. He said nothing about hitters. An
effective pitcher does not out-smart the opposition, he out-executes
them. [See HITTERS]
I spoke in earlier pages about natural instincts and acquired
instincts. In order to be a successful pitcher, one is not required to
have a genetic predisposition for understanding how to execute a
pitch effectively. The understanding and the skill can be developed.
[See LEARNING] When interviewed a few years ago, Greg Maddux
told the interviewer that he would not have had such success in his
career if he hadn’t started to learn to change his focus while with the
Chicago Cubs early in his career. He learned the value of focusing
on execution.
“I was worrying so much about winning and losing, or getting an
out, or giving up a hit, that it was affecting the way I was pitching,”
Maddux explained. “It was interfering with my ability to make good
pitches,” he said. Thinking exclusively about execution, Maddux
went on, “...made a lot of sense to me, so I tried to do it. It’s easier
said than done because you play this game to win. But at the same
time you have to forget about that and concentrate on what it takes
to win. For me, it’s making good pitches.”
A few years ago, when I was working for the Florida organization,
the Marlins played a game against Atlanta at Joe Robbie Field, as it
was then named. Maddux pitched that particular night. He left the
game with a 2-1 lead after having pitched seven innings. The reliever
gave up the tying run, so Maddux did not get a “W.” The Braves
eventually won, 3-2.
After the game, I met Maddux in the player’s parking lot. I thought
I’d “test” him. I asked him ambiguously,” “So, how was it out there
tonight?” Would he complain about not getting a win, about meager
run support? His answer was, not surprisingly, exemplary. He looked
at me with a knowing smirk and replied, “Fifty out of seventy-three.”
All that needed to be said on the subject. He had thrown seventy-
three pitches and had executed fifty to his satisfaction. No results, no
explanations. Maddux evaluates his performance by assessing the
ratio between intent and action, pitch by pitch, as he competes with
himself first, in order to effectively compete with the hitter. He works
toward pitching what writer Richard J. Brenner called “that perfect
Platonic game.” That is the theoretically “simple” bottom line for
every pitcher. [See SIMPLICITY]
Poet Gary Snyder might describe the simplicity of executing pitch
after pitch as “relentless clarity at the heart of work.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize that he has complete responsibility for and control

of the execution of a pitch.
∎ Know that the individual pitch is the immediate task at hand
and should therefore be his immediate and exclusive concern
and focus.
∎ Understand that he, with all the inherent complications of being
human, must bring simplicity and singular focus to the game.
∎ Recognize that this is done by being attentive to the effective
execution of each pitch—that the next pitch is the most
important pitch he will throw. Then the next one after that, and
so on. One at a time.
∎ Remember that selection, location, and target are the keys for
focusing on execution. And that an aggressive, controlled
delivery is the other element of the proper execution of a pitch.
∎ Include as a major component in any evaluation of
performance the relationship between the number of pitches
thrown and the number effectively executed.
∎ FEAR OF FAILURE
Many years ago, I walked up a dirt road in Vermont, holding the
hand of a son who was about to wait for a school bus for the first
time. He would board the bus that would take him to his first
kindergarten experience. As we got to the top of the hill, where we
were to wait, I sensed an edginess in him. He was anticipating what
was to come, of course. I thought I’d short-circuit any possible
anxiety. “This is exciting,” I said enthusiastically. “Melissa (his older
sister) is excited; Mom is excited; I’m excited!”
His reply was matter-of-fact. “You’re excited; “I’m nervous.
“ Indeed, there is a difference.
Nervousness is an excited state grounded in worry, which, in
turn, can create a feeling of anxiety strong enough to affect behavior.
[See ANXIETY] If not adequately addressed, a performance anxiety
can grow into a pervasive fear. In baseball, that fear is usually a fear
of failure. Two factors determine the extent to which the fear will
adversely affect performance: the magnitude of the fear and the
individual’s coping mechanisms, or absence of them.
Fears are acquired through direct and vicarious experience.
Difficult and troubling situations can have dramatic effects on people,
whether they personally go through them or witness others going
through them. The more dramatic the situation, the more likely the
person experiencing it is to acquire a related feeling of fear. From
that point, the fear may be maintained and intensified through
traumatic memory and a self-defeating anticipation of meeting the
situation again.
A pitcher with such a negative expectation is not likely to cope
with a performance he sees as threatening, rather than challenging.
His preoccupation is with his feelings regarding danger. He is
distracted by these feelings and therefore unable to focus on task.
He expects to perform poorly and he does.
A pitcher who knows or believes he is able to cope with (i.e.,
control) threatening events diminishes his fear of them. He gives
himself a chance to perform well. Of course, the ideal is for a pitcher
to see any situation as a challenge—a joy! That pitcher knows he
has nothing to fear. He expects to do well, and he usually does.
Well then, what does a pitcher have to fear? Getting back to
Dennis Eckersley’s pronounced fears, I can list embarrassment and
humiliation at the top. I have experienced pitchers who fear
disapproval of a loved one; others fear disappointing people—
parents, teammates. They have a distorted view of their
responsibility, just as the more dramatic fears illustrate a distorted
view of the individual himself and his world. All these narrow fears
are spokes of a wheel, which has "failure" as its hub. The important
understanding is that these fears are real to these people. Very real.
Someone who has not felt anything closely approximating such
intense feelings cannot empathize—nor even understand, perhaps.
The performance of a pitcher with fear is adversely affected by
more than the mental distraction itself. The body produces an alarm
reaction, produced by a number of stressors. The sympathetic
nervous system readies the pitcher for “fight or flight.” In the first
case, the “fighting” will be uncontrolled—panicky and desperate, and
ineffective, needless to say. In the second case, the pitcher will “cave
in.” [See PRESSURE] In either case, the pitcher’s respiration and
heart rates will increase, too much adrenalin will surge through him,
his muscles will tense, breathing will shorten, his sugar level rise,
blood will move away from the skin surface, so he will lose his “feel”
of the ball. So much for the bad news.
The good news is that I have seen a good number of pitchers
overcome their fears, and a greater number learn to cope with them
so they would not interfere with performance. The very exceptional,
Dennis Eckersley, for example, harnessed their fears and used them
to motivate themselves to succeed.
All three processes require what is called “intellectualization.” The
first step is “catastrophizing.” A player and I would explore the worst
possible scenario, the most dramatically “terrible” thing that could
happen in his career. The core of his fear. The intent is to reduce the
arousal caused by the perceived threat by distancing the player from
the discomfort, through the use of his intelligence, rather than his
emotions—the prevailing emotion being fear. The great golfer, Jack
Nicklaus, used the technique successfully. A pitcher who uses the
technique learns that fears tell lies. They suggest to the pitcher that
situations he will face are more difficult to deal with than they actually
are.
Iris Murdoch wrote, “Demons and viruses live in every human
organism, but in some happy lives never become active.” But it is
possible to deactivate the active ones. When someone intellectually
examines his fears or concerns, he diminishes the impact the
emotion can have on his system. For a pitcher to be perform
successfully, a “locus of control” must be developed. Essentially, that
was what Walt Weiss did. I encouraged him to live “from the inside
out, rather than from the outside in.” People with internal control are
able to cope with fears because they come to understand the fears
are their response to—their interpretation of—external events or
situations. They are not inherent in the “outside world.”
Catastrophizing allows them to further understand what
Shakespeare expressed centuries ago: “Present fears are less than
horrible imaginings.” What a pitcher invents in his imagination
creates more fear than any actual “threatening” situation may cause.
Rational thinking helps combat all this. It is a reality check. “How
likely to happen is the abysmal failure you fear?” I have asked
countless times. On a scale of one to ten, ten be the most likely,
pitchers’ responses velj’rarely are above six. “Then you have an
excellent opportunity to take control,” I suggest.
Working toward internal control encourages a person to
recognize his own responsibility. The world at large (baseball in
particular) is not waiting to attack or threaten him. He has something
to say about the situation and about the fear itself. Taking
responsibility is admitting to his fear what poet Joy Harjo expressed
so well: “You have choked me, but I gave you the leash.”
“Think about what you want to do, not what might happen to you,”
I advise the pitcher. I tell him the brain can process threatening
impulses quicker than it can develop helpful thoughts, so he must
learn to give himself time—time to assure thoughtful, rather than
emotional responses being brought to the next pitch. [See
GATHERING] By being pro-active through thought, he will help
himself to eliminate reactive emotional responses. “Emotions feed
the monster,” I tell him. “Thought starves it.”
Phillies pitching prospect Ryan Brannan was said to be on a “fast
track to the big leagues” in 1997. Somehow he was derailed. When
Brannan returned to the Double-A Reading team in 1998, manager
AI LeBouf, according to the media, “saw an entirely different pitcher.”
Said LeBouf, “Last year when he walked to the mound, he just knew
he was going to get people out. This year he looked scared and
confused. Well, maybe confused isn’t the right word. But timid.”
The feeling and the accompanying behavior are very common in
young pitchers, especially those who experience failure for the first
time. Brannan had not fared well at the Triple-A level the previous
year. He was, said a Baseball America article written by Paul Hagen,
“ ... getting knocked around on a regular basis for the first time in his
career.” That will do it. I’ve seen it happen many times.
“I think a lot of athletes are really fearful of failure,” pitcher David
Cone has said. “I used to have some fear ...”
Most performers walk a plank between a great desire for
recognition and appreciation—and a fear of what they believe to be
the humiliation and embarrassment that come with failure. They
have great responsibility within the game being played; they are
“center stage” on an elevated stage, at that. A dirt mound—an island
—in the midst of a sea of green. All eyes are on them before each
pitch, all action starts with them; all responsibility, they feel, ends
with them. Vulnerability hovers; fear lurks.
I use the plank referred to above as a metaphor when talking with
pitchers about fear. The pitcher and I will imagine a four-foot-wide
plank going across the length of the floor of the room we are in.
“Watch me,” I say, as I skip or pirouette across the “plank,” looking at
the pitcher as I do so, in a confident and unconcerned manner. “But
put this plank across the Grand Canyon...” I do not have to complete
my thought. The pitcher understands. “Fear and dysfunction sets in,”
I say. “I focus on consequences, on making one false step. But why
should I make a false step, when I can negotiate this plank so
easily? Not because I’m unable to do it, but because fear causes a
lack of confidence in my ability to do so, and I freeze up. I cannot
allow “future” to enter my head; I focus on the present—the next step
I will take.”
In such a situation I could develop what Ambrose Bierce called “a
sense of the total depravity of the immediate future.” I could become
an entirely different “walker,” as Ryan Brannan became “an entirely
different pitcher.” But it would all depend on my ability to cope, to
concentrate on task, albeit not as naturally relaxed as I had been.
But perhaps I am able to “unnaturally” coach myself across the plank
with positive, functional directives. With controlled thoughts and
breathing. “Easy? Of course not,” I admit to the pitcher. “But I refuse
to believe that pitching poorly is comparable to falling into the Grand
Canyon.” Thus far, they have all agreed. Subtle catastrophizing.
A few pitchers have told me that coming to terms with the
inevitable failures that result in baseball is like coming to terms with
death. Dennis Eckersley, most emphatically. “It’s like dying out
there,” he said to me, referring to giving up a game-winning hit—a
blown save opportunity. But Eck always resurrected himself, which is
a tribute to his greatness. He approached the next opportunity with
vitality (“vita” = life), not with a death rattle, despite his fear. I have
had the good fortune to witness, as well, closer Robb Nen’s growing
ability to do the same. These two outstanding performers
intellectualized three major considerations: first, a closer, being
human, must fail sometimes; second, the “failure” may be in not
accomplishing a desired outcome, not necessarily in executing
pitches poorly; third, failing at task—failing to execute—is not the
same as “being a failure.”
For some, happiness is the absence of Murdoch’s demons and
viruses. For me, in my experience with players, happiness is the
vanquishing of them. Facing up to fears is an initial step in
vanquishing them, and poet Lucille Clifton puts that step above
happiness. “Honor,” she wrote, “is not not acting because you are
afraid. Nor is there honor in acting when you are not afraid. But
acting when you are afraid, that’s where honor is.”
I feel it is important to mention “fear of success” before
concluding this entry. According to many fearful pitchers, the
consequences of failure are embarrassment and humiliation.
However, those who fear success fear responsibility beyond their
perceived capability. Though pitchers in each category arrive at the
same point of limited self-confidence, they have traveled different
paths to get there.
When Jeff Musselman pitched for the Toronto Blue Jays, he
admittedly, “feared my next game after I’d pitched well.” He turned to
alcohol to escape those fears. “I was fine after I pitched poorly,”
Musselman recalls. “But if I won, I’d think, ‘They’re going to expect
me to do that again.’ I couldn’t handle that kind of responsibility.”
He learned to, after having taken care of his drinking problem by
attending AA sessions regularly.
Nelson Mandella has expressed the view that “our deepest fear is
not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful
beyond measure.” Or, as in Musselman’s case, management might
expect the pitcher to be so. Whichever the problem, the symptoms
are the same as they are with fear of failure. All fears create feelings
based on unrealistic and/or distracting anticipations. The problem
usually develops at a more rapid rate than the solution. But the time
spent on that solution is time well spent.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Know first and foremost that “fear of failure” is very common in

athletes, though very unpleasant.
∎ Understand that “fear of success” is just a variation on the
theme of “fear of failure,” and that, though they are situationally
different, they are psychologically the same: a problem based
on self-doubt and eventual failure.
∎ Learn to be aware of irrational thoughts based on
consequences of failure.
∎ Define “failure” the term as a failure to reach a goal or
accomplish a task, rather than attaching to himself the personal
label of being a failure.
∎ Recognize what does and does not constitute failure in his
performance, meaning that results do not indicate performance
failure. Poor behavior and execution do.
∎ Understand that fear impedes judgment.
∎ Thoughtfully script out a list of rational thoughts to replace the
irrational.
∎ With self-discipline, practice repeating the rational, fear-
confronting thoughts, preferably aloud, if alone.
∎ Remember that habit is powerful, and it is therefore important
to create the good habit of acting fearless, despite feelings of
fear.
∎ Learn to focus on the next performance, irrespective of
physical symptoms of fear, thereby detaching himself from
emotions and attaching himself to planned behavior.
∎ Adjust arousal created by feelings to a level desired for
effective performance through deep breathing and by
visualizing past successes on the mound.
∎ During competition, develop a “will to bear discomfort,” by
focusing on the delivery of the next pitch, rather than on his
feeling.
∎ During difficulty, coach himself with positive, functional
directives and appropriate arousal adjustment—up or down,
based on a whether the “system” is signaling “fight” or “flight.”
∎ Reward himself for good behavior, despite the existence of bad
feelings.
∎ FIFTH INNING
Three particular innings have held special psychological
significance for pitchers over the years: the first, the fifth, and the
ninth. [See FIRST INNING] The ninth inning has been turned over to
a “stopper” in modern times. [See CLOSER] That leaves the first and
fifth as noteworthy for starting pitchers.
The fifth inning gets its special significance from the fact that five
innings of baseball make a game official in the record books. In
addition—and no small addition, for those affected by the rule—a
pitcher who goes five innings and has a lead in the game is the
“pitcher of record,” meaning that he is then eligible for the win.
Should he leave the game after five innings and the lead be held by
his team, a victory will be entered in the record book in his name; he
gets his “W.”
Much has already been said about behavior being the proverbial
“bottom line” for a pitcher, insofar as his mental approach is
concerned. But any number of major league pitchers have “owned
up,” with the whispered words of their id. “A win is a win,” they say
sheepishly. Who would not want a win? That is not the problem.
Trouble arises when the pitcher’s desire gets in the way of his
approach to that fateful fifth inning. To that “moment of truth.” The
“W” is more likely to come to pitchers who are true to their
philosophy of effectively executing one pitch at a time. Always.
Without making distinctions based on what inning he is pitching in.
Other considerations should be discussed also.
A pitcher who “needs” a win too much can feel the need in a way
that can keep him from it. I have witnessed, at every professional
level, pitchers taking a lead into the fifth and not finishing the inning.
The pitchers sensed the win; they wished the win; they focused on
the win. They did not get the necessary outs because of those
feelings and thoughts. Because they distracted themselves from
task. I have heard players in the dugout, well aware of the pitcher’s
exaggerated need, predict his demise as he went out to the mound
in the fifth. Their forecasts have been too accurate. (I, too, have
made such predictions, but have kept them to myself.)
 The same pitcher, having gotten himself through the fifth, tends to
become very satisfied. “Relieved,” in the internal sense, he hopes for
relief in the external. He is happy to be taken out of the game.
Assured of a win if his team keeps the lead, assured of not taking a
loss in any event, he turns the responsibility for the game over to the
relief pitchers. This type of attitude provokes teammates—opponents
who become aware of this tendency—to label him a “five-and-diver.”
The term does not engender respect.
Tim Belcher is an acknowledged “bulldog.” As a young pitcher, he
was traded by Oakland to Los Angeles, where he immediately
pitched well—during short appearances as a starter. In this case, the
manager and/or pitching coach was trying to “protect” a young
pitcher by getting him out of the game after the fifth inning. He would
have his ‘W’ and carry the confidence that is supposed to go with it
into his next appearance. The situation did not suit Belcher. He
thought more of himself and resented going five and “diving.” He did
not like the treatment, and he did not like the label that would
inevitably be put on him.
Belcher went into the manager’s office and expressed his views.
The year was 1988 (when he later beat Oakland twice in the World
Series). He pitched 230 innings for the Dodgers in 1989. In 1998,
Belcher was pitching for Kansas City. This I know: his manager and
pitching coach dreaded breaking the news to him that he was being
taken out of the game. Even in the seventh or eighth inning. Tim
Belcher wants to “close the deal.” He rebelled against being
protected as a Dodger, and he rebels against being lifted from a
game now.
Other pitchers display other reactions as they pitch in the fifth
inning. The reaction is one of urgency. [See URGENCY] Once again,
a pitcher’s need is screaming. A sense of urgency leads him to rush
his thoughts and his delivery. In his desire to reach the “finish line,”
he gets his “feet all in a tangle.” His mechanics are thrown out of
kilter; self-control and ball control are lost. He looks too far ahead
and loses sight of the immediate task before him. He may battle well
after the fifth inning, but he must learn how to get through it, before
he can proceed. He is not faint of heart; he is not a five-and-diver. He
is just too excited about the prospect of victory in the middle of the
competition. Too much, too soon.
Again, many ways to get it wrong; one way to get it right.

What the Pitcher Should Do ...

∎ Be aware of any special meaning he gives to the fifth inning,

meaning which prevents him from maintaining a consistent
focus on the task at hand.
∎ Understand that, though a particular inning or situation or game
may have a special significance in the broad sense, he must
be consistent in his ability to concentrate exclusively on the
pitch he is about to deliver. And that the aforementioned
significance he gives to anything but the next pitch while
competing is distracting and undisciplined.
∎ Develop as a goal his ability, as a starting pitcher, to pitch as
aggressively and as controlled as he can for as long as he can,
by working to “run through the finish line,” not to it.
∎ Recognize that result goals are attained only through behavior
—and that all behavior should lead to the effective execution of
a pitch.
∎ Recognize also that concern for result goals during competition
is inappropriate and counter-productive.
∎ Establish, as a competitor, the reputation for wanting to take
the ball—and keep it.

∎ FINISHING HITTERS
All pitching “philosophers” share the view that pitching ahead in
the count is a key to success. Many pitchers struggle to integrate the
belief into behavior. But of those who are very able to do so, a good
number meet another obstacle en route to “getting an out.” These
pitchers get to two strikes and lose—abandon, is probably more
appropriate a term—their intelligence and aggressiveness. From this
loss comes the loss of a likely out. Pitchers who “lose outs” this way
are said to be unable to “finish the hitter.”
 One of the reasons for this departure from his otherwise effective
approach is that pitchers, having two strikes on the hitter, decide to
do more—“do too much,” as they say after the fact. Having lost
control of their mental approach, they then lose control of their
mechanics, overthrowing and missing the strike zone—until the
count is no longer in their favor. Then, aware the count is slipping
away, and having already lost a significant advantage, they throw
“mediocre stuff” into the strike zone. The results are not usually to
their liking. Neither are they to their liking when, feeling their edge
slipping away, they become determined to not allow good contact
and “ruin what they had going.” The result is usually a base on balls.
An inability to finish a hitter can also result from a pitcher’s belief
that, in 0-2 or 1-2 counts, he must make a “perfect pitch.” He “toys”
with the hitter, trying to execute a pitch in such a way as to “force” it.
Many a forced pitch becomes very hittable, since command suffers
greatly. Many more are out of the hitting zone and are called balls.
Very few ever qualify as “perfect pitches.” Pitches not put into play
allow the hitter to see additional pitches, get the count back even or
in the hitter’s favor, and become a distraction for the pitcher,
because of his inability to execute when ahead in the count.
Some pitchers believe that if they throw a pitch out of the strike
zone it will not be hit. This is not the case, and those pitchers who
tend to believe it is also tend to throw “mediocre stuff” on such
pitches. After all, it won’t be hit, they think. They, too, frequently
suffer the consequences of their approach.
When the count is 0-2 or 1-2, an inexperienced pitcher will tell
himself that the best way to finish the hitter is to keep the ball away
from him, whereas more success has come to pitchers who have
kept the ball down. At his best, closer Robb Nen, with his 96+ mile-
an-hour fastball, will get ahead in the count and snap a slider down
—perhaps in the dirt. The pitch down is much harder for a hitter to
fight off than the pitch away. Down and away works well for him and
others.
Different personalities display different tendencies. Some pitchers
“go hard” at the strike zone, establish the count at 0-2 or 1-2 and
become self-satisfied. They think the hitter’s at-bat is over. They
relax their intensity and focus and become careless with their
pitches. Good things do not happen in this scenario. “Cookies” are
thrown in the hitter’s zone or a base on balls result. (These pitchers
frequently tend to apply the same sloppy approach to two-out
situations. [See OUTS]
This final example is dramatic, but relatively unusual. In the late
’80s, during a championship game in the Northwest (rookie) League,
a young, effective relief pitcher was brought into the game for the
Medford (Oregon) A’s. A graduate of a Big Ten school, this young
man entered the game in the ninth inning of a tie game. A runner
was on second base; two were out. He went right after the hitter and
got the count to 0-2. He then threw a wild pitch, the ball in the dirt,
and to the backstop, far to the outside beyond the catcher’s reach.
The runner went to third. The next pitch was identical. The runner
scored what proved to be the winning run, the championship going to
the team from Everett, Washington, if memory serves me.
After the game I was thinking about those two pitches. It came to
mind that I had seen a number of similar circumstances earlier in the
season when I had visited. Same pitcher. It is not my “way” to
confront players after games and immediately talk about mistakes or
situations that went awry. But this was the final game of the season,
and the players were leaving for their homes the next day.
I waited until after our showers and then casually approached the
pitcher. He saw me coming and shook his head from side to side.
“It’s over,” I said. “But tell me something. What did you want to do on
the 0-2 and 1-2 pitches?”
He said he didn’t want to sound as if he were making excuses. I
encouraged him to tell me and allow me to decide for myself. In
college, he said, the coach had a “rule.” Pitchers were to “waste” the
pitch in those counts. Any pitcher who allowed contact on an 0-2
pitch, or who gave up a hit on a 1-2 pitch, would run “until he
dropped.” I heard him out and asked him if this hadn’t happened to
him in like circumstances earlier in the season. “It happens all the
time,” he said. “All I think of in those counts is that there’s no way the
pitch is coming anywhere near the plate.”
Psychology 101: stimulus-response; conditioned reflex. Baseball
101: a reason is not the same as an excuse.
 A number of ways of “wasting” an advantage have been
presented. Opportunities based on a hitter’s vulnerability are lost
because a pitcher does not know how to finish the hitter. The best
“finishers” are those who simply keep going after the hitter. Certainly,
pitch selection and location are factors. But “best stuff” and an attack
mode are as great, if not greater, factors for these pitchers. After all,
that was how they established the count in their own favor. The
confident competitor will not forfeit that edge. And so it comes down
to trust and behavior once more. It always seems to.
In one of his columns in the New York Times, George Vecsey
wrote about certain athletes’ “inner bully.” Vecsey wrote of their
“instinct that says, ‘Kick ’em while they’re down.’ Jordan had it,”
noted Vecsey. “[Mark] Messier had it. Lawrence Taylor had it.”
Pitchers who consistently finish hitters have it also.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that an advantage early in the count is of no value

when it is lost late in the count.
∎ Continue to keep himself under control when working to finish
a hitter, rather than trying to “do too much.”
∎ Understand that a “perfect pitch” is not required (and most
often not executed) when the hitter is as vulnerable as he is on
0-2 and 1-2 counts.
∎ Remember to finish the hitter by continuing to throw his “best
stuff.”
∎ Understand that a hitter will more likely be “finished” by a pitch
that is down than by a pitch away.
∎ Keep aggressive focus, attacking with the purpose of finishing
the hitter immediately, rather than prolonging his at bat by
“wasting” pitches.
∎ Work ahead, stay ahead.

∎ FIRST INNING
 The first inning has been the nemesis of many starting pitchers.
Successful pitchers have struggled in the first, often giving up runs in
the opening inning and shutting down the opposition thereafter. Tom
Glavine, has twice won the Cy Young Award, but he had a period of
difficulty with first innings. Of course, if a pitcher comes to believe it
to be a recurring issue, it will be one. [See. SELF-FULFILLING
PROPHECY]
Pitchers are not prizefighters. Boxers come out in the first round
and “feel each other out.” Typically, they do not commit to aggressive
action, waiting to see the style and disposition of the opponent. The
fighters are cautious as they watch and wait. That is their plan.
Many pitchers act in a similar fashion in the first inning. It is
dangerous behavior—and it is not part of a plan. It is a form of
involuntary reflex, a cautious reaction, rather than an aggressive
action. Most frequently, the pitcher’s behavior results in his pitching
behind in the count. The next result is usually a hard-hit ball or a
base on balls. Countless times I have witnessed a leadoff hitter
trotting to first base without seeing a strike. A pitcher must “come out
swinging” in the opening “round”—his first inning.
Why would he not? Some pitchers are tentative at the beginning
of competition. “I was waiting to see what would happen out there,”
I’ve been told more than once. The pitcher’s focus was on what
would happen to him. He made himself the object instead of the
subject. “What I want to make happen” never entered his mind—in
the first inning. That should have been his point of view; that is
always his responsibility. The wait to see what happens is often a
short wait—with a quick exit.
Television and radio baseball commentators speak of this type of
pitcher in a particular way. “They better get to this guy early, before
he gets his rhythm. He’s tough once he gets his rhythm,” they
announce to their audience. Read “rhythm” as the aggressive
decision to attack the strike zone. Lack of “rhythm” is a physical
discomfort that usually has as its origin a mental discomfort. A lack
of situational self-trust.
Other pitchers manifest a similar non-aggressive behavior in the
first inning, though their viewpoint is slightly different. These pitchers
I call “hopers.” These pitchers go out in the first inning hoping the
day will show itself to be a good one; hoping they will have a good
outing. Often, a “hoper” is a spectator at his own funeral. He always
starts off as a spectator, irrespective of outcome. He, too, thinks
about what might happen, rather than what he wants to make
happen. If he gets outs early in the inning—in spite of, rather than
because of, his behavior—“it will be a good day” (confessed to me),
and he will be encouraged to participate with heart, soul and mind. If
“things go against [him],” it is just “one of those days,” a phrase so
commonly used it is enshrined in the “Baseball Hall of Shame.”
The first inning presents an issue for starting pitchers only if they
approach it with caution and uncertainty. Any inning can become an
issue when the pitcher is non-aggressive or aloof.
A recollection comes to me. I was coaching a basketball team
with very talented players. A team that, for no apparent reason, was
always behind in the score in the first quarter. The feeling grew in me
that, sooner or later, we would not be able to make up the deficit,
and we would lose to an inferior team. The problem frustrated and
confounded me. After many failed appeals and other attempted
remedies, I decided the team was “not ready to compete” when the
game started. I ditched the pre-game “warm-up” from the traditional
drills; the team played three-on-three “games.”
We did not impress the spectators with drill-skill wizardry, but the
players “worked up a lather”—and, more importantly, a competitive
focus. The issue was solved.
In nine years of coaching basketball, that team was the only one
to require such a preparation. Every year during my 15 years in
professional baseball I have seen the need for pitchers to improve
their “mental readiness” to compete in the first inning. A Russian
proverb says, “Necessity taught the bear to dance.” Pitchers who
seek to be consistent in the maximizing of their talent, must feel it
necessary to be ready to compete aggressively in the first inning. To
take that aggressiveness and focus right to the “first dance.”

What the Pitcher Should Do ...

∎ Be aware of the type of attitude brought to previous first innings

that may indicate “an issue” exists.
 Be determined to confront such an issue through immediate
∎ and aggressive behavior in competition.
∎ Create a plan and preparation (increased arousal level?) to
encourage appropriate first-inning mind-set and behavior, using
bullpen warm-ups as a possible instrument.
∎ At the end of bullpen warm-up, work a “count” on imaginary
hitters, sharpening focus in the process.
∎ Warm up on game mound with game intensity and focus on
target.
∎ Coach self after last warm-up pitch, getting down off mound
and reminding himself to go after the first hitter by getting
ahead in the count and forcing contact.
∎ Make things happen; bring energy into the first inning.
∎ Throw through the target.
∎ Get ahead; stay ahead.
∎ GATHERING
“Gathering” is a term meaning just what the image conjures up: a
drawing together—a getting together of something. For a pitcher,
gathering means getting himself together. His thoughts, his self-talk,
his attitudes, his focus. In a word, his composure. [See POISE] What
gathering is not is the “waiting for everything to be all right.”
Gathering is the process of a pitcher making himself “all right.” It is
the taking charge of oneself and one’s circumstance. It is another
moment in time when a pitcher takes responsibility for himself and
his performance.
The process is not all that elaborate. It has been alluded to
throughout this book. “Gathering” allows the pitcher the time to
remind himself to get back to his approach. During the process, he
provides himself with whatever stimulus he needs to refocus on task
and take charge of his thoughts, by using keys or “triggers” that
quickly get him “back on his mental track.” The duration of the
process should be in proportion to how far off the track he has gone.
Though it should not be a prolonged process, it must be long enough
to allow the pitcher to calm and control himself.
After a young and talented minor league pitcher had a rare good
outing recently, he told me he “finally had himself together out there.”
He did not have to be expansive. I knew “where he had come from.”
Prior to that performance, he had struggled with “keeping himself
together” because of thoughts that separated him from his task. He
had been worried about his recovery from an arm injury. He had
been burdened by the expectations that come with having been a
high draft choice.
During his previous performances, the young man seemed to act
out every symptomatic behavior of a distracted athlete. The behavior
worsened each inning—with each hitter, actually. Every difficulty
imposed itself on the pitcher’s next approach. The outings were
relatively brief.
The story has been “told” before. The major point in this telling is
to emphasize how the pitcher allowed his performance problems to
continue and to grow. He stood on the rubber and watched as the
snowball rolled down the hill. The pitcher’s remarks after the
snowball had impacted and stopped: “I didn’t know what was going
on out there. I mean, I didn’t have a clue. Before I knew it, I was
gone [from the game].”
It has been said before, many times.
Pitchers must have a clue. One must know something is breaking
if he is to keep it from shattering. He must know it is broken, if he is
to fix it. The “step” off the mound is the first step a pitcher should
take in searching for a clue. The stepping off the mound gives him
an opportunity to gather his thoughts, to stop the rushing [See
TEMPO] that comes in times of adversity, to stop himself—and to
coach himself—until he is ready to execute a pitch with proper focus
and purpose.
The development of this habit is essential. For a time, a pitcher
may need someone to provide a reminder, by giving the pitcher
whatever “key” he wishes to use. [See CATCHERS]
When working with pitchers on gathering, I encourage them all to
step off the rubber. “Separate your environments,” I say. By getting
off the mound the pitcher moves to a place where he can coach
himself. Where he can gather himself. This is difficult, near
impossible, to do on the rubber, since the pitcher, in that
environment, is physically readying himself for the next pitch. I also
tell pitchers that they are two different people on the ballfield. One is
the performer; the other is the coach. On the rubber, he is the
performer; off the rubber he is the coach. [See RUBBER] The more
coaching necessary, the further from the rubber he should be. Off
the back of the mound, facing toward center field is my place and
posture of choice.
Getting there is that first step in getting himself together. By
separating himself from the place where trouble has formed, the
rubber, he has put himself in a place where the solution can be
formed.
What he does when he is there is the other part of the gathering
process.
Different pitchers have different techniques. Pragmatism tells us
what works is true. Some pitchers, unhappy with the execution of a
particular pitch, come down off the front of the mound and take a
circuitous route back, gathering themselves as they go. (e.g., Kevin
Brown) Some have even squatted behind the mound, when “getting
it together” requires more time and thought (e.g., Al Leiter).
Gathering, then, is the physical and mental action that, first,
allows the pitcher to “get away” from what is going on by getting
away from the rubber and/or the mound. Second, gathering is the
internal action of calming and slowing down thoughts and body, so
as to be able to use all the self-coaching techniques available to the
pitcher. For example, deep breathing, positive task-directed self-talk,
mental reminders addressing focus “keys” and to provoke
aggressive, controlled execution. The process of gathering allows
the pitcher the time and the environment for making mental
adjustments. It allows the pitcher to “stop the snowball,” before it
gets rolling down the hill.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the process of gathering allows him to make the

mental adjustments required to stay in control of himself, i.e.,
his thoughts and behavior.
∎ Understand that gathering helps break a tempo that is working
against the pitcher and for the hitter. [See TEMPO]
∎ Develop a routine that serves him well, first making sure to get
off the pitching rubber and/or the mound.
 Understand that by “separating his environments,” he allows
∎ himself to break tension, moving away from the point of
distraction to a point of instruction.
∎ Recognize that he has two roles: he is a pitcher and he is a
coach. And that pitching takes place on the mound and rubber,
while coaching takes place away from them.

∎ GIVING IN
“Giving in” is a term frequently heard in baseball dugouts. Words
can mean all things to all people, so it seems necessary to make a
distinction between “giving in” and “giving up.” I do not consider the
terms to have the same meaning.
There is good reason to take the time to make the distinction.
Each of the behaviors associated with the terms stem from a loss of
hope. And people—ordinary people—who lose hope tend to lose
motivation. But hope should never be part of the competitor’s point
of view. Determination should. Persistence should. [See
RELENTLESS] Nevertheless, in their humanness, pitchers have
faltered, yielding to whatever sense of hopelessness they may have
felt. “Giving in” is a less dramatic, if more frequent, behavior than
“giving up.” Neither is acceptable on a baseball field.
Though the topic of “giving up” will be treated in later pages, [See
QUITTING] the definition must be established here, as a contrast to
“giving in.” The metaphor of traffic signs might serve. “Giving in”
would be a yield sign, “giving up” a stop sign. As a driver would yield
to another motorist, a pitcher would, for example, yield to a hitter, or
to his own emotion of the moment. Deference in traffic and
deference in competition are both defensive behaviors. In one
setting, the behavior assures favorable outcome, in the other setting
the behavior generally assures the opposite.
In battle, “giving in” is fighting the opponent ineffectively, because
of uncertainty, distraction and/or fear. “Giving up” is surrender.
The most frequent use of the term “giving in,” as it relates to
pitchers, can be heard when talking about the pitcher’s confrontation
with the batter. “Don’t give in to this guy,” seems to be the phrase of
choice. [See NEGATIVITY] The speaker, usually a pitching coach,
can mean any of a number of things, but in the broad sense, he does
not want the pitcher to yield to the batter, philosophically and
behaviorally. What he does want is for the pitcher to be aggressive,
but smart. The pitcher, it is presumed, knows what that means in that
context.
In May 1998, Orioles pitching coach, Mike Flanagan, spoke about
the kind of “giving in” that most frequently has come to my attention.
Flanagan was explaining the travails of pitcher Doug Drabek. “In the
spring,” Flanagan said, “hitters reacted to Dougie. Now it’s the exact
opposite. He gives up a bloop single, and then he starts thinking, ‘Uh
oh, now they’re going to get a big inning off me.’ [See SELF-
FULFILLING PROPHECY]
“You start fearing being hit,” Flanagan continued. “Then you pitch
defensively. You try to pinpoint pitches. You miss pitches. You fall
behind in the count. Then you get hit.” Flanagan was describing
perfectly the cycle of behavior and outcome that has as first cause
an attitude of “giving in” to hitters and circumstance. Loss of trust,
loss of hope, loss of aggressiveness. Flanagan went on to say he
saw no flaws in Drabek’s mechanics. “It’s all mental.” It usually is.
The mental state of “giving in” is like the fungus of athlete’s foot.
It may be dormant, but it can reappear at any time. The first sign of
its reappearance should provoke immediate attention to the issue.
All pitchers are susceptible. They wear shower shoes and powder
their feet. Equal attention must be paid to behavior during
competition.
A batter/runner does not hustle down the line to first base. Why
not? Disappointment is one response I’ve heard to my question.
Frustration another. Fatigue. Sorry. Guilty with an explanation, but all
guilty nevertheless.
A batter is extremely unhappy with an umpire’s call. Strike two.
The batter is blinded with rage and has no idea what he is swinging
at. Strike three. “Giving in.”
A pitcher doesn’t back up third base after the batter has hit a
double in the gap with two men on. “Brain cramp,” has been an
explanation. See above. An emotion of the moment was triggered by
the gapper. The instinct for self-pity became stronger than the one
for responsibility. “Giving in.”
A close acquaintance, a major league pitcher, sheepishly
admitted to me years ago that, when he became frustrated by errors
behind him, he “tried to strike everybody out.” Can over-
aggressiveness be a form of “giving in”? When a pitcher is forced out
of the approach he knows works for him because of circumstances
beyond his control, he has, indeed, given in to those circumstances
and to the emotions they provoked.
Bad weather, bad mounds, bad luck. These are but a few of the
other forces to which a pitcher can “give in.” Whatever the force, if it
is stronger than his resistance to it, the pitcher has given in. He may
not always have the capacity to win the battle, but he always has the
capacity to fight it effectively. To do less is to expand the external
forces he will always be called on to face. At the same time, he
shrinks the spirit within him, and diminishes his chances of being the
victor, rather than the vanquished.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that “giving in” takes many forms, but essentially it

is a yielding to external circumstance, internal distrust, and
discouragement, which trigger unassertive, deferential
behavior.
∎ Recognize that self-discipline and intelligence are the
countervailing forces to fight the tendency to yield to a
formidable hitter, condition or emotion.
∎ Reiterate the goal of going as long and as hard as he can
during his performance, adding “as smart.”
∎ During competition, be aware of any undesirable behavior (a
“giving in”) and of the thoughts that preceded it.
∎ Make immediate mental adjustments based on the awareness,
using self-coaching techniques.
∎ Be aware that a lowered arousal level accompanies the instinct
to “give in,” therefore an aggressive tone of voice is required
during self-coaching.
 ∎ Seek courage within himself, rather than ease in “the world”
outside.

∎ GOALS [See APPENDIX A and APPENDIX B]

The most successful people in the world are known to be
goalsetters. The problem I have come across in baseball is that too
many players set goals over which they have no control. Won-lost
records, earned-run averages and the like direct a pitcher’s attention
to what he wants, while diverting it from what he must do. In the
doing, though his behavior is exemplary, the pitcher may still not
reach his goal. So many of the outcomes in the game of baseball are
left to the doctrine of chance.
I am reminded of Friedrich Nietzsche’s parable. “Not every end is
a goal. The end of a melody is not its goal; however, if the melody
has not reached its end, it would also not have reached its goal.” The
pitcher who focuses on the notes of the “melody” as he plays is
unconcerned with its end. Unconcerned with the goal; with the result.
A baseball game, like a melody, will reach its own inevitable end.
The pitcher should be attentive to the means to that end.
A musician and a pitcher have as their goals the effective
execution of notes and pitches. This is achieved through
concentration, confidence, control—of himself, of the instrument, of
the ball. Other appropriate thoughts and behaviors have already
been discussed; others are yet to be discussed.
By addressing these thoughts and behaviors a pitcher recognizes
that he is responsible only for what he can do within the context of a
game. As great as that responsibility is, still greater is the pitcher’s
obligation to be resolute in maintaining his mental discipline
throughout the competition. [See GIVING
IN/QUITTING/RELENTLESSNESS] Circumstances within the game
that affect “his numbers” (statistical goals)—or any result goals
(“winning this game”)—most often test the pitcher’S mettle. If a goal
appears to become unattainable, the goalsetter may “give in” to the
perceived failure. The real failure is in the behavior, and in the
inappropriate goal he set. [See RESULTS]
 And that is why I am always so adamant with pitchers about
setting very specific, individualized behavioral goals. But they must
be goals that are completely within their reach. The individual pitcher
can impose his will on his thoughts and acts. He cannot impose
himself on bad hops, bad umpiring, bad defense, or wind direction. If
those factors influence the pitcher’S behavior, he has already failed
to satisfy a goal. The kind of goal that lends itself to self-assessment
—from pitch to pitch.
The value of goal-setting has been established by research and
by elite athletes’ anecdotal reports. Studies and athletes reveal that
specific goals direct their attention and provoke them to physically
act on this focus. In addition, goals help to sustain their efforts and
enable them to evaluate themselves on a regular basis.
Players who tend to use “I’ll just do my best” as a goal fail to
commit themselves to a real challenge. The goal is too high in
subjectivity and too low in responsibility. It is often stated in an off-
handed manner.
Self-pronounced “team players” have said their only goal is to
help their team win. It is a pleasing lyric perhaps, but the tune cannot
be carried. A player—a pitcher—must first know how to help himself.
Being a winning player requires specific individual achievement. A
pitcher should set individual goals that will address his needs, as he
strives to accomplish what will benefit him, thereby helping the team
“to win.” [See WINNING]
Goals not immediately reached should not immediately be
abandoned. They should be modified—adjusted—based on the
degree of progress being made. If little or no progress has been
made, the goal set was probably too lofty. There is no “failure”
implied by an adjustment of a goal. One of the purposes of setting
goals is to help encourage the pitcher to be more confident, as a
result of identifiable daily achievement. The purpose is not to
frustrate effort and motivation and have the pitcher become neurotic.
A pitcher will bring on neuroses if he allows the expectations of
others to become his goals. He must learn to distinguish the
difference, and approach his goal-setting appropriately. It has been
said that some primitive tribes believed photographs taken of them to
be a “theft.” The tribes-men felt their selves were taken from them
through the image in the photo. The expectations of others can steal
a pitcher’s self. Self-image, self-assessment, self-discipline, self-
control (topics specifically treated or alluded to in this book) are the
ingredients of self. And a pitcher’s goals must be set for himself, by
that self.
At this point, it might be helpful to identify the type of goals I
speak of when working with pitchers. The list that follows is not all-
inclusive, by any means, and, of course, it is not one developed by
one pitcher. A list of goals will be long or short, depending upon the
needs and inclinations of the individual. In either case, the pitcher
does not necessarily hold himself accountable for meeting goals
immediately. This has happened, however.
Some goals are:

• Improve the ability to hold runners (better move to first, varying

moves, being “quicker” to the plate—without negatively
affecting control or “stuff,” etc.).
• Improve throws to bases during PFP drills.
• Improve a specific fielding technique, according to individual
need (e.g., fielding a bunt down the third-base line and setting
feet properly).
• Be more aggressive early in the count. (The pitcher has the
game charts to bear witness.)
• When ahead in the count, finish hitters before getting to a
three-ball count.
• Throw inside more often, at appropriate times.
• Improve (a specific pitch) through concentrated work in the
bullpen—and a willingness to throw it with conviction in
appropriate game situations.

APPENDIX B is a chart effectively used by pitchers who have

wanted to monitor “game behavior.” The consensus from those who
use(d) it has been that “when I score well on the chart, I have
pitched well in the game.” In other words, there seems to be a
correlation. There should be.
Copies of the chart are made; the dates of each outing are noted
at the top; the pitcher, according to self-assessment in the areas
listed, evaluates himself by using gives number evaluations. When
he “sees” he has faltered in a specific area—or areas—he mentally
addresses the issue and prepares himself to improve upon the
behavior during the next performance. It becomes one of his game
goals. That simple. The achievement is always more challenging, he
knows.
Setting goals can be a double-edged sword. I try to have pitchers
avoid grandiose achievement goals that are expressed in statistical
terms. They are meaningless. Some pitchers have had great years,
and their numbers did not reveal the quality of their performance.
The reverse has also been true. I have seen pitchers with very
commendable won-lost records achieve the numbers with less
commendable execution of pitches. They may have had wonderful
run support whenever they pitched, or wonderful defensive support,
or they may have had the “good fortune” of consistently throwing “at
’em balls”—balls hit right at fielders, many hit very hard.
But execution comes from all the thoughts and behaviors that
precede it. All within a pitcher’s control, and therefore appropriate as
goals. So too are the pitcher’s behaviors after a ball has been put
into play, when he becomes part of the defense on the field. It is a
long trip to perfection, and no one I have ever met has gotten there
yet. However, through behavior goals and the determined behavior
itself, a pitcher can certainly move closer toward perfection than he
might imagine.

What the Pitcher Should Do ...

∎ Set goals for himself, with the input of those he works closely
with, based on specific, individualized behaviors and skills he
wishes to improve.
∎ Understand that the expectations of others are not to be
considered as part of the goal-setting process, nor should they
be considered.
∎ Express goals in positive language, rather than in language
that indicates what he does not want to do. (e.g., “I want to
attack the strike zone regularly,” rather than “I don’t want to
walk guys.”)
∎ Adjust realistic goals, rather than abandoning them.
∎ Prioritize goals, according to need.
∎ Put the goals in writing.
∎ Keep a record of progress, in order to hold himself accountable
on a daily/regular basis.
∎ Be reasonable in the evaluation.
∎ Understand that an unattainable goal should be abandoned,
since it was inappropriate to begin with.
∎ Understand that goals relate to performance, not self-worth—
that the failure to reach a goal does not make him a failure.
∎ HABITS
One of my “games” with players is to have them clasp their hands
and wait for me to give them a signal to undo the clasp—pulling their
hands apart. They then are to quickly clasp their hands again, this
time putting the other thumb on top and intertwining the rest of their
fingers. Some players do it faster than others; some fumble and fix,
as they look down at their hands in awkward motion. When fingers
have been in place for a time, I ask the player how the second clasp
feels. Responses range from “different” to “weird.” Habit is very
powerful.
“Winning is a habit,” Vince Lombardi said. “Unfortunately, so is
losing.” In other words, people have good habits and they have bad
habits. Bad ones are harder to break than good ones are to develop,
so it stands to reason that one should work diligently at creating
good habits for himself. As Mark Twain said, “It is easier to stay out
than get out.”
Creating a good habit is an act of self-discipline and will. If, as a
Roman poet believed, “Ill habits gather by unseen degree...,” good
habits must be recognized and monitored diligently. Attention must
be paid.
Earlier in the book, the thought was presented that acting out
courageous behavior while at the same time being fearful is a form
of heroism. The consistent enactment will allow the fear to dissipate;
the habit of behavior will pre-empt the emotion. As Lawrence Durrell
wrote, “One day you will become what you mime. The parody of
goodness can make you really good.” Such is the power of habit.
This truth has implications for the way a pitcher should go about
his “business”—or his profession. Eating habits, sleeping habits,
running, lifting, his manner of practice and game-day preparation
create a pattern—for better or for worse. If a pitcher has no
consistent routine, he still creates a pattern. The pattern is one of
inconsistency, which will represent his habits and, most likely, his
performances. [See PREPARATION] If order produces security, it
follows that randomness or chaos will lead to its opposite.
The more a pitcher can develop routines, the more confidence he
can have in his preparedness. He will feel a greater sense of control
and focus. His routines are formed through choice and consistent
expression of the behaviors he understands will serve him well.
These routines are the focus of his attention and help him to “stay in”
good habits, so he does not have to concern himself with “getting
out” of bad ones. The habits are developed in relation to directed
tasks.
Without being compulsive, the pitcher can create a form of
ritualistic behaviors, so very helpful in that they provide him with
systematic leadins to his regular performances. He will have his off-
field, pre-game, in-game, and post-game habits firmly established.
Physical and mental preparations that are habituated will allow him
to focus on what he wants to do, rather then on any thoughts or
circumstances that are distracting. Good habits represent his plan,
his adjustments, his philosophy. His habits also represent his
character.
Habits, as Francis Bacon believed, are the “principal magistrate
of man’s life.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the power of habit.

∎ Recognize that old habits are difficult to break.
 ∎ Determine to create new good habits through diligence and
discipline.
∎ Set up routines that will best serve him and re-enact them
daily, on the field and off, so as to create a ritual that is natural
and effective, without being compulsive or obsessive.
∎ Remember that appropriate physical and mental habits are part
of his “package.”
∎ Understand that habits are a form of preparation and
consistency.

∎ HITTERS
A couple of years ago, a pitcher with whom I have a close
relationship rang me up on the phone. It was early winter when he
called. An American League pitcher his entire career, he had
recently signed on with a National League team as a free agent. At
the time, I was working for the Marlins, a National League team.
“What can you tell me about the hitters in the league?” he asked
in the first minute of our conversation. “I don’t know anything about
them.” His tone was one of conscientious concern. Great concern—
not quite worry.
“The hitters aren’t your problem,” I answered. “You’re their
problem. They don’t know anything about you! Do you know
yourself?” I asked rhetorically. The more you know about yourself,
the less you have to know about hitters. Remember?” He had heard
all this before. Then I changed the subject.
If dugout conversations—serious and frivolous—were to be
monitored, the phrase (in the form of a question) that would rank first
in frequency of use would be one which expresses the prevailing
concern of hitters, regarding pitchers: “What’s this guy got?” Hitters
feel a great need to know the answer. Pitchers realize this; they hear
the question asked on a daily basis. It should help them to reinforce
their psychological advantage, to say nothing (yet) of their statistical
edge. Pitchers should focus their attention within, heading the advice
of Shakespeare’s Polonius: “This above all: to thine own self be
true.”
 In response to a question asked by an Atlanta Constitution
interviewer during spring training, 1999, Greg Maddux had this to
say: “When you understand yourself more as a pitcher, it’s easier to
pitch... Hitters have been the same since I came up. You’ve got
some righties; you’ve got some lefties; you’ve got some fastball
hitters; you’ve got some guys that’ll steal bases, guys that hit
homers. They just have a different name on their back. That’s why I
think understanding yourself makes it easier.”
Let the pitchers be the warriors and the hitters the worriers.
To know a hitter’s strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies can be
helpful to a pitcher, it is true. But knowing his own is of greater value.
A pitcher’s trust in his ability is more powerful than all the information
he can gain about a hitter. This trust allows him to maintain the
inherent “edge” he has over hitters. He should further realize that if a
pitcher’s strengths coincide with the hitter’s strength, the pitcher
“wins” most of the time. On the condition that he employs his own
strengths aggressively. So much the better for him if he can execute
from his strength to a hitter’s weakness.
Finally, a pitcher should also heed the words of Marc Antony and
apply them to his own audience: “I have come to bury Caesar, not to
praise him.” Pitchers, however, should say it in truth. They should go
to the mound to “bury” hitters, not to praise them. A pitcher’s praise
of a hitter can develop into an exaggerated respect, which can lead
to awe. Awe becomes deference and deference is a “giving in” to a
hitter. Pitchers who are overly concerned with hitters—and many are
alive, if not well—generally will admit, after damage has been done,
that they “gave the hitters too much credit.”
This brilliance in retrospect has one value: it is a mistake the
pitcher is aware of, and so has the opportunity to learn from. Sadly,
man’s history indicates such learning to be the exception, not the
rule. Luckily, being exceptional is a pitcher’s goal. Or should be.
The less said about hitters, the better. This has come close to the
limit.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that pitchers initiate action and hitters must react to
that behavior.
∎ Respect hitters’ great significance to the game, but not to him.
∎ Know himself as a pitcher: his own strengths and weaknesses,
his abilities to make adjustments and his plan of attack
whenever he performs.
∎ Use whatever information he has about a hitter as
supplementary to the information he has about what he himself
can do and expects to do during his performance.
∎ First and foremost, mind his own “business”—being pro-active,
rather than re-active to the hitter.
∎ INTELLIGENCE

In earlier pages, I mentioned that if a pitcher told me he could not

give me both the intelligence and courage I had hypothetically asked
him for, I would gladly accept courage. I stick to my guns with that
choice.
But the talk with the pitcher was meant to establish the value of
courage, not to discount the value of intelligence. During such
discussions, I tell pitchers they are smart enough to know how to
deliver a pitch; they have been doing so since they were small fries. I
do not expand on the topic of intelligence, since I am talking with
them about courage. Now is the time to talk about the importance of
a pitcher’s intelligence: knowing what to think and when to think.
Hall-of-Fame pitcher Catfish Hunter quoted his Oakland manager
during the A’s championship years in the ’70s. “...(W)hat Dick
Williams said about a pitcher... when he starts thinking, he’s always
in trouble. So the best thing is not to think.”
Certainly, pitchers will confirm that when they are at their best,
they are not thinking. “On cruise control.” “On automatic pilot.” These
are two of the descriptions used when talking with pitchers about the
phenomenon. But, as Dick Williams and others have said, thinking
starts when trouble starts. No more “automatic pilot.” The pitcher
must take control. Of what? Of his thoughts. Thinking is inevitable.
Right thinking is invaluable. Right thinking is an expression of a
pitcher’s intelligence, as opposed to his anxiety or frustration or
uncertainty. Intelligence will short-circuit the trouble. Thinking cannot
be stopped; it can be changed. [See SELF-TALK] Intelligent thought
is blood for the brain—and, in turn, for the pitcher’s kinetic system.
The pitcher must be aware of what thoughts are being processed
when there is difficulty during competition. He cannot make an
adjustment without applying intelligent thought. Appropriate thinking
will save him; uncontrolled thinking will destroy him. Is what he is
thinking relevant to the circumstance? Is it based on false
perception? Fear? Time must be taken to determine these answers
and get the right information to the muscles. [See GATHERING] In
the contest between a pitcher’s emotionality and his rationality,
intelligent reasoning should always be the victor.
When a pitcher is on “cruise control,” he is still thinking. But it is a
kind of automatic process, during which he focuses intently on task:
target, delivery, get the ball back, on the rubber, sign, target again,
delivery. [See TEMPO] This process indicates a task-oriented
thought process—so natural that the pitcher may have no
heightened sense of it. Because he is not thinking about thinking. He
is thinking about task.
A pitcher becomes aware of his thinking when trouble arises.
When his thoughts are based on irrelevancies (e.g., consequences),
he is not using his intelligence. When his thoughts focus on himself
(e.g., “What is the manager thinking about me now?”), he is not
using his intelligence. They are counterproductive thoughts.
Distracting thoughts. The wrong thoughts.
All research indicates that a person’s behavior is influenced by
what he is thinking. When thinking is directed internally on the
pitcher’s feelings and self-interest, his tension level will increase.
Anxiety or fear is often the result. He may think about his discomfort
(“No rhythm” or “I just didn’t feel right”) or any number of negative
triggers (“This isn’t my day” or “I can’t get a break”). Behavior will be
directed by these thoughts. The problem will be exacerbated, rather
than alleviated. The performance will suffer, as will the pitcher.
By employing his intelligence, the pitcher can direct his thoughts
to his task, thereby giving himself a chance to enact the appropriate
behavior during competition. Intelligent thoughts are the medicine—
the cure. Emotional thinking is the poison.
The pitcher who thinks about what the situation requires, rather
than what he requires “pitches smart,” rather than “stupid.” (Pitching
“scared” inevitably becomes pitching “dumb.”) Mark Twain said that
there is very little difference between man and other animals—and
usually man forfeits the difference. He was talking about man’s brain.
A pitcher forfeits the difference when he thinks in any way but an
intelligent way. Too often, his left brain takes a nap; it must always be
on duty.
Every pitcher is intelligent enough to know the difference
between his best thoughts and his worst. By continually disciplining
his mind, he will be able to help himself out of whatever trouble may
arise. The results may not always go his way, but his thoughts must.
When they do, the pitcher provides himself, during the high-wire act
of competition, with what Lawrence Durrell called “the safety net of
logic and reason.”
There are any number of inhibitors to intelligent solutions for
whatever problems may exist during competition. Fatigue is one
(Lombardi’s line: “Fatigue makes cowards of us all”). Intelligence
should tell a pitcher that conditioning is the solution. Laziness is
another inhibitor, the reciprocal being self-motivation. Frustration,
disappointment, embarrassment, selfishness, and fear get in the way
of excellence. Reason would tell a pitcher that the countervailing
forces he should muster would be maturity, knowing how to make
adjustments, self-trust, selflessness, energy, and courage. Yet
behavior based on intelligence is considerably more difficult to enact
than behavior driven by emotions of the moment. Those who strive
to be exceptional, rather than ordinary, work at it. As noted earlier, if
it were easy, it would not be extraordinary.
One last very specific requirement for a pitcher’s use of
intelligence: he must be smart enough not to damage himself by
pitching when his body is not up to the task. His body, not his mind.
Two days ago, on the telephone, I told a young pitcher that he “must
learn to play through pain and take the ball.” I also told him to ask
the trainer first if he would damage himself by going out there. “Trust
your trainer. (I know him and am certain of his professional abilities).
Be honest about your pain with him and the team doctor. Pain alone
shouldn’t keep you from competing. Physical disability should. Know
the difference.”
In contrast to this young man, most pitchers I have come across
are too willing (for a multitude of reasons) to “pitch hurt.” David Cone
said it best, having gone through the ordeal himself, by “failing to
make the distinction between pain and injury.” He allowed his strong
competitive instinct to get in the way of his intelligence, thinking he
could “pitch through anything,” and had to endure the consequences.
Harvey Araton of The New York Times called the problem “a juggling
act, trying to strike a proper balance between cockiness and caution,
emotion and ambition.” [See BALANCE] Let the pitcher beware.
If thoughts are “rays of power,” as Iris Murdoch suggested,
intelligent thought will provide power for the pitcher, unreasoned
thought will provide power for the circumstance he is facing.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that thinking is an on-going process.

∎ Understand that during an effective, well-paced performance,
his thought process is hardly discernable, since the focus is
both narrow and concentrated on task exclusively.
∎ Be very aware of his thoughts during adversity.
∎ Recognize that when difficulty arises in competition, an
intelligent response will arrest it, whereas an emotional
response will exacerbate and prolong it. [See ADJUSTMENTS,
GATHERING, COACHING SELF, SELF-TALK]
∎ Use simple keys (phrases) to prod right thinking into his brain.
(“Good low strikes,” “Attack the strike zone,” “One pitch at a
time”) [See MANTRA]
∎ Be determined to “stop the bleeding” by gathering and
employing thoughts directed to task, rather than to
consequences.
 Establish as a goal for each performance his ability to “pitch
∎ smart,” and “grade” himself after each outing.

∎ INTENSITY
One demonstration I have used to help players understand the
meaning of “intensity” has been to hold a magnifying glass above a
sheet of paper under the Arizona or Florida sun. The paper rests on
the grass of a practice field. My hand holds the magnifying glass at
knee level. A large, faint circle of light is spread across the paper and
spills over its edge onto the grass. I move the glass closer to the
paper. The circle of light becomes smaller and more defined. I then
move the glass to within an inch of the paper. Smoke begins to rise;
a hole is formed; the paper is now on fire.
The three circles represent degrees of a player’s intensity. 1) no
intensity, 2) controlled, well-concentrated intensity (heat and light)
[See AROUSAL], 3) destructive intensity. Players understand what
they are seeing; they themselves have experienced each level.
Too much of a good thing is a good thing no longer. Discussing
an effective intensity level is much like discussing arousal. Both deal
with the regulation of the mental and physical energy an athlete
brings to performance. Pitchers often confuse the expenditure of
energy as being solely physical and mental expression. But the
discipline needed to control intensity also requires the expenditure of
mental energy. The sharply defined circle on the paper strikes the
proper balance. Intensity, like aggressiveness, must be controlled if
the pitcher is not to “go up in flames.” As mentioned in previous
pages, “Nothing in excess.”
Yet, my experiences have instructed me that more pitchers are in
need of greater intensity than they are of greater control. Too many
are trying to drive their metaphorical racecar with one foot on the
brake.
In accordance with this belief, I tell young pitchers (and a few
older ones) of my preference for “too much,” rather than “too little”
intensity. “It is easier to adjust down than adjust up,” I say to them.
The many distractions they bring to their game often make the circle
on their paper wide and diffused.
Intensity is the calling card of every pitcher who considers himself
to be a competitor. Yes, there are some bulls who must learn to
move with determination, while not destroying the shop’s chinaware.
That ability can be developed with relative ease. For the timid or
distracted pitcher, the process of heightening positive intensity can
be a daunting task. But it is a core requirement in the curriculum of
pitching excellence.
Intensity is both an attitude and a skill. Effective intensity is
rooted in caring deeply and knowing how to be successful in the
caring. Aquinas said that only intense actions develop and
strengthen good habits. Repetition alone can be a mindless and
therefore meaningless activity. Recall the reference on earlier pages
to PFP as a repetitive drill. Without the right attitude, the skill fails to
be developed. The meaning given to it on the practice field must
replicate the meaning given on the playing field. Intensity can be
learned.
Appropriate intensity requires undivided, controlled, and
sustained attention, and both physical and mental energy.
Enthusiasm is another ingredient. An intense pitcher considers
competition to be fun and practice to be purposeful. [See JOY] His
focus is always narrowed, concentrated, and consistent.
Kevin Brown’s intensity is apparent to any observer. Journalists
have noted the way he takes batting practice. “Watch Brown in a
routine batting practice and he is not joking around the way pitchers
often do...” This from a saved newspaper clip. I have seen Kevin
Brown return to the dugout after a poor at-bat. He takes all
competition very seriously—at the same time relishing it.
Said Tony Gwynn, a San Diego Padres teammate in 1998, “You
see [Brown] sitting there on the bench between innings when he’s
pitching, and he is like in a daze [zone?] he’s concentrating so hard.
He’s probably going over in his mind who he’s facing next inning and
what he has to do. Whatever, you know you aren’t going to go over
and start a conversation with him.”
Oral Hershiser provided San Francisco Examiner writer Henry
Schulman with textbook material during an interview a day before his
second start with the Giants in September 1998. Hershiser
incorporated many facets of the mental requirements for successful
pitching in his talk, which initially addressed “intensity.” His remarks
are quoted liberally.
Hershiser began his interview by noting that prior to his last start
against the Phillies he had lost the intensity for which he was
recognized. He was distracted by the expectations of others, these
based on the view that he had come to San Francisco to be a
mentor, rather than a pitcher. “That took over my mentality on the
mound,” he said.
Hershiser continued, “I got my nickname ‘Bulldog’ because of my
intensity... The last time out, I threw every pitch like it was the last
pitch of my career. That’s going to be my mantra for the rest of my
career. [See MANTRA] Everyone wants to label you as old and more
cerebral, but I’ve still got some good stuff left to offer. Here it is.
Come and get it.
“I’m not worried anymore about how people react to my facial
expressions... Not all of us got here by being robots. Some of us got
here by being passionate, intense, and exuberant about what we do.
“I think I started to lose that because I was listening to what
everyone was saying about me instead of listening to who I am. At
some point I thought I started to lose love of the game... [Now] I just
decided to give everything I’ve got and uncover the original source of
why I wanted to play.”
The interrelatedness of topics discussed between the covers of
this book—intensity being but one—is made abundantly clear by
Hershiser’s revelation of agendas—past, present, and future.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Review concentration exercises and work at sustaining focus

during whatever activity in which he is involved.
∎ Understand that intensity is closely related to his level of
arousal and must be monitored and adjusted (up or down)
according to need.
∎ Recognize that intensity should not vary according to
circumstance, but rather, be consistent and sustained.
 Be aware of whatever distinctions he makes between practices
∎ and games, particularly within different circumstances during
games.
∎ Evaluate and keep a record of his intensity (i.e. focus, energy,
discipline, consistency, etc.) after practice sessions and
performances.
∎ Establish as a goal the desired ability to be indiscriminate in
the application and maintenance of effective intensity
throughout practices and games.
∎ Establish a specific preparation and consistent mode for
behavior for game days.
∎ Allow no teammate, media person, or whomever to intrude on
this modus operendi.
∎ JOY
At least 30 years ago, I saw a five-paneled cartoon in the New
Yorker. The smile it brought to my face came from recognition of
circumstance. I had lived the experience. The first panel showed a
group of young boys playing a game of baseball on a sandlot. A
more-than-middle-aged man is watching the game, standing outside
a chain-link fence that surrounds the field. He is standing behind the
center fielder.
Second panel: “What’s the score, kid?” the man asks the center
fielder.
Third panel: “84 to nothing—them,” replies the boy.
Fourth panel: That’s too bad, kid,” says the man.
Fifth panel: The boy is turned slightly toward the man, a smile on
his face. He replies, “Don’t worry about it mister. We ain’t even been
up yet.”
For me, and for my boyhood friends, playing ball on those lots or
in cemented schoolyards was, to paraphrase Henry Ward Beecher, a
joy, which longed to be ours. I think these days about the boyhood
baseball experiences of the professional players I have worked with.
They all played Little League baseball, formalized baseball, adult-
supervised baseball. There were parent/fans and adult expectations
—and the consequent behaviors after the disappointment or “failure”
of a poor performance or a loss. No organized play existed for the
very young in those times. My father never saw me compete as a
member of a team until my senior year in college. He cared; he just
had his own busy life to live and left my recreation to me. As did the
other fathers and mothers in our neighborhood.
Recreation. That was what baseball was for my peers and me.
“Recreation: Refreshment of one’s mind or body ... through diverting
activity. Play.” (Emphasis mine.) Willie Stargell used to remind those
around him who seemed to have lost their joy: “The umpires say,
‘Play ball!’ not ‘Work ball!’”
Lest this sound like a veiled treatise against Little League or
parents, let me emphatically remind the reader that I am speaking for
something, not against anything. I am speaking for joy.
Joy has not come out of the game. Rather, it has come out of
many who play the game. Any number of reasons might be
identified. Suffice to say the players I have worked with were
precocious and special athletes when they were youngsters. They
excelled in highly organized competition at an early age, dominating
the opposition.
The playing field leveled somewhat for them as they went higher
and higher—eventually becoming professional baseball players,
competing against other professional. The ultimate level playing
field, for the most part. If pressures were not put on them when they
were young, pressures usually developed with time. And intensified,
for many. [See PRESSURE] Joy dissipated.
The desire to make the big leagues, the desire to stay there once
he makes it, the ordeal of a long season, the injuries, the poor
performances, the losing teams, the responses of those around him,
the media all—all—can take their “pound of flesh” from the body of a
joyful player.
If the player allows it! That is the condition. What is “out there”
can be controlled by what is “in here.” (I am pointing to my heart.)
[See ATTITUDE] What is “out there” can be determined by what is
“in here.” (I am pointing to my head.) [See PERSPECTIVE]
All of the concerns that a player develops as he plays the game
of baseball indicate a loss of innocence. The innocence of the boys
losing 84-0, who still are optimistic and having fun, irrespective of
adult concerns. The sooner one loses his innocence, the sooner he
may lose his joy. In life, and in baseball. Players, amateurs as well
as professionals, who do not lose their joy for the game have
developed and maintained a healthy attitude toward themselves and
the game. Others have not been as fortunate. Bertolt Brecht wrote,
“What’s a joy to the one is a nightmare to the other. That’s how it is
today, that’s how it’ll be forever.”
Brecht is probably right, yet any individual has the capacity to
regain or change his attitude and perspective. Oral Hershiser told of
his rediscovery of his love for the game in the previous section. On
the other side of a “nightmare,” thus far, is Yankees closer, Mariano
Rivera, of whom The New York Times writer Butch Olney wrote, “ ...
there was always a sense that on that mound, Rivera could barely
contain his grin.” Rivera’s catcher, Joe Girardi concurred: “He has a
lot of fun out there.”
“Fun.” That is the synonymous cliché for joy heard in clubhouses
and dugouts, especially when things are not going well for a team or
individuals. “Just have fun,” has been the directive of teammates,
coaches, and managers over the years. Though used frequently, the
term has never been defined—within earshot of me.
Once, at the end of a players’ meeting in the clubhouse of a
struggling Florida Marlins team, I prolonged the meeting with a
query. A veteran player had provided the concluding mandate, “Just
go out there and have fun!” As the players were about to rise, I
asked, “How do you do that? How do you have fun?”
Everyone was silent. I interrupted the uncomfortable silence with
an oversimplification which would allow us all to escape the room.
“Trust your talent,” I said. “Get your egos out of the way and play the
game. Then you might have a chance to have fun.”
Iris Murdoch wrote, “Happiness is a matter of one’s most ordinary
mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with
self.” PLAY THE GAME. Oral Hershiser recaptured his love for the
game. Maddux expresses his joy for the competition. Jamie Moyer
expresses his happiness for the challenge. Todd Stottlemyre
expresses his enthusiasm for confrontation. AI Leiter expresses his
ecstasy for life. They play the game.
 “Take all away from me, but leave my ecstasy, and I am richer
then than all my Fellow Men.” (Emily Dickinson) The game is still
there. The joy still longs to be there also.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the game stays the same; players’ attitudes

toward it may not.
∎ Ask himself if he loves the game.
∎ Ask if he is playing the game for himself.
∎ Ask if he trusts his talent.
∎ Ask if he enjoys competition.
∎ Understand that if the answer to the above questions is, “Yes,”
he will pitch with joy.
∎ Ask if he thinks about the game as he pitches, rather than
about himself and what may happen to him.
∎ Ask if he interprets a poor performance as an indicator that he
is a failure.
∎ Ask if he negatively anticipates his next performance.
∎ Understand that if the answer to the preceding three questions
is, “Yes,” he will pitch with no joy, and should choose to change
his attitude and perspective—or stop playing the game and
choose to do something he enjoys. (The vast majority of
professionals I know have called that choice a “no-brainer.”)
∎ K’s
In 1998, Mets pitcher Rick Reed told New York Daily News writer
Thomas Hill that he held nothing against Jim Leyland, his former
Pittsburgh manager, for letting him go. Said Reed, “He did what he
had to do. He did say last year, ‘Maybe he’s finally learned how to
pitch.’ It was a great compliment. I used to think you had to strike out
ten. Now I know I don’t have to do that.”
Reed’s adjusted approach the previous year dramatically helped
his results—his won-lost record, his earned-run average, his
paycheck (13-9, 2.89, $2.58 million).
Reed learned to pitch, to value contact, because it worked in his
favor. [See CONTACT] Yet, it can be said that the 1997 and 1998
seasons saw pitchers striking out 6.7 and 6.6 batters for each nine
innings pitched—the greatest figure in baseball history.
Are more pitchers trying to strike people out? I think not. I see
more hitters getting themselves struck out. I have heard hitters’
expressions of great pride in hitting home runs, and have watched
the actions that went with their words. Such approaches make them
more vulnerable than they ordinarily would be. Aggressiveness with
little or no control fails in the long haul.
The April ’99, issue of Sport provided these facts: “ ... the top five
batting average leaders 40 years ago averaged 46 strikeouts that
season; last year they averaged 87 ... Forty years ago, the top five
home run hitters averaged 88 strikeouts apiece; last year they
averaged 130.” An “all-or-nothing approach,” the article suggests.
Same long haul results.
As mentioned previously, pitchers are the long-term beneficiaries
of these hitters’ approach. More discredit to the hitter than credit to
the pitcher, it would seem. Yet, those who are known to be strikeout
pitchers do deserve credit for the application of the philosophy
advocated for all pitchers. Clemens, Randy Johnson, Kerry Wood,
Pedro Martinez, Curt Shilling, et. al.
David Cone, himself on the top 10 list of strikeouts per nine
innings in 1998, told Sport, “I think all strikeout pitchers have that
atttack-mode mentality, trying to get ahead and then having some
finishing pitches, really quality pitches, that can make hitters swing
and miss. All strikeout pitchers across the board have that trait.”
A pitcher must know himself and his capabilities. Though a
minority of big league pitchers are considered to be strikeout
pitchers, even those who are get more outs through contact. The
leading strikeout pitcher in 1998 was Kerry Wood with 12.6 K’s per
nine innings pitched. Considering that 27 outs are projected over
those nine innings, he would have 14.4 “contact outs.” And very few
pitchers come close to Wood’s or Johnson’s or Clemens’ strikeout
capabilities.
My idea of an “absolute perfect game” is one in which the pitcher
gets twenty-seven consecutive first-pitch outs. Can’t get better than
that, for me.
Irrespective of what eventually happens in any given at-bat, the
point made in earlier pages is that, as Kerry Wood has said, “ ...it’s
all about getting ahead early in the count.” That should be every
pitcher’s agenda, whether contact results or a strikeout results. The
agenda of every “pitcher.” Roger Clemens clarifies and finalizes the
point. “I take more pride in being a pitcher than I do in being a
strikeout pitcher.”

What the Pitcher Should Do ...

∎ Know himself and his capabilities as a pitcher.

∎ Establish the count in his favor by attacking the strike zone.
∎ Learn to finish hitters when far ahead in the count.
∎ Establish as a “rule-of-thumb” that he will let strikeouts happen,
rather than try to make them happen.
∎ Know that when a strikeout is highly desirable because of a
game situation, aggressiveness can be heightened only as far
as command (control) is maintained.
∎ Value contact outs.
∎ LEARNING [See APPENDIX A]
Simply stated, the best pitchers are the best learners. Whereas
just about everyone in baseball gives and receives advice, the best
learners are eager listeners. They know how to evaluate what they
hear, and then how to integrate the appropriate advice into behavior.
The best learners know that failure, as Henry Ford put it, “is the
opportunity to begin again more intelligently.” The best learners
instinctively recognize that experience by itself is valueless. What
one does with it gives it value.
When someone chooses to be an enthusiastic learner, he will find
enthusiastic teachers. Coaches love learners. But as a person gets
older, he finds that he is responsible to put information through his
filtering system. A confident learner is wise enough to be
discriminating. Others listen indiscriminately to everyone, trying to
apply everything they hear and burying themselves under the weight
of information and misinformation. The good learner is able to detect
the false, the ineffective, the counterproductive and the affected
(what my friend, Rene Lachemann, calls “eye wash”). Unedited
advice can be dangerous.
 Not to be confused with a discriminating learner is the stubborn
one. A stubborn pitcher does not want to hear anything that forces
him to consider changing an idea or a habit. “Consider.” That’s the
operative word in that sentence. Good learners are open; poor or
non-learners are closed. They consider nothing but the comfort of
their own wrong-headedness. All error, no trial for them. I met pitcher
Jim Deshaises late in his career. When he was a rookie with the
Houston Astros he admitted to his stubbornness, made necessary
adjustments and was a learner thereafter. Some take longer than
others; some never seem to learn.
The know-it-all is another example of a poor learner. He thinks, or
acts as if, he already knows whatever he needs to know. It was Josh
Billings speaking in the mid-1800s who best described this type:“It
ain’t what a man don’t know as makes him a fool, but what he does
know as ain’t so.” Socratic wisdom with a Western flair.
But then, anyone taking the time to read these words is probably
open to ideas and learning. So I will here leave the stubborn and
self-impressed to their own devices, recalling the words of Francis
Bacon, who said, “The unlearned man knows not what it is to
descend into himself or call himself into account ... ” [See
RESPONSIBILITY]
The pitcher who is a learner is the person who is responsible. I
remember the words of WBC. welterweight champion Oscar De La
Hoya, after winning a split-decision in February 1999. “I’m finding out
I’ve been giving too much respect to my opponents. I have to be
more aggressive. That’s a learning process.” Every mention of
“process” in this book, and there are many, is grounded in the
responsibility of the pitcher for integrating learning into behavior.
Without process, there is no change for the better. De La Hoya
included in the process: “Learn about your sport; learn about
yourself.” Familiar words to the reader by now.
I have been around avid learners, reluctant learners, and non-
learners. The ratio in baseball is no different from the one I found in
schools where I had taught. Yet, a significant difference exists as to
why baseball players take their resistant stance to learning. A
pitcher, for example, has already been very successful before
becoming a professional. It is therefore more difficult to teach him
something that calls for a change from what he considers to be partly
responsible for the past success. A degree of frustration or failure, as
in the case of Jim Deshaies, will deliver a more willing student to the
teacher/coach. It takes time for some to recognize that ignorance is
what Lawrence Durrell called “a calamity.” First, they must meet on-
field calamity. Then they seek a cure for the ignorance or ineptitude.
Some pitchers who wish to learn are initially frustrated in their
attempts. Often, an individual has not been able to be objective
about himself or his performances. Pitchers who have expressed a
desire to learn have still found it difficult to examine their own faults
and needs. Again, it is a trying process. I tell this type of pitcher, “It’s
hard to see the picture when you’re inside the frame. Step out of it,
and look at yourself as if you’re me.” And so on. They eventually
realize that the very advice they may have given to others is the
advice they have failed to provide themselves.
Kevin Brown has spoken about the “mirror” I hold up and make
players look into. Some try to see what they want to see; the
learners try to see what they need to see. “You won’t fool him,”
Brown said. “And he won’t let you fool yourself.”
Yet, as avid a learner as Brown is, he can be reluctant to be a
teacher. With the Padres in ’98, he was showered with praise for the
way he went about his business. “I don’t tell anyone how to pitch,” he
said. “I just keep working. I hope everyone keeps their eyes and ears
open and we will all learn.”
Atlanta manager, pitching coach, and television commentator all
admire Greg Maddux, the student. Says Bobby Cox, “The talent is
not God’s gift to him alone. He studies the game like mad....” Leo
Mazzone said that Maddux is “much smarter than any coach I’ve
been around. When we talk it’s an exchange of ideas. I’ve learned a
number of things from him.” And Hall-of-Famer Don Sutton said of
Maddux, “He is a person who goes to class four days and gives the
class the fifth day.”
Pitchers who do not watch other pitchers—or hitters—are losing
what might be valuable information. The attentiveness to the game
itself provides a great opportunity for learning. Research has shown
that adults will not learn unless they see a specific benefit for
themselves. Pitchers should be capable of understanding the benefit
that comes from learning the game.
Learning is a prerequisite for making adjustments. Learning is a
prerequisite to growth and improvement. Learning is part of self-
discipline. Learning leads to confidence. “They know enough who
know how to learn,” said Henry Adams. Because we never know
enough.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Be open to learning.
∎ Listen to everyone; be discriminating, thoughtful, and honest in
using what is heard.
∎ Always seek better ways of accomplishing tasks.
∎ Give new approaches honest effort before evaluating them.
∎ Realize that what might have worked at one level might not at
a higher level.
∎ Give a newly acquired approach a fair amount of time to “kick
in.”
∎ Understand that learning implies change, and that change is
not immediately “comfortable.”
∎ Learn about solutions, rather than dwelling on the problem.
∎ Be discriminating, using what seems to work and discarding
what does not.
∎ Understand that in order to find out how to do something well,
a good learner takes risks, rather than being fearful of doing
something poorly.
∎ Understand that the wisest man still has plenty to learn.
∎ Know that ideas do not work, unless he also does, because
theory may be fine, but application is finer.
∎ MANTRA
By now the reader has surely recognized that positive, rational,
task-oriented thoughts are prerequisites for effective behavior on the
mound. Over and over this point has been made, particularly in
WHAT THE PITCHER SHOULD DO sections. “Understand” this;
“Recognize” that: “Be aware” of such and such ... Over and over.
The purpose of these repetitions is to help the pitcher to create
an understanding of a mantra—a sort of incantation, casting a spell,
so to speak, over him as he “chants” the same, sound point of view.
The repetition is a strongly defined and constant reference point—
the star to guide the pitcher’s ship by, through safe waters, away
from troubled waters.
If using a mantra is a form of “brainwashing,” the pitcher can be
assured his brain is being “washed” by the pitcher himself. In doing
so, he must be careful to choose impeccably correct messages to
deliver to his brain—messages that ultimately affect his muscles.
From the trust in, and the repeated expression of it, the mantra will
become a countervailing force to all the wrong messages delivered
by pressures, anxieties, distractions and fears. A strong, positive
mantra can mute the voices of negative would-be intruders. That is
why “one-pitch-at-a time” has become such a popular—and
appropriate—mantra. It puts a pitcher’s mind where it belongs: on
the next pitch to be delivered. Simple, direct, clear. Repeat after me
...
“Every time we ... chant our mantra, the brain rewards us with the
release of soothing endorphins ...” wrote novelist John Dufresne.
Endorphins help relieve pain and stress. The additional “reward” a
pitcher gets from his mantra is the reminder of what focus he needs
at the moment. That has very practical value. Hershiser’s mantra,
previously referred to, brought the veteran pitcher back to his lost
focus.
Also noted previously was Greg Maddux’ insistence that his sole
concern is “executing a pitch.” This has become his mantra. He
chose it; he ritualistically verbalized it; he learned to believe in it; he
is now unfailingly “spellbound” by it. “It’s scary,” he told me a couple
of years ago. “That’s all that matters out there [on the mound].”
If someone thinks about a particular thing in a singular way, he
learns to own the thought—to represent it. The body hears the same
directive repeated and repeated. The chant becomes he who chants
it. “Scary,” as Maddux said, the power our minds have, if we choose
to use it.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Identify the major reminders he needs to keep his mind

directed and focused. (e.g., “One-pitch-at-a-time”; Execute the
next pitch”; “Attack the strike zone”; “Be easy.”)
∎ Remember that his needs will change as he changes.
∎ Develop new/additional mantras according to new needs.
∎ Create mantras that are based on behavior, rather than results.
(e.g., “Good low strikes,” rather than “Get groundballs.”)
∎ Be persistent in owning the mantra, rather than allowing
someone (e.g., newspaper reporter) take it from you with
irrelevant or distracting questions and concerns.
∎ Know that familiarity comes with use and time, and that time is
not his responsibility—use is.
∎ NEGATIVISM
I know NHL coach Ron Wilson to be a positive, upbeat person.
He took a Washington Capitals team that had not been in the
playoffs the previous year to the Stanley Cup finals in 1998. In 1999
the team was out of the playoffs again. Such a three-year sequence
had not happened in approximately 50 years. The 1999
circumstance was not a happy one for Wilson and his team, and the
coach knew that unhappiness often leads to a negative point of view.
Negative behavior follows.
“I come to practice as positive as possible,” he said in March of
’99. “What you’re trying to do is keep people from becoming cynical,
thinking that they don’t have a chance, that it’s still a fun place to
come to work. If it becomes dreary, it’s ten times worse.”
Cynicism, dreary attitudes, giving up, dread of what each day
brings all take the meaning out of a person’s life and livelihood.
Negativism rules the individual and infects the environment in which
he moves. Tough circumstances can challenge a person’s inner
strength and conviction. [See RELENTLESSNESS]
Because children are initially taught the “no’s” and “don’t’s” of
touching hot stoves or crossing streets alone or fighting with a
sibling, they hear negative teaching during much of their childhood. It
was written many years ago that by the time a youngster gets to high
school, he has heard those two aforementioned negatives 40,000
times. I remember reading to my youngster a book entitled No
Fighting, No Biting.
Youngsters are greatly affected by the words and deeds of the
people who raise them, teach them, and coach them. Much of what
they learn will come from what they hear and see in their extended
environment. Precociously athletic children grow up in a very public
and competitive milieu. They are coached early by people who may
not be expert at teaching—and who may have their own vested
interest in a youngster’s performance. Indoctrination to negativity
creates excessive pressure and a distorted outlook. For a young
athlete, negativity becomes poisonous food for thought. And the
most pronounced thoughts in a young athlete’s environment will
accompany him into adulthood.
One young man, who I am fairly certain will become a major
league pitcher, told me of his childhood experiences playing
baseball. “If I got four hits, my mom would get all over me for making
an error. If I did great in the field, she would hammer me about
hitting. It wore me out.” Joy? Positive reinforcement? Those terms
have been foreign to this young man. He is working hard at change.
Small wonder he became a pitcher.
During a tenure with one of the major league organizations I have
worked for, a big league utility player was called upon to play every
day, when the regular he had occasionally spelled injured himself
fairly seriously. The utilityman was told he would be in the lineup
every day for the rest of the season, approximately two months. He
responded by telling the manager he could not play. Period.
After a week or so, he did play, and he did a very respectable job,
both in the field and at bat. Let it simply be said that, through great
effort on the player’s part, he was able to identify a junior high school
coach who he now remembered clearly to have told him, “You’ll
never be an everyday player in the big leagues.”
I will not regard here the motive behind this negative, mean-
spirited and audacious remark. The adolescent boy did not regard
the remark, at the time. But he carried it with him into the major
leagues. The coach’s words had become the player’s belief. Adult
opinions can have power, whether they have merit or do not.
 Once the “adult” identified and discredited the coach’s remark, he
was able to function as an everyday player. (It was not necessary to
discredit the coach, though the temptation was mine.) The “feeling”
that resulted from the remark still requires regular attention, years
after the individual ended his playing career.
Those are only a couple of the many examples that could be
provided. The illustration is clear enough to make the point that
influences beyond the individual greatly affect him and “teach” him to
think in a particular way. Negative thinking and perceptions do not
allow a baseball player to have the “fun” a positive thinker has in the
game. Negativism does not allow him to have a life that is uplifting.
How some players manage to function at all impresses me
greatly. It is a testimony to talent. But negativism gets in the way of
their enjoyment and appreciation of what they possess. And some
do not have what it takes to change their view of the world and of
themselves. It takes honesty, and trust—and an immense effort.
The preceding anecdote provides the reader with an extreme
example. Nevertheless, it illustrates something that does exist in the
baseball culture and in the world at large. (A more extreme example
is provided in PERSPECTIVE.) Now, let us examine the more
“subtle” forms of negativity—less dramatic, perhaps, but more
prevalent. Often harmful; always counterproductive.
When the gang in Winnie The Pooh is planning to have a picnic,
the doomsayer, Eeyore, wants no part of the group’s positive
anticipation. “Don’t blame me if it rains,” he says. Eeyores can be
found on every baseball roster. A negative verbalization such as the
one made by Pooh’s donkey friend is one of four basic types:
statements that are self-critical; judgments that are negative;
expectations of failure; attributions that lead down a “blind alley.”
Players who degrade themselves can have a number of motives,
each of them traced back to low self-esteem. [See SELF-ESTEEM]
Players who verbalize in negative terms tend to find things wrong
with teammates, managers, coaches, and others. They focus on
whatever they say is wrong with others. The effect on them is not a
helpful one.
The Eeyores of the world expect the worst and usually produce it.
(See SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY]
 The “blind-alley” players tend to disclaim responsibility. (Eeyore
also did that, though in his case, he had no responsibility. Players
often deny responsibility that is truly theirs.) “Blind-alley” thinking
leads players’ thoughts to unchangeable past events, unmanageable
future events, jealousy or resentment of others. It encourages
remarks that put players in the role of victim. (I have told such
players, when they complained to me, that I refuse to jump into their
pool of self-pity. “Take a hand, or you’ll drown.”)
Strategies can easily be formulated for such people. They can
become positive problem-solvers, but only if they change their
thinking and speaking, in a positive and resourceful way, and reject
the negative and wasteful ways of their past. [See POSITIVISM]
Here are a number of destructive statements commonly mouthed
by pitchers who think in negative terms:
“No way I can do well today.”
“With my luck________.” Fill in the blank with a self-pitying
phrase.
“This’ll never work.”
“My changeup will never be a good pitch for me.”
“We don’t have a chance against these guys.”
“Don’t mess this up.”
“He never comes through when I need him.”
“This guy [his catcher] doesn’t have a clue.”
“I can’t believe they’re leaving me in the game.”
“I can’t believe they’re taking me out of the game.”
“They made me throw that pitch.”
“This guy thinks he can always psych me out.”
“I can’t do a thing right.”
“I stink.”
“This stinks.”
“I can never get this guy out.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Don’t walk this guy.”
“Don’t give him anything to hit.”
“If only_______.” Fill in the blank with wishful thought.
“I’ve got no choice.”
“It’s not my fault.”
 “Why does he always do this to me?”
“Don’t rush.”
“Don’t hang this slider.”
“I’m lost out here.”
“I’m a loser.”
“He’s a loser.”
“How can such a loser be telling me how to get it done?”
“I hope they don’t expect me to get it done all the time.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to make it through the fifth.”
“I can’t pitch on this mound; it’s brutal.”
Even when things are somehow going well, the Eeyores of the
world will not be convinced: “This can’t keep going so good.”
Enough. The reader can add to the list, I’m sure. People who
spend their time expressing such thoughts are people who, as
Cormac McCarthy has written, “hold funerals before there’s anything
to bury.” [See SELF-TALK]
The pitcher must start to listen to himself, understanding that as
he expresses these negatives each day, he is increasing the
chances of negative outcome—and walking around with an
unhealthy point of view—diseased, if truth be told.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Listen to himself.
∎ Examine how his attitude is reflected by his thoughts and
speech.
∎ Understand that negative influences in his youth do not have to
continue through adulthood, if they are understood and
rejected.
∎ Be who he wants to be, rather than who others have shaped
him to be.
∎ Take responsibility for what he says and how he behaves.
∎ Know that what he thinks and says will greatly influence what
he does.
∎ Learn to change negative talk into positive statements (e.g.,
“I’m going to work on this,” rather than, “I can’t do this.” “Right
 through the target; good, low strike here,” rather than, “Don’t
walk this guy.”) [See COACHING SELF and SELF-TALK]
∎ Tell himself to what to do, rather than warning himself what not
to do.
∎ Be aware of the common vocabulary of negativism so that, in
identifying “the enemy,” he can combat him.
∎ Learn to understand himself, to be honest with himself, to like
and trust himself.
∎ Know that changing the quality of his thoughts will change the
quality of his performance—and his life.
∎ Know that the change is a choice and requires commitment
and positive mental energy.

∎ NICE GUYS
When a player flies in to spend a couple of days with me during
the off-season, I pick him up at the airport. Once we’re en route to
my home. I present a hypothetical situation.
“You go to an upscale restaurant for a good dinner. You have
looked forward to it. You knew just what you wanted to order. The
meal is served; you begin eating. The food is cold. What do you do?”
A considerable number (probably 13 out of 20) have answered, “I
shut up and eat it.” Or words to that effect. They “don’t want to
bother the waitress.” They do not want to confront the issue.
“That’s why you’re here,” I say to them.
I am reminded of a story that made a strong impression on me
when I read it as a child. It is about a young boy and his father, who
are bringing a donkey they wish to sell at a market three towns away
from their home. They begin the trip with the father walking, as he
holds the rope around the animal’s neck. The son rides the donkey.
As they go through their town, the father hears people say, “Look at
that; the old man is forced to walk by a selfish son with young legs.”
The father and son switch positions.
They walk on and soon hear the townspeople of the adjacent
hamlet say, “Look at that; a small young thing forced to walk, while a
strong man rides.” Father and son mount the donkey and both ride
into the next town.
There they hear, “Isn’t that inhumane! Two people burdening that
poor, dumb animal. What insensitive cruelty.” The father thinks for a
moment. He then purchases a long bamboo pole and a length of
heavy rope. The father and son tie the donkey’s legs to the pole,
then lift it onto their shoulders.
They walk into the next town carrying the upside down animal.
“Look at those fools, carrying a donkey.”
The most certain way to assure failure in this world of ours is to
try to please everyone.
Nice guys tend to be pleasers. They may have different motives,
but their agenda is not to ruffle anyone’s feathers. I have found three
distinct differences among players who want to please. Some just
seem to want to be liked too much. They tend to have low self-
esteem; their acceptance by others is their validation of self.
Others have been criticized excessively as youngsters. They too
suffer from poor-self esteem and wish to prevent criticism by catering
to those who have any chance of giving it. Like a waitress in
restaurant. Or a plumber who botched the job in the player’s home,
but who the player will not call to hold accountable. Or their inept,
perhaps dishonest, auto mechanic.
Still others simply have been raised to be very nice sons by very
nice parents. Nothing wrong with that. Until the “son” walks out to the
mound to compete. (I often ask such pitchers, “What was the last
thing your mother said to you when you left the house by yourself
when you were a child?” The answer is usually: “Be careful.” Or, “Be
a good boy.” Or both.
Most of the aforementioned pitchers tend to have difficulty
converting off-field niceness to on-field competitiveness. They pitch
“carefully” and are “too nice.”
Many with whom I have worked have what is called in semantics,
“an either-or orientation.” They are concerned that if they are not
acting like a Mr. Rogers, they will appear to be Attila, the Hun. [See
PERSPECTIVE] Not true, but if it were, Attila would be the more
likely of the two to get the job done on the mound.
 I am struck by the Denver Broncos’ Bill Romanowski, reputed to
be the wildest, most aggressive, nastiest linebacker in the NFL. He is
also known, off the football field, as the consummate and caring
gentleman. He is well-spoken, active and giving in his community.
He seems to adjust his persona to what the environment calls for. He
has compromised his persona. Rather, he has established it.
Whoever he is, he is effective—wherever he is.
In BEHAVIOR I spoke about Rick Honeycutt. Another ultimate off-
field gentle man. He learned to be a steadfast attacker as a pitcher. It
can be done, but a decision must be made.
Early in his career, pitcher Tom Seaver decided to shed his “nice
guy” image, which he equated with “a losing-guy image.” He knew
he had to back hitters off the plate and did what he had to in order to
send his message. “There is a fine line between good hard baseball
and dirty baseball,” Seaver said.
The line between good, hard baseball and not-so-good, soft
baseball is much more clearly defined. Pitchers must be on the
appropriate side of the line. If they are not, they must inspire
themselves to cross over.
Greg Maddux can be the humble, self-effacing good person—
when he is not pitching. But those who watched Maddux respond to
what he perceived to be Jim Leyritz’s attempts to distract him during
the ’98 NLCS, saw a fierce, competitive nature express itself. Not the
nature of a “nice guy.”
The Cardinals’ Bob Gibson has been my favorite non-“nice guy”
on the mound, but I think I would have enjoyed watching New York
Yankees pitcher Burleigh Grimes perform. I was a bit too young. In
the mid-1930s, someone asked Grimes why there are so many “nice
guys” in baseball. (Yes, back then, during those glorified days of
“hardball.”) Grimes said he didn’t know the answer about “nice guys,”
but he knew about himself: “I’m a bastard when I play.”
Pitching is confrontation. Pitchers realize that and must reconcile
any differences they have between their understanding and their
approach. If efficacy comes from aggressiveness, and caution or
timidity assures ineffectiveness, their choice should be clear to them.
Their goal should be established and vigorously pursued. That is the
need of every “nice guy.” Otherwise, he will not be much better off
than the “nice guy” in a Bryce Courtenay novel, who became
“powerless as those around me plundered my spirit with the gift of
themselves.” Hitters especially.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that some of the finest, “nicest” men, off the

baseball field, have been the fiercest, most confrontational
competitors on the playing field.
∎ Understand why so many people have as an agenda, the need
to please others.
∎ Identify himself and his tendencies, in this regard, as a person
and as an athlete.
∎ Understand that the ability to adapt to the appropriate conduct
required in any given environment, without compromising his
own values, is one characteristic of a self-actualized person.
∎ Remember that aggressive behavior is a major attribute of
every successful pitcher.
∎ Set specific goals related to behavior during competition that
address being aggressive and confrontational, rather than
being timid and a “nice guy.”
∎ Live and perform from the “inside out,” rather than from the
“outside in,” meaning, act upon what you know is right and
appropriate, rather than what and you feel would satisfy and
please others.
∎ On the mound, develop “an infantryman’s heart.” [See
COMPETITOR]
∎ OUTS
Baseball is a game of outs. Twenty-seven of them, unless more
are required in an extra-inning game. The 27 outs of a regulation
game all must be made by the winning team. This elemental fact I try
to impress on pitchers constantly. Irrespective of score, outs must be
made. The game will not be over until those 27 outs are “in the
book.”
Because of this fact, a pitcher should always maintain his
intensity of focus until the game is over. Truly over. That is when
competition ends. That is when the winner of the game is
determined. Not so in football games, which are “over” when the
quarterback takes the snap and goes to a knee as the clock ticks.
(The clock is still ticking as opposing players and coaches shake
hands with each other on the field.)
Basketball teams maintain a lead by “spreading the court,”
holding the ball as the clock ticks, and their lead becomes that much
more insurmountable. As the victory is more assured by each tick.
Hockey players, victory in their grasp, ice the puck—“killing the
clock”—by shooting the puck down to the other end of the rink,
making it impossible for the other team to score a goal in so short a
period of time.
 These are all strategies for using time as a weapon. The ball is a
pitcher’s only weapon. No clock exists in baseball. A defined
terminus is built into the game, no matter how long it takes to reach
it. No lead is insurmountable. No strategy should be changed.
Execute every pitch. GET OUTS.
Two recollections are vivid. A few years ago, after the Marlins
had completed a home game, coaches and players were watching a
Los Angeles-Philadelphia game on the clubhouse television sets.
After I had showered and watched a bit longer, I started back to my
hotel room. When I left, the Dodgers were ahead by eight or nine
runs in the eighth. Getting out of the parking lot, driving back to my
hotel, parking, and getting up to my room took approximately 40
minutes.
I turned the set on, presuming the game was over, and
presuming the L.A. victory. Both presumptions were inaccurate. The
game was still being played, and I saw the Phillies get their game-
winning hit.
No such presumption should be brought to a baseball game.
Spectators may presume, they may run up the aisles and leave the
ballpark; they may shut off their TV sets; they may say what they
wish about the impending result. The players, the participants—the
pitchers, most notably—must continue to play the game. And play it
with the same energy and singular focus they had at the beginning of
the game.
The other memory is of a minor league game played in
Huntsville, Alabama, where Oakland had its Double-A team.
Huntsville was behind 12-6 when the ninth inning started. In order to
“save the pitching staff,” the manager put a position player in to pitch
the top of the ninth. Based on the staffs need, the move was
necessary. The “pitcher” gave up six runs. The purpose, however,
based on the organization’s player development philosophy, was
served.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, the score 18-6, I stood in the
dugout and watched our team score 11 runs all with two out. We had
runners on first and third, as our third baseman, a young man named
Larry Arndt, smoked a ball up the middle. The pitcher somehow
made the play. Hunstville lost the game, 18-17. But what a torturous
inning the opposing team had—all for want of one out.
A pitcher gets two outs in an inning. I see his approach change.
Particularly if he has gotten two quick outs. He “relaxes” his
approach, meaning his attention gets broader (“And next inning I’ve
got the bottom of the order”), his focus gets fuzzier (‘This is cake”).
The parenthetical remarks are actual expressions of two young
pitchers who suffered the consequences of their altered approach.
The lesson is not always learned as quickly as it was by the two who
I use as examples. The price for not learning can be very costly.
Though they are the subject here, outs are still the second rung
on the ladder of abstraction. Down there, but not low enough to
reach through a pitcher’s proper approach. The execution of one
pitch—”one pitch at a time”—is the bottom rung on his performance
“ladder.” That’s the step that leads to all others. First, make a pitch.
That is the mean to most the immediate end: an out. [See TASK AT
HAND]

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Remind himself constantly of the fact that every baseball game

requires a specific number of outs, and that the results of the
game are not determined until those outs are made.
∎ Know that, as a pitcher, he should maintain his level of energy
and his sharpness of focus, irrespective of the score, the
number of outs in an inning or the count.
∎ Be certain to maintain his best approach as he reaches a point
in the game when he presumes outcome in his favor.
∎ If he has a tendency to “let up” when he senses the end is in
sight, get off the mound and coach himself to “run through the
finish line,” rather than anticipating when that “end” will come
(i.e., the end of his outing).
∎ Set as a goal the ability to “go as hard as he can, for as long as
he can.”
∎ PERSPECTIVE
“[I]t is true in culture as in optics that if you hold a large object
close to your nose, it will block out the sun, moon, and stars. But that
is the very reason why large objects should be viewed from a proper
distance. We must work for perspective, under pain of never seeing
more than one thing at a time...”
I use Jacques Barzun’s words to direct the pitcher’s thoughts
toward whatever limited perspective he may have of the world. Yet, a
limited vista is exactly what a pitcher should have-on the mound. The
fuller view indicates to a pitcher that there is more to life than
baseball. The reduced view allows him to pay full attention to his
task at hand.
Those two perspectives are essential for him.
A perspective is a point-of-view. A pitcher can see the world one
way; his friend can see it another way. The pitcher can see himself to
be something other than what the friend sees. The difference is
based on all that has happened to each of them over his lifetime—for
better or for worse. The positive reinforcement and the negative
reinforcement. The failures and the successes. But ultimately, the
perspective the pitcher has of his world, of baseball, and of himself is
entirely his responsibility.
 Much of my professional concern has, of course, been for
athletes whose rational and emotional systems have adversely
affected their mental health and performance. Their perspectives
have been distorted by their experiences and by their interpretation
of them. Even “healthy” people at times develop perspectives based
on invented scenarios (not nearly as dire as the inventor “paints”
them) and highly unlikely consequences, (Shakespeare’s “horrible
imaginings”). The person with a distorted perspective is an unhappy
person. His unhappiness is inevitable, because his point-of-view is at
odds with “reality.”
The following words of Karl Albrecht beg inclusion:
“The chronically unhappy person seems to labor under the cruel
delusion that he is unhappy because of unfortunate circumstances,
events, and processes happening in this world. He doesn’t realize
that he is unhappy because of his evaluation of these circumstances,
events, and processes. The unhappy person fails to grasp the all-
important fact that positives and negatives do not exist in ‘nature’;
that ‘success’ and ‘failure’ do not exist as elements of the flow of
reality processes outside his head. This person doesn’t realize that
these are mental constructs, which he superimposes on his
perceptions of the world. The chronically unhappy person fails to
grasp the fact that one decides to be happy or unhappy.” (My
emphasis.)
People “evaluate” according to their point of view. People have
choices. Adult people. In the section NEGATIVISM, I gave an
example of a player being “taught” by a coach. The player carried a
negative perspective of himself into adulthood—into the big leagues
—as a result of that “lesson.” Also alluded to was a more dramatic
example of such “teaching.” It follows.
A five-year-old boy is atop a brick wall, which is eight or nine feet
in height. The boy is walking slowly and carefully along it, as his
father walks below, on the cement sidewalk. The father speaks to the
boy, opening his arms as he turns toward the wall underneath the
boy. “Come on, jump. I’ll catch you,” the father assures. The boy is
hesitant. Reluctant. “Come on; I’m right here.”
The boy jumps; the father steps aside. The boy hits the
pavement, fracturing an arm. The father stands over him and says,
“That’ll teach you not to trust anyone in this world.”
“Bless the Beasts and the Children,” the song says. They have
“...no voice, no choice...” The boy referred to in the above anecdote
is now a man in his 40s. He learned his father’s lesson all too well.
His perspective of the world and of himself was bleak because of it.
The ordeal of change is painful, but, in this case, less painful than
living with such a troubling and persistent perspective for 30-plus
years. Perhaps each day now his eyes open with more of the grace
of the adult in him, and less of the grief of the child in him.
Counterpoint to the preceding is the anecdote about a
Frenchman who told his gardener he wanted a tree planted. The
gardener did not like the idea, since, as he pointed out to his
employer, the type of tree to be planted grew very slowly. The
Frenchman listened and then told the gardener that if that were true,
he’d better not lose any time. “Plant it immediately.”
Two polar opposite perspectives. The father and the Frenchman.
Pitchers with healthy perspectives have been “taught” by parents,
coaches, and by their own experiences to trust themselves, to trust
others, to trust this about the world: it was not created to undo him.
[See POSITIVISM] Some are more self-actualized than others, but
every healthy person can be “stung by a flu bug.” Each person’s
resistance will influence the seriousness of the sting.
The view I express to players is that they should work on their
health, rather than worrying about the “bug.” In terms of mental
strength, I suggest that the people best off are those who have the
best coping mechanisms. “I would rather have a number of issues
(the term ‘problems’ is resisted) and many coping mechanisms, than
have only one issue but no coping mechanisms,” I say. “Difficult
issues can fog up our perspective; coping mechanisms help clear
away the fog.”
Distorted perspective results when players think they cannot
cope with situations they are facing or will be facing. The ability to
cope with these difficulties is influenced by the context in which we
view them. The more contexts a player can choose from, the less
likely his perspective will reveal to him an inevitable and
insurmountable difficulty.
 In the section on FEAR, I spoke of the technique of
“catastrophizing”—determining what the worst possible
happenstance could be for a player. The process allows him to
determine that he is capable of coping with that “awful” possibility.
The difficulty usually dissipates, not because it entirely lacks validity,
but because the player realizes he can cope with it. And what he
was originally “worrying about” is not even close to the construct of
worst scenario. “I can deal with this,” is his music to his ears.
When All-Star shortstop Walt Weiss was interviewed some time
ago, he spoke about a time he and I applied the process, in the early
’90s. Weiss was injured at the time, and he thought Oakland’s
management was losing its patience as they waited for him to
recover. “I was really getting depressed,” Weiss told the interviewer.
“I mean, I hadn’t played for close to a year. Harvey simply said to
me, ‘Okay, what’s the worst case scenario here? What’s the worst
that can happen?’ ...He got me thinking not just about baseball, but
about my life in general. He gave me the bigger picture, the larger
view... And once I did start to put things into proper perspective, I
found that I could cope a lot better with the ups-and-downs of my
career.”
What if a young pitcher is “taught” at an early age that he is an
inspiration to others? Isn’t that a positive, a jump-start for a
wonderful self-image? Well, it may not be all that wonderful, from the
youngster’s perspective, if the burden of being an inspiration is “a
large object too close to his nose.”
Such was the case with Jim Abbott, who became a major league
pitcher despite having only one hand. Abbott made a comeback in
1998, after having taken a year off from the game. His earlier
performances had suffered, as had his perspective. He used the
time off to “move the large object.”
Abbott talked to Arizona Republic reporter, Paola Boivin, in
March, 1999. “I took the perception of me too seriously,” Abbott said
at the Milwaukee Brewers’ spring training site. “I felt that because I
had a bad year and was playing for a team [Anaheim] in the
community where I lived, I was embarrassed to go places.
“I thought that my record was my name. [See SELF-ESTEEM] I
thought when I walked into places, people would think... [negative
thoughts]. What you learn is that people don’t care that much. I had
created this unrealistic world, and I think as baseball players we tend
to do that.
“It’s fun being here, and I know it’s a choice for me. When you
look at it that way, then all the other stuff you used to complain about
doesn’t matter. I tell myself, I don’t have to be here. I want to be
here.’ I enjoy the competitiveness, and I look forward to pitching
instead of dreading it.”
A textbook unto itself. As Emerson wrote, “It is the eye that
makes the horizon.”
”... Baseball players tend to do that,” Jim Abbott has allowed.
Pitchers tend to do it most. If Mariano Rivera sees the baseball world
as one happy place, it is, in part, because he saw the unhappy
prospect of being a fisherman in the little village in which he grew up.
Will the game eventually change his perspective? If his perspective
changes, it will be because he changes it.
With that in mind, every pitcher should understand that his career
prospects for the future, a “big” game, an injury, a crucial situation,
an imposing hitter to face, all can block his vision of what is beyond
—which is—his life. He must know that the limits of his field of vision
are not the limits of his world.
Ironically, on the mound, the pitcher must limit his field of vision.
As noted, he has strategies available for doing just that. They help
him to execute his task without the distraction of such other concerns
as those mentioned above. On the mound, he narrows his world to
the next pitch he will deliver. “Nothing matters at that time but that
pitch,” I tell pitchers. That is his perspective of function. And he must
know he will be responsible for creating “threat” or “challenge,” as he
competes.
At his home, he must know there is a world beyond baseball. A
struggling player is interviewed on television. He has just become a
father. “It [the birth of his child] helps me have a better perspective.”
The same thought is expressed when a family member or teammate
develops a serious health problem—or dies. It would enhance his
perspective if he were able to recognize the boundary between
reality and perception without having to wait for dramatic events to
clarify it for him.
 That is the purpose of this rather lengthy presentation. To help
provide that clarity. To assist the pitcher in his coming to an
understanding that he is affected not by “things,” but of the view he
takes of them.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand what perspective is and how he has developed his.

∎ Understand that he can choose to alter his perspective to be
one grounded in reality, rather than in imagination.
∎ Employ the “catastrophizing” technique, when burdened by a
troubling perspective as a “person,” thereby understanding that
he has the ability to cope with “worst scenario” possibilities.
∎ Recognize the unlikelihood of these possibilities becoming
realities.
∎ Employ the mental strategies of a pitcher, when competing.
[See CONCENTRATION, GATHERING, POSITIVISM, SELF-
TALK, etc.]

∎ POISE
Hemingway called it “grace under pressure.” Writer Paul Theroux
used a term that is a favorite of mine: “Un-get-at-able.” As in the
dugout expression, “You can’t get to this guy.” Poise is their subject.
A pitcher who has poise is able to maintain his composure during
“times that will try his soul.” That is not to say he will not entertain
some distracting internal responses. But he will not externalize them.
He will “keep his powder dry.” Two-time Cy Young Award winner Tom
Glavine comes immediately to mind. His demeanor is impeccable.
No observer knows what he is thinking or feeling, and that is the way
it should be. He is methodical and consistent in his behavior on the
mound. He will not let anyone “see him sweat.” Peter Gammons
described Glavine’s mound behavior to me, with pride in his eye and
tone, as “good old New England stoicism.”
But poise is more than outward appearance, though that is
important enough. [See BODY LANGUAGE] The Vikings believed
that no good purpose could be found for showing fear. Such display,
they felt would signify to observers that they had lost their
independence—freedom. A pitcher’s display reveals himself, and the
loss of self-control. A pitcher who has “total” poise has the ability to
control his emotions, his thinking, and his behavior. His is a serenity
of mind over chaos.
Many pitchers have “partial” poise. When speaking of Tom
Glavine, I refer to what observers may see. He is not a “stalker” on
the mound. His serenity is total, insofar as the observer can tell. Yet
other pitchers may stomp around the mound when matters seem to
become “unglued.” As long as the pitcher does not come unglued,
the situation can be dealt with effectively. By that I mean, the
proverbial “bottom line” is how the pitcher behaves as he executes
the next pitch. Glavine exemplifies “total” poise. His performance
seems to be effortless.
His teammate, John Smoltz, is an example of “partial” poise.
Smoltz can be seen making facial expressions or body suggestions,
but he seems to regain his composure—his poise—quickly, before
delivering the next pitch. That is what truly matters.
The danger for young pitchers is to believe that regaining poise
during competition is easy to do. For a pitcher who habitually
expresses his emotions on the mound, the likelihood of getting it
back is less. For some, it is easier to maintain poise than regain it.
Often, a pitcher who “loses it” does not get it back until he is in the
shower. Having lost his poise, he lost his self-control—to the extent
that he could not have “his wits about him” and gather himself. “I just
flat-out forgot everything I had to do to fix myself,” I have been told,
by a pitcher who showered early.
Such a statement as the one above, indicates one of the mental
skills that can be lost in the heat of the moment. Panic, anger, or
frustration can result in loss of “memory.” Those emotions can also
produce vague or distorted messages in the brain. The pitcher’s
judgment suffers as well (“I’m going to unload this pitch as hard as I
can”). Doubt and indecisiveness result. [See SELECTION] Irrelevant
and distracting thoughts gain control.
Physical effects also result from loss of control. Breathing is
adversely affected (I have seen pitchers hyperventilate on the
mound). Muscular tightness inhibits proper blood flow. Range of
motion is reduced and the arm becomes less “free.” The ability to
focus on the target is reduced or eliminated.
The loss of poise has a ripple effect. A pitcher should always
strive to have an internal peace, in spite of adverse or chaotic
conditions outside him. [See ADVERSITY] The poem, “If,” by
Rudyard Kipling lists the conditions for manhood, as delivered by a
father to his son. The first condition reads: “If you can keep your
head when all about you are losing theirs...” The last line, after all the
other conditions have been stated, is: “And...(then) you’ll be a Man,
my son!”
Poise helps make the man.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that poise is an indicator of self-control.

∎ Understand that body language indicates attitude, and attitude,
at such times, will dictate behavior.
∎ Be aware of the mental and physical effects of loss of poise.
∎ Remember to gather himself and his thoughts when conditions
begin to affect him adversely.
∎ Work diligently at harnessing emotional responses to external
events. [See DISCIPLINE]

∎ POSITIVISM
The term “positivism” is not meant to be applied as a doctrine
referred to in philosophy books. Rather, it is a reference, in these
pages, to a thinking “skill” that is a countervailing force to
“negativism.”
Nor is “positivism” a synonym for “optimism,” which is a tendency
to expect that “everything will work out for the best.” For a pitcher,
positivism is the utilization of appropriate thinking patterns—task-
oriented directives, stated in positive language. “What to do and how
to do it.” The “best” may not result, but the pitcher will be “at his
best.” He will deliver his pitch effectively (plan, focus, execution,
response) by employing positive self-coaching techniques. [See
SELF-TALK]
If a pitcher is not predisposed to speak in positive terms, he must
learn to do so, acquiring the behavior as a skill is acquired. It is bad
enough that negative language reflects an unwholesome attitude.
Worse is the fact that the negative thoughts a pitcher may have,
expressed silently or aloud, are translated into negative approaches.
A pitcher, in telling himself what not to do, focuses his attention on
just that—and increases the likelihood of the very behavior he
wishes to avoid. Positive directives provide a pitcher with a focus on
what he should do.
If I did not know how to properly drive a nail into a piece of wood,
and I wanted to learn how to be a carpenter, I’d seek out a carpenter,
someone who knew how to do what I wished to do.
“Let me see what you’ve got. Here’s a hammer and nail; there’s
the wood. Drive the nail into the wood,” he might have said to me.
Despite my not really knowing how to go about the task, I gave it my
best attempt. The nail went in sideways and bent, because of my
inept attempt at driving it. “Good grief!” the carpenter exclaimed.
“You can’t do it that way. Don’t bend the darn thing; don’t swing the
hammer sideways; don’t come down with it from so far away. Can’t
you do it right?”
He did not tell me how to accomplish that. He knew how to do the
task, but he couldn’t teach me how to do it. He certainly told me what
I shouldn’t do.
I sought out another carpenter. The nail looked the same after I
demonstrated my lack of skill to this fellow. “OK,” he responded. “Let
me show you what to do. To begin with, you held the nail at an angle;
hold it straight up and down. Good. Now, keep your hammer stroke
short and come right down over the nailhead. You hit too rapidly and
lost control of your stroke the first time. You want to use short,
deliberate swings over the top. There you go.”
It would take a while for me to become a master carpenter, but I
would know what kind of teacher I needed. A “positivist.” One who
would teach me what to do and how to do it.
If it is true, as I will say to a pitcher, that he is the most important
coach he will ever have, the need for him to be positive in his
coaching should be obvious. If a pitching coach tells him all the right
things in all the right ways, but the pitcher translates it into negative
terms, the coach has been of no use. Conversely, if a pitching coach
is not skillful at presenting his messages appropriately, but the
pitcher converts what he needs into positive language, all will be well
that ends well. Every external message must run through the
pitcher’s mental filter. If he does not have a filter, problems are very
likely to result. If he himself provides the contaminated internal
message, problems are assured. He must be an exemplary self-
coach for his pitching self.
The battle to express all thoughts in a positive way must be
fought—if it needs fighting. The first campaign is to employ general
language such as: “I will—; “I’ll find a way—; “I’ll adjust.” Rather than,
“I can’t”; “I’d better not...”; “I hope.” A pitcher who tries to “find a way”
looks for a positive strategy, rather than saying, “It can’t be done.”
The pitcher who employs positive language is a seeking excellence.
A pitcher who speaks in negative terms is seeking an escape from
failure. One pitcher is likely to find what he is seeking; the other is
likely to be found by what he is fleeing from.
A pitcher grows by what he feeds on. Positive language allows
him healthy growth. He affirms himself, rather than degrading
himself. He examines possibilities, rather than pronouncing
impossibilities. He seeks ways to improve himself, rather than
seeking ways to judge others poorly. He is grounded in reality, rather
than floating in imaginative thinking (“If only ...”). He expects the
best, rather than being certain of the worst. He looks for solutions,
rather than wallowing in problems.
The development of appropriate behavior is a process. It takes
longer to habituate desired behavior than it does to determine the
behaviors. To say, “OK, I’m going to speak in positive terms as much
as I possibly can,” is a simple enough plan. The execution is the
challenge. Someone once said that his greatest inspiration was the
challenge to attempt the impossible. My inspiration is to declare this
challenge difficult, but very possible.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 Understand that to be a positive thinker is to think of what to do
∎ and how to do it, rather than thinking everything will work out to
his satisfaction.
∎ Understand that the best coach/teacher instructs by revealing
and reinforcing strategies that help the pitcher/learner to
accomplish his task.
∎ Recognize the importance of self-coaching. [See COACHING
SELF]
∎ Accept the responsibility of coaching himself in a positive,
constructive manner.
∎ Listen to himself thinking and speaking, in order to monitor his
language, then converting negative thoughts and verbalizations
and reinforcing positive ones.
∎ Be persistent in the pursuit of positivism in thought and
expression.

∎ PREPARATION [See APPENDIX A]

The instinct of highly successful pitchers runs parallel to all
research—and with the view held by Boy Scouts: be prepared.
Research shows that confidence and self-belief are greatly
enhanced “when systematic plans are developed and employed.”
While researching the topic of preparation for The Mental Game
of Baseball, I spoke with Tom Seaver about the game’s persistent
“chicken-and-egg question.” Which comes first, confidence or
success? The best resolution, it would seem, is indicated by the
research referred to above. A pitcher has his own preparation within
his complete control. The most he can do for himself is to prepare
himself optimally. His preparation can be definable and clear-cut.
“Confidence” and “success” are abstract terms, always open to
discussion and debate. He should not have to debate with himself—
or anyone else—about whether or not he is “ready” to pitch.
I have already mentioned that the two words I hear most from
players are, “I know.” Players are, for the most part, aware of what is
required in order for them to be effective. They also know that a gap
often exists between their knowledge and their behavior. There are
pitchers who usually do what is necessary; others often do what is
necessary; some rarely do... Those who never do what is necessary
are not around long enough to be otherwise convinced.
Excellent athletes always do what is necessary, meaning they
behave in ways that will enhance their performance, rather than
detract from it. Their consistency is the lock on their performance.
Preparation is the key to that lock.
Pitchers who wish to be consistent must make a commitment.
First, they should formulate goals, which will help them determine
what it is they need to work at. Then they should develop a program
of routine, which will allow them to habituate behaviors, so that these
behaviors will become “second nature” to them. Learned instincts.
They then must have the mental discipline and stamina to follow
these routines, irrespective of how they may be “feeling” at a given
moment or on a given day.
The story that will always stick out in my mind was presented in
The Mental Game of Baseball. It deserves repeating—summarizing,
at least. Because of poor weather conditions on a particular day in
Montreal, Tom Seaver was forced to miss his regular opportunity to
pitch. Circumstances dictated that he would miss his start. His
regular routine would be affected.
The New York Mets’ flight back from Montreal that night arrived in
New York after midnight. Seaver drove to Shea stadium, changed his
clothes, got a security guard to turn on a light in the bullpen, set up a
screen for himself behind the plate, got a bucket of balls—and, at
one o’clock in the morning, prepared for his next outing. He got his
throwing in.
A goal, commitment, mental discipline, routine. Seaver would not
be denied his preparation.
A pitcher’s preparation should become all the good and
appropriate habits he has on and off the field. [See HABITS] His
eating, sleeping, and conditioning habits should come as a result of
a plan put into action. If they are habits of default, they will be habits
of failure. Sloppy thinking is not the characteristic of successful
pitchers. Preparedness developed through positive and determined
thinking succeeds and endures.
 Preparation related to performance is required during the
performance itself—with each pitch—before the performance and
between performances. (The “after” and “until.”)
A pitcher should develop a reliable sleeping schedule. For
example, a starting pitcher knows he will be pitching on certain days,
and he can determine a plan for the nights between his
performances. He mayor may not make a distinction between the
night before his start and the other nights. But whatever he decides,
it will be his plan. It can be adjusted according to its effectiveness—
and according to unforeseen and uncontrollable circumstance. (He
should not be obsessive about any plan he cannot completely
control.)
A relief pitcher must develop a pattern appropriate to his role. He
should presume he will be called on to pitch each day and form an
appropriate sleeping plan, based on this presumption.
Part of a pitcher’s preparation may be affected by the social
demands of others—including teammates. Another presumption is
that the pitcher knows what is best for him—better than others do.
He should act upon what he knows. Commitment and self-discipline
are required. So, too, is courage. Not everyone can easily say, “No.”
The pitcher must decide what is most beneficial to him and make a
choice based on that understanding.
Conditioning is part of preparation. A pitcher should, in accord
with the weight trainer and medical trainer, establish a regimen that
works for him as a pitcher, not as a professional wrestler.
In the clubhouse, a pitcher should have a routine. Snacking,
reading, doing crossword puzzles, chatting with teammates, putting
on headphones, and the like. This is especially important for starting
pitchers on game days. He should have his “readying place” and his
“readying procedure.” He can choose to be somewhat sociable or
entirely reclusive. Whatever works well for him. [See AROUSAL]
As the time nears for a starting pitcher to go out to stretch and
warm up, he should be in his “quiet place” (if he is not there already)
and internalize all the mental keys he uses. He may go over the
opposition’s lineup in his mind. He may give himself reminders,
based on possible mental deficiencies in his last performance and/or
whatever else merits review. [See VISUALIZATION]
 The bullpen is a preparation, not an indicator. The pitcher gets
loose, works on execution of his pitches, reviews mechanical keys—
and uses his last few pitches to establish “game focus.” He leaves
the bullpen with the thought of being aggressive, under control, and
determined. He does not deliver messages such as, “My stuff stinks
today,” or “I’m unhittable.” Both are irrelevant and/or absurd. “Attack
the strike zone,” or “Establish the count,” or “Force contact,” are
more constructive thoughts, to put it mildly.
Enough has already been written about on-the-mound thinking
and behavior. Positive, task-oriented thinking; narrow and sustained
focus; aggressive, controlled actions; poise; the ability to “regroup”
through self-coaching—all prepare a pitcher for his next pitch.
Closers at the major league level have their own unique way of
preparing. Though their individual procedures are not likely to be
applicable to the situation of the reader, one note should be struck.
When Trevor Hoffman of the San Diego Padres was asked how a
closer should prepare for a game, he answered simply, “By having
the same routine every night.” Some come out from the clubhouse
into the dugout after four innings, then go to the bullpen in the
seventh. Others have different times for their appearance in different
places. Some have a certain kind of rubdown. Others do not want a
rub. But they are all consistent in their routines.
“It’s not superstition,” explained Hoffman. “The discipline helps
me to focus. My father got across to me early the importance of
approaching a task with an idea and discipline...”
Curt Schilling is an acknowledged “battler.” But he also takes
great pride in his preparation. He credits a conversation he had with
Nolan Ryan for clarifying that need. Schilling recalled, “(Ryan) said
there are things I can and can’t do on days I pitch. He said I can’t
control the weather, the umpires or the emotional state of the other
team. But I can control one thing. I can be better prepared than the
hitters I face that day.”
Preparation is his getting ready for battle. The military purpose is
to have an advantage over a warring opposition. The baseball
purpose is to have the pitcher perform at his best. Still, to compete is
to battle [See WARRIOR], so I succumb to the temptation of
employing a military metaphor. “The more you sweat in peace, the
less you bleed in war.”
Be ready.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that appropriate preparation will help him be a

more confident and effective performer.
∎ Understand that a major ingredient of his preparation is
consistency.
∎ Establish away-from-field, off-field, and on-field routines,
making behavior compatible with circumstance.
∎ Prepare mentally by reiterating all the keys he previously
developed, according to need and time.

∎ PRESSURE
Important, critical, extremely significant, essential, imperative,
must game, must pitch...Shakespeare’s “the be all and the end all.”
These are words used to describe a situation.
Must, have to, got to, need to, expected to, had better...These are
words used to describe an attitude. An attitude held by a person who
interprets a situation to be as described above.
Words of pressure; words of weight.
In a psychology class I was teaching, the subject of “pressure”
(and stress)—because of problems real and imagined—was to be
discussed. I brought a big, tin, empty linseed oil can into class the
day the topic was to be treated. And an air pump. At the beginning of
the class, I gave a demonstration. First, I took the cap off the
opening of the can and put a rubber stopper into it. Then, the thin
hose from the air pump was inserted into a hole in the stopper. The
pump was to be used to extract air from the can.
Slowly I pumped the air out of the can. A crackling noise began to
sound as the can’s shape gradually changed. The sides were
collapsing. I pumped faster; the noise became more pronounced and
the can collapsed and shriveled. When I stopped, the can’s shape
was completely distorted.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It collapsed because of the air pressure outside,” came an
answer.
“It folded because there was nothing left inside,” I responded.
Prior to the demonstration, we had noted that air applies 15
pounds of pressure per square inch on every surface. The pressure
put on the can’s external surface was 15 pounds per square inch.
The pressure inside the can had been the same—until I sucked the
air out of the can. Because there was no longer any air inside, to
“combat” the pressure from the the air outside, the can “folded.”
“The same physical principal applies to us,” I said to the students.
“We have air inside us that keeps our bodies intact. Our psyches
follow the same principle. The ‘pressing’ problems or issues we have
all can create ‘pressure.’ But these issues won’t ‘dent’ us or ‘buckle’
us if we have what it takes to stay whole. It takes coping
mechanisms. The can’s internal force is air; our internal
psychological force is whatever coping mechanisms we have,” I said.
Though oversimplified, the point seemed clear to them.
Part of the oversimplification is that “pressure” is a perception.
What pitcher A perceives as a threatening situation, pitcher B sees
as an exciting challenge. This point has been made often. So, when
Orel Hershiser signed with the New York Mets in March ’99, he said
of playing in New York, “I love the pressure...” Well, is it “pressure”
then? That point is moot. What matters more is that different pitchers
interpret the same environment and circumstance differently. I know
pitchers who “buckled” in New York. (I refuse to say New York
“buckled” them.) And I know pitchers who have thrived there. A
person’s reality is what he believes it to be. (Karl Wallenda once
said, “Being on a tightrope is living; everything else is waiting.”)
Still, if the environment truly presents difficult situations that must
be dealt with, a pitcher who has “the right stuff” will survive at least,
and thrive, at best, in spite of the whatever external problems exist.
He will cope. He will manage himself and, to that extent, “manage”
his environment. He will not control the externals, but he will control
the internals—thereby applying equal pressure from within. He will
not cave in.
I am certainly not cavalier about the various issues pitchers must
face—many presented by particular factors of environment or
circumstance. But I have heard too many people pay too much
attention to too many problems, rather than paying attention to
possible solutions. The “problem” of pressure is just one more
misdirected focus. “How can we deal with it?” That is the question I
ask pitchers on a regular basis (after we determine that the issue is
real, rather than imagined).
What a pitcher is forced to deal with is an internalization that
inhibits his ability to relax, to enjoy what he does and to do it well.
Crucial games, important performances, “must” pitches—all the
descriptive terms noted in the very first paragraph above—lead to
the responses in the second paragraph. [See URGENCY] By
defining his world thusly, he creates his “monster.” By dwelling on his
creation, he feeds it. By confronting it, he will have a chance to
starve it.
“Baseball is not pressure,” Sammy Sosa has said. “Pressure is
when you’re seven years old and, and you don’t have food to eat. So
when you’ve come from nowhere and have all that I have now, I
sleep like a baby every night.” [See PERSPECTIVE] Nevertheless, if
someone else has decided baseball is pressure ...
Veteran outfielder Paul O’Neill has been known for being very
hard on himself throughout his career. In 1984, O’Neill played for the
Vermont Reds, Cincinnati’s Double-A team. At the time, I was doing
a newspaper feature—about “pressure.” O’Neill told me, “I feel
pressure on me when I go 0-for-5. Sure it affects me... The eight-
hour bus rides you take in the minor leagues keep you thinking about
it. It adds to the pressure. I need time with other things, other
interests, to relieve the tension. It isn’t easy.”
“The rides...keep you,” “It adds to...” Pressure given life by a bus
ride. Or by O’Neill himself? It is the human tendency to give pressure
life without understanding the life-giving process. Pitchers, again,
must develop more enlightened tendencies if they wish to be
exceptional. O’Neill apparently did.
 Entire teams can be affected. I have seen it firsthand. [See JOY]
So has Detroit pitcher Jason Thompson who, in September ’98, with
his team at the bottom of the American League standings, saw
young players “feeling the pressure of all the losses.” Said
Thompson, “It’s just really weighing on everybody. You can see it in
the way everybody’s playing. It’s just been real tough. You’ve seen
things you normally wouldn’t see. I think we’re all starting to think
about it too much. We just need to go out there and play.”
Easier said than coped with.
I am adamant about this point: players put pressure on
themselves. The reader has heard many athletes express this exact
viewpoint. Yet, privately, the very athlete who will make such a public
pronouncement can express his resentment of the circumstances
that, as one pitcher described to me, “...always seem to rock my
house.” A building without solid footings will tend to rock. [See
RESPONSIBILITY]
The pitchers with the greatest sense of responsibility consistently
come at difficult situations with the understanding that what they
think is the countervailing force to “what’s out there” to be faced. The
pitchers with the best mental discipline face it best—and best cope
with matters they cannot control.
Everyone will feel “the pressure.” My first concern is that the
pitcher properly identifies its source. Himself. Then, feeling it during
competition, my concern is to help him cope with the feeling
effectively, by transferring his thoughts to function—to executing a
pitch. That is always the bottom line. And it is most often the solution
—if the pitcher can help himself to reach it. The focus is on the
pitcher and what he does for himself, rather than the circumstance
and what it is doing to him.
The linseed oil can has the air taken out of it; a pitcher allows it to
be removed. He gives it up. The can has no say in the matter; the
pitcher has all there is to say. He has the responsibility of giving
himself the right messages. [See POSITIVISM] He must develop the
capacity for being mentally strong. [See COURAGE]

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 Understand the perceptions and language that encourage the
∎ creation of pressure and help to prolong the feeling.
∎ Take the responsibility for having created whatever pressure
exists, and the further responsibility of coping with it effectively.
∎ Develop coping mechanisms away from the field, such as
alternative thinking processes and alternative activities.
∎ During competition, separate himself from the rubber/mound,
when feeling the pressure of a situation—breathe deeply, relax
his muscles by moving shoulders and arms, concentrate his
focus on the rosin bag (for example)—and then articulate his
task-oriented key, before stepping back on the rubber.
∎ [See PERSPECTIVE]—again.
∎ QUITTING
My belief that “giving in” and “giving up” are distinctly different
behaviors has already been expressed. [See GIVING IN] “Giving in”
is deferring, I said. “Giving up” is surrender. Quitting.
While neither behavior is acceptable for a competitive athlete,
quitting, in my view, marks and scars a pitcher, who most visibly
enacts behavior on the “stage” in the middle of the baseball field.
A pitcher accurately identified as a “quitter” might just as well
wear a scarlet “Q” on his uniform. His will be a lonely baseball
existence. It is to be avoided. It can be avoided—with forewarning
and the pitcher’s determination to be a competitor, rather than a
“caver.”
Earlier in the book, I made reference to a pitcher who gave in to a
circumstance in a game by “trying to strike everyone out.” He was
trying, albeit ineffectually; “giving up” is not trying at all. It is the
“letting go” poet Emily Dickinson referred to. The release from a fight
for life.
In the pitcher’s case, it is a letting go of responsibility,
competitiveness, dignity, and self-respect. On the mound, it is a
release and a relief. A linseed-oil-can-like collapse. Nothing within.
Thomas Tutko, an early and important influence in the field of
sport psychology, felt that “it is in the very nature of a player not to
participate when all is lost, not to put out totally.” If this view is
accepted, the question remains, “When does a pitcher concede that
‘all is lost’?” Answer: For the pitcher, not until he’s en route to the
shower. For the rest of the team, not until the game is over.
Baseball, by its nature, teaches players and spectators alike that
all is not lost until the last out is recorded. As previously noted—
strongly noted, I hope—baseball has no clock. Still, a pitcher’s
nature may lead him to the conclusion that all is lost for him. Giving
up early runs may weaken his resolve. It should not. But it
sometimes does, because at a lower level of consciousness, he may
dramatically reduce his competitiveness to protect his ego against
the great disappointment that comes with what he perceives to be a
failed outing.
Having given up those early runs, let us say, the pitcher sees less
significance in his performance—in the game itself. Many of us have
seen it happen. I have spent much time altering a perception based
on two runs given up in the first inning. “Hold them there, and we’ll
win the game,” is a frequently used provocation. Perhaps we won
the game; perhaps we did not. The issue is how the pitcher
competed. Or stopped competing.
The pitcher’s ego, if he quits, is readying itself for the pain of
perceived failure. Science tells us that this is done to reduce that
pain of that failure. In other words, the ego protects itself by saying,
“This isn’t really important to me.” The message allows the pitcher’s
body to shut off intensity, to stop “caring”—to shut down output.
Hence, the disgusted comment may be heard in the dugout: “He’s
not putting out any effort at all.”
To battle, to fight the fight, would be to fight the relief the ego now
seeks. It would be to say that the game still matters. Such a self-
statement would result in the ego feeling the pain and anguish that
comes with what is, after all, a failure. Basic psychology. A pitcher’s
ego encourages him to quit in order to protect itself in the short term.
This is a very “normal”—ordinary—pitcher. But what his ego
gains in the short term, becomes a loss in the long-term. Excellent
pitchers understand both the focus of the moment (short-term) and
the perspective of time (long-term). Extraordinary competitors [See
WARRIORS] behave accordingly. They prepare their egos to “take
the hurt.”
I am pleased to have the acquaintance of many pitchers who
would sooner “eat their egos for lunch” than allow them to be
gratified by quitting.
Many players have told me what is now commonly expressed in
the world of sport. “The agony of losing is greater than the ecstasy of
winning.” This is exactly because of what psychology confirms.
Players who do not quit hurt more, because they invest more. They
are proud of their investment—and it pays off in a significant way. It
reinforces behavior, irrespective of outcome. It is the mental
toughness every competitor is proud to call his own. He trains his
ego, whether he knows psychology or not, to be pained by poor
effort. That is the competitor’s pride. Never giving in—never giving
up.
Every pitcher must know what can happen to a person when
expectation meets disappointment. At that line, he will fight many
battles. He should fortify himself. First, with perspective. [See
PERSPECTIVE] It is not a quality, as courage is, but it allows a
young pitcher, especially, to prepare himself in a philosophical way,
at least, for occasional failure in the game—and more frequent
frustration.
Whether he prefers to listen to James Brown, or Aretha Franklin,
or Frank Sinatra, he might wish to listen to a rendition of “That’s
Life.” Food for thought. When at his or her best in the lyric, the singer
declares:

“... Each time I find myself flat on my face,

I pick myself up and get back in the race...

“...I thought of quittin,’ but my heart wouldn’t buy it.”

On November 10, 1998, one of my favorite pitchers died. As a

boy, I was fortunate enough to see lefthander Hal Newhouser when
he pitched in Yankee Stadium. He won consecutive MVP’s in the
American League in 1944 and 1945, when I was nine and ten years
old. I was old enough to admire his tenacity. I was attentive enough
to know his record: 29-9 in ’44; 25-9 in ’45. (He was 26-9 in ’46.)
In the obituary that appeared in The New York Times, one of
Newhouser’s former catchers, Joe Ginsberg, was quoted. “You
couldn’t get the ball away from him—he hated to be pulled from a
game.”
Newhouser himself once said, “I remember one game when I
pitched in Yankee Stadium and gave up five runs in the first inning. It
would have been easy to quit, but I shut ’em out the rest of the way
and we came back and won the game.”
Newhouser, who was elected to the Hall of Fame, is the only
pitcher to win two consecutive MVP’s. (Not many pitchers win one
these days.) When asked his philosophy, Newhouser replied, “Never
give up and never give in.” Admirable. Exemplary.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that, during competition, athletes can sometimes

believe—incorrectly—that “all is lost.”
∎ Be aware of his own tendencies in this regard.
∎ Understand that quitting reinforces a sense of incompetence or
inadequacy in the long term, whereas relentless competing
produces the opposite.
∎ Adopt a philosophy that “all is never lost” while competing in a
baseball game.
∎ Train his ego to be rewarded by effort and persistence, rather
than results.
∎ Compete until the ball is taken from him.
∎ Be prepared for the times when performance expectation
meets disappointment.
∎ Value impeccable behavior through mental discipline at such
times.
∎ Evaluate his responses to adversity and disappointment on a
regular basis, making appropriate adjustments as required.
∎ Battle always. [See RELENTLESSNESS]
∎ RELAXATION [See APPENDIX A]
The setting was Medford, Oregon, an hour or so before the
opening game of the season in the Northwest Rookie League. I was
leaning on the dugout railing, watching the opposing team taking
infield. A young pitcher came over to me, joining me at the rail.
“I can’t relax,” he said to me. “Do you have any relaxation
techniques you can give me?”
“Sure,” I answered. “But tell me, why aren’t you able to relax?”
He gestured toward the opposing team’s players. “Those guys are
pros,” he said.
I turned toward him and pulled at his uniform jersey. “So are you,”
I said. “And those are the guys whose butts you kicked in the Little
[College] World Series.”
He looked at me in dropped-jawed amazement, the possessor of
a newly discovered perspective.
Perspective. A must, if a pitcher is to be able to perform in a
consistently relaxed state.
Every pitcher performs more effectively when he is relaxed. His
perspective suffers when he has anxieties or fears about
consequences. His muscles also suffer as a result. One of my
standard “lines” to a tense and anxious pitcher is, “You know, your
muscles convene every night, have a beer, and share this thought
with each other: ‘If this guy would only trust us and leave us alone,
we’d be fine.’” I get no argument from the pitcher.
A pitcher cannot function effectively in an overstimulated or
excited state. [See AROUSAL] He needs to get back to what is called
homeostasis—a state of physiological equilibrium. [See BALANCE]
The pitcher with perspective and poise is able to maintain his
equilibrium. He controls his tension level, thus avoiding a pervading
feeling of apprehension.
When tension does exist, the pitcher must learn to release himself
from it through deep breathing and self-coaching during competition.
It is important for the pitcher to relax the antagonistic muscles in order
for his delivery to be sound and fluid. “Free and easy.”
Away from the field, he can work with a variety of techniques. But
first, the pitcher should understand the internal forces that cause
whatever anxious state may exist. He should build a solid foundation
of reason and controlled behavior, rather than emotion and dreaded
consequence. [See CONTROL and RESULTS] As was the case with
the young pitcher discussed above, a distorted view of circumstance
is a problem; anxiety is a symptom. Solve the problem and the
symptom disappears.
More than 30 million “unrelaxed” people have high blood
pressure, resulting in an inability to function at an optimum level at
their job. More than 25 million work days are lost each year. And
these workers do not have to stand on a mound and perform in front
of thousands—millions, if television audiences are included—each
day. A pitcher, who does his “work” in full public view, can find it
helpful to have a few relaxation techniques available to him.
The “skill” of decreasing the heart rate can be learned and
practiced in the privacy of a one’s room. The voluntary slowing of his
heart rate can be very beneficial to a pitcher who must face stress-
inducing game situations. Tension brings on muscle tightening, which
the pitcher is very often unaware of. Through what is called
progressive relaxation techniques, he can learn to relax these
tensions.
A muscle group is first tensed, then relaxed. Doing this allows the
pitcher to develop an awareness of his muscle tensions and
distinguish those tensions from a relaxed muscle state. The
“progressive” aspect of the exercise is achieved by following the
same procedure from one muscle group to another.
An example of technique: the pitcher should sit comfortably in a
chair and relax himself as much as possible. After having achieved
that relaxed state, he should close his fist, clenching it tight, then
tighter, until he can feel the muscle tension in his hand and arm. After
maintaining tension for a few moments, he should relax the hand,
opening the fist and moving the fingers to make them “free and easy”
again. He should repeat the process, doing the same with his other
hand and arm.
This exercise can be done with facial and neck muscles, chest
and stomach muscles, back muscles, hip and leg muscles.
Eventually, the whole body can be “worked” this way. The duration of
each exercise should be approximately five minutes.
When the pitcher has learned how to relax his muscles, he will be
better able to release his body tensions during performance. This can
be done during his gathering, off the mound. He should move his
head and shoulders, stretch his body slowly by bending and/or
moving side to side. He should employ positive, calming self-talk—
and breathe deeply.
Deep breathing patterns during competition will be enhanced by
exercises incorporated during progressive relaxation exercises. In his
chair, the pitcher can work on specific breathing exercises, inhaling
and exhaling regularly and slowly—counting from 1,000, eyes shut,
mind clear. (Especially good for inducing sleep at night.) He should
create a consistent breathing pattern on the mound, as part of his
pitching approach. [See BREATHING]
Legendary UCLA basketball coach John Wooden defines
happiness as “being at peace with yourself.” With self. Inner peace
despite outer turmoil. Such a peaceful internal state will significantly
increase a pitcher’s ability to relax, which, in turn, will signal his
muscles. All systems will then be in an “easy go” mode—an optimal
kinetic state for performance. A reasoned perspective will encourage
the muscles to “do their thing” with naturalness and ease. Happiness.
Should unhappiness set in, the pitcher should use the acquired
techniques to relieve tension and relax his muscles.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 ∎ Understand that tension is a symptom, not a problem.
∎ Recognize the source of tension and address it with objectivity.
∎ Develop a point of view based on reason, rather than emotion,
and therefore conducive to relaxation.
∎ Monitor and adjust pre-game arousal in order to keep his kinetic
system in a relaxed state.
∎ Learn and apply off-field progressive relaxation exercises and
teach himself body awareness, in order to be able to relax and
control his muscles.
∎ During competition, separate himself from the source of stress
by getting off the mound and stretching slowly, employing self-
talk and breathing deeply.
∎ Talk out loud while coaching himself, using a slow, deliberate,
and calming tone.
∎ Concentrate for a few seconds on an outfield sign or the rosin
bag, moving focus away from stressor.
∎ Get focus back to task (“Nice and easy; good, low strike here”).
∎ Get back on rubber, concentrating only on pitch selection,
location and the target. [See RUBBER]

∎ RELENTLESSNESS
Relentlessness is the antithesis of quitting. It is an aggressive,
persistent, attack-mode attitude. It defines a warrior. [See WARRIOR]
The relentless pitcher gives himself intensely, entirely, and constantly
to competition.
“Paralyze resistance with persistence,” Ohio State football coach
Woody Hayes used to say. The relentless pitcher works consistently
to do just that, offering an internal persistence to his opponent. He
has “left nothing out there,” after his performance. He is fully
extended. Spent. He may be beaten, but he will never surrender. His
ego is rewarded by this unyielding behavior. [See QUITTING]
A relentless attitude combats distractions, such as minor pain,
fatigue, weather conditions—the score. [See RESULTS] “When you
can’t pitch with your arm, you go with your heart,” said Yankees
pitcher Orlando Hernandez. (His manager, Joe Torre, once claimed
he “had to pry his glove open and take the ball out myself,” when
removing Hernandez from a game.)
Pitchers with severe flu symptoms, for example, have pitched
effectively and been in a state of virtual collapse—after the
performance. Their sympathetic nervous system gave them as much
as they demanded of it. Those who make no demands, get little in
return. Bob Gibson made demands. He was able to pitch with a
broken leg.
“You just pitch,” Greg Maddux explained to a reporter who noted
that his team had “supported” him with only two hits in the game. “You
don’t worry if you’re up ten runs or down ten runs. You just make
pitches. Regardless of the situation, you just have to get guys out. So
who cares what the situation is?”
On one occasion before a game a couple of years ago, Maddux,
in thinking about the relentless execution of pitch by pitch, said to me,
“It’s scary. Nothing else matters. I’ve learned that if I let down, it can
all turn around in a heartbeat.” He does not let down.
Steffi Graf has had a reputation of being a relentless competitor
on the tennis court. Monica Seles described Graf’s approach with
admiration. “Steffi will never give you a free point, even when it’s 5-0,
40-10ve.”
Never giving a “free pitch.” That is what Maddux was talking
about. Irrespective of score, of circumstance—of feelings. Keep
executing pitches. Keep competing. Keep bearing down. Stay
focused. Relentlessly.
All pitchers have the capacity; not all have the determination. [See
WILL]
I have seen pitchers who battled through adversity, working to
“find a way to get it done.” They appeared to be hanging on with
suction cups. Japanese players would describe such a quality as
gambate—working hard, never giving up.
Goethe wrote, “Ohne Haste, ober ohne Rast.” Without haste, but
also without rest. Under control; slowly but surely. Relentlessly.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

 ∎ Value the behavior of competing fully until the performance is
completed.
∎ Develop a philosophy that recognizes relentless behavior as its
own reward.
∎ Understand that execution should have nothing to do with score
or circumstance.
∎ Evaluate his behavior after each performance, setting as a goal
the relentless execution of pitches, irrespective of any internal
or external factors.
∎ Recognize that the development of any attitude is a process—
and continue to work diligently and consistently on the
development of a relentless attitude.

∎ RESPONSE
“Approach, result, response.” That is the sequence of the three
events that take place on the mound, I tell pitchers. It is actually a
cycle, these “events” being repeated throughout performance.

“Approach” has been discussed in previous pages. A pitcher’s

approach, remember, is entirely within his control. “Result” is yet to be
discussed. It is not within the pitcher’s control.
A pitcher’s response is pivotal. How he acts after the previous
“event”—the result of a delivered pitch, a batted ball, an umpire’s call,
a fielder’s error—will often dictate the quality of the pitcher’s next
approach. Meaning that if a pitcher’s response is a poor one—loss of
poise, loss of purpose, loss of focus—he is likely to take that
distraction into his next approach. That next pitch, therefore, will not
be executed with maximum effectiveness, to say the least. The
pitcher has complete control of his response. However, he may lose
control of his thoughts and behavior. If he forfeits them, he forfeits
whatever edge he hopes to establish as a competitor.
Every pitcher faces challenges to his makeup and attitude. When
all is going well, a pitcher may respond well with continued focus—or
poorly with a complacent loss of focus. [See COMPETITOR] When
he faces difficulty, a pitcher may respond with frustration, anger,
submission. Any response that is focused on the problem, rather than
the solution, will perpetrate that problem. [See ADVERSITY and
ADJUSTMENTS]
The relentlessness spoken of earlier is an attitude that must be
developed. It is the response a pitcher should demand of himself if he
wishes to be exceptional. The intellectual response to adversity, once
again, is simple enough. Three questions, asked off the mound.
“What was I trying to do?” “What went wrong?” What do I want to do
next time?”
In looking at those questions, the reader will see this: if a pitch is
well executed, nothing went wrong. That is the proper response. Of
course, the result might not have satisfied the pitcher. Stuff happens.
The pitcher must recognize that there is nothing he can do about it—
and deal with it by relentlessly executing the next pitch.
That is the only acceptable response. Courage, intelligence, and
mental discipline are required if a pitcher is to have consistently
appropriate responses during his performance.
If a pitcher should react to a result with an emotional response,
though not ideal, it is not necessarily harmful. On the condition that
he quickly purges himself of that emotion, and regains his composure
and focus before getting back on the pitching rubber. No negative
response should be brought there. Ever.
“So, if you have a good approach, and there is a bad result, then
you have a related bad response, what is likely to happen to your
next approach?” I will ask a pitcher rhetorically.
 “Bad,” I answer. “So the sequence will be: good approach, bad
result, bad response. Leading to a bad approach and, most likely,
another bad result. And down the drain the performance swirls.
“On the other hand, consider this sequence,” I say. “Good
approach, bad result, good response. What is the next approach
likely to be?
“Good. So we have an ongoing sequence in which the two things
a pitcher can control will always be good. That is all he can do to give
himself a chance to succeed. And those who are disciplined enough
to do that are very likely to be successful. That is the understanding
and trust every pitcher should have. [See CONTROL] Good results
will come, if approaches and responses are good.”
Every sensible person knows he will face situations he will either
take for granted or be troubled by. He understands that intellectually.
But in order to handle these situations well, he must have his
emotional responses under control. He must get his answers from his
rational system. “What do I want to do here?” That is his operative
question—his appropriate response.
Many, many years ago, Diogenes was asked why he begged
money from a statue. He replied, “I am practicing disappointment.” He
was working on his response.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that his response to any “event,” situation, or

circumstance is entirely within his control.
∎ Understand that a negative response during competition—
whether it be frustration, anger or any other distracting reaction
—will adversely affect his approach to the next pitch, if that
response is brought to the pitching rubber.
∎ Understand that disappointment is inevitable, and that the
manner in which he handles it will determine his level of
maturity, mental “toughness,” and efficacy as a pitcher.
∎ Respond to adversity by making adjustments that are within his
control through self-coaching, rather than self-pity.
∎ Disregard what he cannot control, i.e., results.
 ∎ Trust that a good approach and a good response will most often
bring about a good result.

∎ RESPONSIBILITY [See APPENDIX A]

In The Mental Game of Baseball, the subject of responsibility is
treated at length. The salient point made is that people are
responsible for their thoughts, their words, their deeds. They are
responsible for the choices they make. Pitchers have the choice to
learn or not learn, to be dedicated or disinterested—or lazy. To be
cooperative or not cooperative. To be rational or emotional;
disciplined or undisciplined; selfish or unselfish. Any attitude is a
choice. [See ATTITUDES]
In his book, Wind, Sand and Stars, Saint-Exupery wrote, “To be a
man is, precisely, to be responsible.” “Precisely.” So a pitcher who
would be “a man” would welcome responsibility, knowing that it
means being accountable for the good and the bad in him. But
knowing also that the accountability itself defines him first and
foremost.
The topic EXCUSES provides a common defense mechanism
athletes employ in order to avoid responsibility for negative
consequences. The behavior, according to those who share Saint-
Exupery’s view, is “unmanly.” Others see through it easily.
At this point, I would like to focus on still another aspect of
attribution, that avoids personal responsibility. It is very common, in
baseball particularly. I have always expressed my views to players
about the subject—and have tried, often without success, I’m sure, to
keep from being a constant irritant about it.
I recall Ambrose Bierce’s ironic entry in his book, The Devil’s
Dictionary: “Responsibility, n. A detachable burden easily shifted to
the shoulders of God, Fate, Fortune, Luck or one’s neighbor. In the
days of astrology it was customary to unload it upon a star.”
Many baseball players “unload” much of their responsibility on
superstition. They “unload” a trust in their talent through their reliance
on superstition. They lose a sense of control and self-determination.
They yield to forces—imagined, at that—outside of them. They forfeit
their freedom.
Superstitions, essentially, are fears in camouflage. A person who
lacks confidence will rely on ritual behavior, without which, he
believes, “luck” or forces will work against him, and with which, these
same forces will be appeased and work in his behalf.
Luck, chance, hazard—whatever one calls it—is at work out there
in the world, to be sure. But it is indifferent by nature and definition.
The player who personalizes these forces will fear them—and focus
on ways to avoid his victimization. So, he will act like a potential
victim, rather than a warrior. If he believes superstition to be weapon,
he is right. But, alas, it is a boomerang.
My major goal with players is to have them understand what they
are doing with their superstitions. A player who constantly curses or
blesses his “stars” has little chance of learning and making necessary
adjustments—or developing a great confidence in himself and his
talent. And there are many who do just that. It is clear to me that
superstitions can make a player “more comfortable,” a phrase they
often use. But I rail against players who put the responsibility of
outcome on a talisman, whether it be a jockstrap or tee shirt, or on
any ritualistic behavior. “Go ahead and do what you wish, if it makes
you feel better,” I’ll say (grudgingly) to a pitcher. “But after all is said
and done, take responsibility for your performance. Attribute what
happens to the way you execute pitches. Prepare yourself as a
competitor, rather than as someone trying to avoid disaster by
pleasing the false idols of baseball.”
It is easier to value freedom than to achieve it. It is easier to
understand responsibility than to enact it. A late 18th century poem
entitled “Nathan the Wise” (G.E. Lessing) said, “The superstition in
which we grew up, / Though we may recognize it, does not lose / Its
power over us.—Not all are free / Who mock their chains.”
More than awareness is required to get out of the chains.
Attaining excellence is an ordeal. The choice always remains: “to be
or not to be...?” Everyone has the responsibility to make that choice
and the freedom to make the attempt.
Someone once said, “Success is just a matter of luck. Ask any
failure.” It is not evident to “failures,” I presume, that the most diligent
and successful pitchers seem to be the “luckiest.” Mature pitchers
take responsibility for their behavior; the immature point to an
indifferent universe that they believe is orchestrating their
performance. Nothing paralyzes intelligence more than the deception
of excuses and superstition. And man’s desire to deceive himself can
be a powerful one indeed.
Yet, some deceptions can be well intentioned. Many pitchers take
more responsibility than they should—or are able to. Taking too much
responsibility, whether with bravado or exaggerated martyrdom, is
unrealistic and ineffective. It is enough of a “burden” to be responsible
for oneself, without taking on the entire pitching staff or team.
Common phrases heard from such pitchers are: “I let everybody
down.” “I feel like it’s all on my shoulders.” “I’m the go-to guy, and
they expect...” “I’ve gotta save the staff.” And so on.
These are the pitchers who, as Henry Adams said of J.P. Morgan,
try to “swallow the sun” when they perform. Their effort is beyond
efficacy. Their expression of responsibility beyond reason. [See
BALANCE and PERSPECTIVE]
Then there are the fellows who blame fate when things go against
them, but take credit for good results. It is a loftier form of
fingerpointing, aimed toward the sky, instead of at the shortstop who
booted a groundball in a key situation.
Greg Maddux was interviewed a few years ago, after a game in
which he lost a shutout over the Dodgers because of errors by
outfielders Ryan Klesko and Marquis Grissom. The interviewer was
sympathetic. Replied Maddux, “I just pitch, man. Seriously, I don’t
care if they make a diving play or have a groundball go through their
legs. I still have to pitch to the next guy. I mean, I hung a fastball to
Piazza. I hung a slider to Mondesi. I’ve got to look in the mirror first.”
When Kevin Brown came in to a 1998 NLCS game to pitch in
relief against the Atlanta Braves, he was excited about the “new”—
and controversial—responsibility. Brown retired the side in the
seventh inning, but in the eighth, Michael Tucker hit a three-run
homer off him, and the Braves won the game, 7-6.
Brown’s first expression after the game was, “I feel bad because
people are going to second-guess [San Diego manager] Bruce
Bochy. I feel bad because it’s nobody’s fault but my own.”
 The word “fault” should read “responsibility.” Brown was
responsible enough to take the ball, and he was responsible for the
pitch he threw. But the term “fault” is too often used to replace
“responsibility,” and that tendency helps perpetuate an idea that
works in opposition to a willingness to “own up.” People do not like
being at fault—being blamed. Too much finger pointing by media,
teammates, coaches, and managers, will not encourage young
players to take responsibility. [See NEGATMSM] Rather, it will
encourage self-defense—and all the creative and unhealthy
mechanisms that the pitcher thinks will protect him. Such as excuses
and bad luck.
To be sure, luck and chance are out there. But they do not stalk
individuals. Good things happen; bad things happen. Things beyond
our control. People either learn to accept that or live in fear and
distraction, trying to control the uncontrollable and neglecting to take
responsibility for what they can control. A “Catch-44,” one might say.
Giuseppe Verdi wrote an opera entitled, “La Forza del Destino.”
The power of fate. Fate is powerful, but it is beyond the individual’s
ability to manipulate it. Whether with a particular pair of sanitary
socks or a rub of a clubhouse boy’s head before a performance.
The “real” ritual for a pitcher should be to take good care of
himself physically, to take the ball when asked, to give an honest and
relentless effort—and to take responsibility for the consequences. To
learn from those consequences, and to make the necessary
adjustments. Which does not mean—to change “sani’s” or rub
someone else’s head before the game, in order to encourage a
favorable outcome.
Responsibility is power; it is part of the glory of self-fulfillment.
Players have asked how a person gets that power. “You don’t get it,
you take it,” I answer. “But it’s easier to give it away than to take.
That’s why the first power is to make the right choice.”
The conscious acceptance of responsibility is one of the greatest
indicators of a pitcher’s maturity and personal “make-up.” The
immature will try to attribute difficulty to circumstance, others,
managers, family history, persecution, or plain bad luck. He
externalizes responsibility and so shuns making choices and living
with the consequences of his own behavior. He waits for a lucky
accident to get him what he wants—or he tries to force the luck
through superstitious ritual.
The mature and well-adjusted pitcher will, as Maddux said, “look
in the mirror first.” He will also understand what he cannot control,
and take such fate like Saint-Exupery’s “man.”
Philosopher Viktor Frankl saw the strong connection between
freedom and responsibility. He recommended that we all be reminded
of it by having the “Statue of Liberty on the East Coast...
supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast.”

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that taking responsibility expands him, while

pointing to external factors diminishes him.
∎ Understand that taking responsibility—or avoiding it—is a
choice, at whatever level of consciousness it is made.
∎ Recognize that excuse making and superstition are grounded in
feelings of fear and inadequacy, whereas personal responsibility
is grounded in freedom and self-trust.
∎ Realize that taking legitimate credit for good work done is as
important as taking legitimate criticism, since one enhances
confidence, while the other provides an opportunity to learn and
improve.
∎ Understand that responsibility is forfeited when he “thanks his
lucky stars,” or bemoans “all the bad breaks” that went against
him.
∎ Remember intelligence can be paralyzed by excuses,
superstition, and the invoking of “bad luck,” so no adjustments
are possible, since no personal responsibility is taken.
∎ Be responsible for his physical condition and habits, for taking
the ball, for giving a sincere and relentless effort—and for taking
the consequences with proper perspective and attitude.
∎ Listen to himself and be determined to express the language of
responsibility, thereby fostering responsible behavior.
∎ Look first in the mirror, with honest intent.
∎ RESULTS
“Everything we do has a result. But that which is right and prudent
does not always lead to good, nor the contrary to bad.” The words
spoken by Goethe are as applicable to baseball as they are to life in
general. Perhaps more so to baseball.
A pitcher executes a great pitch. Slider low and away. The batter
goes down and gets it. He hits the ball on the end of his bat, and the
ball loops over the infield, down the line. A hit. Good pitch; bad result.
A pitcher executes a poor pitch. A cookie—a BP fastball right
down the heart of the plate. The hitter pops it up to the third
baseman. Bad pitch; good result. Thank you, Mr. Goethe.
The history of baseball is rich and fully recorded. Books of
statistics abound. Averages of all sorts are broken down, analyzed,
discussed and debated. The baseball boxscore was invented in the
1870s. Young boys read and memorized players’ statistics, reading
The Sporting News, which printed boxscores of major and minor
league games in the 1940s, my time to be an avid young fan.
Everything a player did was documented statistically, for better or for
worse.
Well, not everything. The boxscore does not tell all. A won-lost
record does not tell all. Nor does an ERA. They do not tell whether
the pitcher executed his pitch well, only to have the batter fight it off
even better. They do not tell whether a pitcher got away with a
number of poor pitches, because batters had worse approaches.
They do not tell about wind-blown flyballs, or line drives hit right at
fielders, or “seeing-eye” groundballs.
Statistics do not tell a true story about behaviors. They only tell
about the results of the behaviors. And even that depends on how
one interprets the term “result.” For example, if a pitcher executes a
pitch well, he might consider the good execution a result. He might,
but it’s not likely.
The game is historically based on “numbers.” Way back when,
before television and radio coverage, the boxscore was all fans had,
unless they bought a ticket to the game. Jim Gates, the director of the
Hall of Fame Library has said, “The boxscore is deeply ingrained in
the American sports culture.” Today, the statistical nuances and
volumes added by Bill James, et. al., are even more “ingrained.”
“Numbers” still rule. Ask any participant in a fantasy baseball league.
Ask almost any player in the minor leagues. Ask any agent or
arbitrator. Ask a pitcher.
Mark Davis won the Cy Young Award when pitching in relief for
San Diego. “Numbers” became his nemesis. “I hate numbers,” Davis
said in May 1990, after having signed a big contract with Kansas City
during the previous winter. “I don’t look at them this year. I didn’t look
at them last year or the year before that. Numbers are in the past,
and they don’t help me get anyone out. I just know what they can do
when they get into your mind and make you think things you don’t
need to think,” he said.
“When your numbers are good, then a pitcher puts pressure on
himself, and says, ‘I’ve got to keep it up.’ When a pitcher’s numbers
are not good, he puts pressure on himself, by saying, ‘I’ve got to get it
down.’”
Davis delivered a sermon I have given many, many times—to
pitchers who told me, “I have to put up numbers.” And to those who
were desperately trying “to keep their numbers from slipping away”
from them. Davis knew too well the danger of numbers and pressure.
After having signed a big contract with the Royals, he struggled
mightily and never came close to the level of performance he had
reached with the Padres in 1989.
Statistics are the results that fans, lawyers, and management
scrutinize. A pitcher is none of the aforementioned. But if he accepts
what happens to a batted ball as a result, rather than how he
executes a pitch, he must then have an understanding or two beyond
his interpretation.
First, he should reconcile himself to the fact that he has no control
over results that take place after the ball leaves his hand. Second, he
should reread the words of Goethe above. If he executes a good
pitch and gets a bad result, he must respond by understanding that
he did what he wanted to do (and could control) and that he should
do it again. And again. Irrespective of the result, which he knows he
cannot control.
Pitchers who talk to me with a sense of urgency about their won-
lost record get no support. I tell them that Cy Young lost 316 games
and had an award named for him. “He was a 5-3 pitcher,” I say. “But if
you have the staying power to come close to 800 decisions, you’ll be
the richest man in baseball.”
Years ago, a young left-handed pitcher, originally with the Toronto
Blue Jays, came to the Oakland organization. A Harvard graduate,
Jeff Musselman had talent and intelligence. But he lacked an
essential understanding, in regard to the cycle of approach—result—
response. While discussing the topic, he revealed this lack. “When I
execute a great pitch but get a bad result,” Musselman said, “I think,
‘Now what do I do? I just threw this guy a great pitch and he hit it
hard.’”
“Throw another good pitch,” I said. Instead, Musselman tried to
throw a “better pitch,” which invariably was overthrown and
ineffective. Common and unacceptable. My answer, he said with a
laugh, was “too simple.” He had been seeking something more
profound. [See SIMPLICITY]
Robb Nen takes his responsibility as a closer very seriously. When
he first assumed that role, with the expansion Florida Marlins, he had
no experience to back up his conscientious attitude. His sensitivity to
results was even more acute than the typical closer, which is dramatic
enough. “You either get the save or you blow the save,” Eckersley
would say matter-of-factly, while dying inside when he blew one.
In a particular game early in his career, Nen was called on to
protect a 2-1 Marlins’ lead. The bases were loaded with one out. A
double play would save the day. Words of encouragement came from
the dugout. “C’mon, Robb, get a groundball.” “Throw a two-ball,
Robbie.” Nen executed a fine pitch. The hitter rolled his bat over it
and hit a groundball between third and—short. The fielders crossed
each other as they attempted to get to the ball—which rolled into left
field. Two runs scored. The Marlins were behind, 3-2.
“Do it again,” came a shout from the dugout. The remark was as
shocking to Nen as the result of two runs scored. The “it” in his mind
was the two-run single, not the well-executed pitch.
If one would ask Robb Nen about that situation today, with years
of experience behind him, the questioner would get a different answer
from the one Nen gave himself that night. Yes, after all those years, it
was still a blown save. (It’s in the record book as such.) But Nen’s
response is more cerebral than emotional now. He is much more
likely (absolutes strain belief) to respond to the pitch thrown, rather
than to the result. He did as much as he was asked to do on that day
years ago. He could not guide the grounder into a fielder’s glove. Nor
can any pitcher. (Please see Goethe’s words above—once more.)
Disappointing consequences may seem limitless to a pitcher. Too
frequent, imposing, ill-fated. But in the short term—clock time, that is
—they are reduced, weakened, and made irrelevant by the
immediate focus on behavior. On the execution and the next pitch.
Centuries ago, Euripedes wrote, “A bad beginning makes a bad
ending.” Though he cannot control a result, a pitcher can certainly
influence it, as Euripedes suggested. A bad approach will lead to a
bad result. A good approach, one that does not regard result, will
greatly enhance a pitcher’s performance—and most likely provide
him with a satisfying result.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that he has no control over results, if by results he

means outcome after the ball has left his hand.
∎ Recognize that good results are most likely to come from good
approaches and responses.
∎ Recognize that statistics become part of an historical baseball
record, but they are results, which are not part of his focus
during competition.
∎ Be aware that it is inappropriate to set result goals, since he has
no ability to control them, as he does behavioral goals. [See
APPENDIX B]
∎ Know that when he effectively executes a pitch, he is doing his
job, irrespective of the result after the ball leaves his hand.
∎ Understand that mental discipline is required to consistently
execute good pitches, despite possible poor results.
∎ Take responsibility for his approach and response, and
disregard results during competition.

∎ RUBBER
 Though little need be said about the pitching rubber, what little
there is has significance.
When the pitcher stands on the rubber, his mind and body should
be ready to deliver the next pitch. His thoughts should be exclusively
on pitch selection, location and then directed—with his eyes—to the
target. Any intrusive thoughts should trigger the pitcher to back off the
rubber and redirect his focus.
Typical of pitchers’ tendencies is the one expressed by veteran
Doug Drabek, when he was struggling during the 1998 season. “You
can’t stand on the mound [read ‘rubber’] and try to figure it all out,” he
said.
The pitcher must recognize that he has two roles on the baseball
field. He is a performer (a defensive player once he delivers the
pitch), and he is a coach. On the pitching rubber, he is a performer.
Whatever self-coaching is required—whatever “figuring it out” must
be done—takes place off the rubber. The more dramatic the
adjustment, the further from the rubber he goes, getting down off the
mound and gathering his thoughts and his composure, if necessary.
Off the rubber, the pitcher becomes a coach.
Many pitchers have not come to this understanding. They “think
too much” about mechanics or the previous pitch or possible
consequences, while standing on the rubber. All those matters are
irrelevant and distracting. Even effective self-coaching techniques
become ineffective when the pitcher is on the rubber. It is a pitching
rubber, after all, not a coaching rubber.
The pitcher should use the rubber as a “key”—a trigger to remind
him of what his focus should be. When he feels his foot on the rubber,
he should be reminded that his head should be clear of all thoughts
but three: selection, location, target. That is the mantra of the rubber.
Selection, location, target. Anything else should provoke him to step
back off the rubber and replace the extraneous thought(s) with
appropriate ones.
Too many pages would be required to catalog all the examples of
“thinking too much” that I have heard from pitchers over the years.
Negative or positive. All are counterproductive if expressed on the
rubber. [See TASK AT HAND] They force the pitcher to “think big,”
instead of encouraging him to “think small.” These distracting
thoughts focus on a topic, rather than on a target.
Selection, location, target. The awareness of inappropriate
thinking will develop from the habit of invoking that mantra. And when
a pitcher is able to develop a consistent thinking pattern on the
rubber, he will be better able to center his attention on where and how
he delivers the pitch. He will be rewarded for thinking less by the
ability to control the ball more.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that when his foot is in contact with the rubber, he is

a pitcher exclusively.
∎ Understand that all self-coaching takes place off the rubber.
∎ Be aware of what thinking and focus he has on the rubber.
∎ Understand that distracting thoughts will divide his attention and
reduce his focus on the target.
∎ Develop a “feel” for the rubber, using it as a key to limit his
thoughts to selection, location, and target.
∎ Develop the habit of allowing himself to think only of the pitch
about to be executed.
∎ Utilize the mantra to habituate that narrow focus: “selection,
location, target.”
∎ When intrusive thoughts enter his thinking, step off the rubber
(the mound, if necessary) and coach himself, redirecting his
thoughts and focus before getting back on the rubber.
∎ On the rubber, strive to breathe deeply and consistently before
each delivery. [See BREATHING]
∎ SELECTION
Little will be said about pitch selection; little should be thought
about it while the pitcher is on the rubber. Determine it; trust it;
execute it. The end.
Unfortunately, the topic is a bit more complex than that—only
because pitcher’s thoughts are more complex. [See SIMPLICITY]
Hall-of-Fame pitcher Sandy Koufax captured the essence of the
issue. “It is better to throw a theoretically poorer pitch
wholeheartedly, than to throw a so-called right pitch with feeling of
doubt—doubt that it’s right, or doubt that you can make it behave
well at that moment. You’ve got to feel sure you’re doing the right
thing—sure you want to throw the pitch you’re going to throw,”
Koufax said.
In the section, ANALYSIS, an anecdote was provided about
Bruce Hurst as a young Red Sox pitcher. His “thinking too much” led
him to say to himself, in the midst of delivering a pitch, “I shouldn’t be
throwing a slider here.” The thinking was related to pitch selection, to
doubt in and lack of commitment to the pitch he had “chosen” to
throw. It was a reluctant choice, if it was a choice at all. His attention
was divided, his muscles and eyes did not work with a free and
aggressive certainty of purpose. The pitch was poorly approached—
and poorly executed. It happens often—to many pitchers.
 When a pitcher senses the doubt he has about a pitch, he must
step off the rubber and commit himself to whatever the selection
ends up being. Either he shakes off the pitch he is uncertain about,
or he quickly accepts the selection, gets back on the rubber, and
executes with that commitment. The quicker the process, the better.
All this should be part of his established pitching approach. When it
breaks down, he knows what adjustment to make. [See
ADJUSTMENTS]
The first thought when stepping on the rubber should be about
pitch selection. The catcher gives the sign, the pitcher accepts or
rejects the offering. It is the pitcher’s responsibility to make the
decision—and commit to it. The tiresome excuse that “the catcher
has stupid fingers” does not work. I tell pitchers, “Your head shakes
from side to side as well as up and down. Throw the pitch you want
to throw. Know the pitch you want to throw.”
It is certainly helpful to be on the “same page” as the catcher
during an outing. But it does not always happen. The pitcher is
ultimately responsible for turning to the “right” page. As Koufax said,
the right pitch is the one the pitcher believes in at the moment. How
many times have pitchers, in retrospect, realized that they got easy
outs on pitches which could have been second-guessed? Many
times. But they executed those pitches well. And how many times
did they throw the “textbook” pitch of the moment and get hit hard?
Many times. Poor execution, for any number of reasons.
If a young pitcher has pitches being called from the dugout, that
becomes his reality. He still must make a choice. Does he take
responsibility for executing the pitch he, in this case, must throw, or
does he deliver the pitch with resentment and doubt, allowing himself
to internalize the excuse that, should the pitch be hit hard, it wasn’t
his selection? In fact, it became his selection. In that process, he had
no choice. His real choice was to commit to the pitch (maturity) or
not to commit (immaturity).
Remember the mantra: selection, location, target? The selection
process should become a rapid one—often anticipated before the
pitcher even gets back on the rubber. No extended “thinking.” When
pitchers are having an effective performance, that tends to be the
case. The game flows; all is well. [See TEMPO] But when doubt
creeps in because of the circumstance of a game, the pitcher must
be able to understand its possible effect on the selection process—
the possible slowing of tempo, which allows “too much thinking,”
much of it an internal debate about what pitch to throw—usually,
what pitch not to throw. At such times, he should gather himself and
coach himself, providing reminders based on the way he functions
when things are going his way. [See ADVERSITY and
CONSISTENCY]
To doubt one’s pitch selection is to assure a cautious, reluctant,
distracted approach. As Kevin Brown has noted on earlier pages,
“...if you make a bad pitch timidly or cautiously, that’s when you get
nailed.” [See AGGRESSIVENESS] Aggressive behavior begins with
aggressive thinking. Make the selection—and attack with that pitch.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Commit to the pitch he selects and execute it aggressively.

∎ Make the selection with a consistently good tempo, rather than
a deliberate one, stemming from an analytical thought process.
∎ Learn to anticipate the pitch he wants to throw before getting
back on the rubber.
∎ Make the selection according to his own conviction, being
responsible to shake off the catcher’s sign when he feels it
necessary to do so.
∎ If the pitch is called from the bench, take responsibility for its
effective execution, rather than predetermining an excuse for
its ineffectiveness.
∎ Understand that the “right pitch” is the one thrown with trust,
commitment, focus, and aggressiveness.
∎ Step off the rubber and coach himself when doubt exists
regarding the pitch selection.
∎ Remember that an aggressive thought pattern is a prerequisite
for the aggressive execution of a pitch.

∎ SELF-ESTEEM
 Initially, my instinct was to consider “self-esteem” to be a
redundancy on these pages. After all, BELIEF and CONFIDENCE
have been already been presented. But there is an extensional
meaning I wished to clarify, based on experiences with precocious
athletes over the years, and this attempt seemed important.
“It is difficult to make a man miserable while he feels worthy of
himself...” Abe Lincoln said in one of the many speeches he
delivered as President of the United States. “Worthy of himself.”
That’s the operative phrase. When talking with athletes, my subject
is usually “performance” or the athlete as a performer. Players wear
uniforms, but I must often remind them that there is a “self” under
each uniform.
A youngster who is precocious, whether it be as a musician, a
mathematician or an athlete, has his precocity in front of others—and
himself—always. He is identified for his great and exceptional talent,
rather than for whatever “self” is behind it. Behind it—hidden from
public view, and, very often from the person “himself.” What seems
to matter is what he does, rather than who he is. And this is how his
early years train him.
He may have great “confidence” in his talent and skill, especially
at early stages when others around him cannot come close to being
as skillful. He may have great “belief” in his ability to achieve,
especially when there is, in an athlete’s case particularly, little to no
competition to truly challenge him. But, alas, his “self-esteem” is
most often based on his singular achievement and the exaggerated
approval of others.
On this, his identity is based. He feels “worthy of himself” when
he performs to the level of expectations. For a baseball player, the
level is indicated by statistics—averages, numbers, victories. That is
part of the youngster’s learning curve. He is an avid and eager
learner, in this regard. But does he learn much about self-worth as a
“whole” person? The more precocious he is, the less likely he will be
considered a “whole self.”
As a young baseball player, he may never fail. He is too good.
But as he rises, through Little League, high school, college,
professional ball, the playing field “levels.” The competition becomes
as elite as the individual. Initial failure to dominate on a regular basis
can be devastating. The interpretation of and response to this
“failure” will influence the performer’s perception of “himself.”
When a person considers his entire “self” to be a performer,
failure becomes very personal and very dramatic. Self-esteem
plummets. Players say, “I’m a failure.” I try to correct them. “You’ve
failed at a task, but you aren’t a failure.” It’s a hard sell, and often
requires the building of a foundation of self that had not previously
existed.
Many examples come to mind. One particular player, a glaring
example of a person who had low self-esteem, had a very fine major
league career, and was recognized as being an outstanding
ballplayer. As a man, he is intelligent, kind, considerate, trusting,
handsome, and articulate. At the end of his playing career, he was
very troubled. He had always had social insecurities, based on the
fact that he did not recognize all his personal attributes; he only
recognized his efforts on the baseball field—his statistics. Those
around him during his youth focused on his baseball prowess. So
when his “numbers” began to identify him as significantly less than
the player he had been in the past, his self-worth became
significantly less as well. He had little (nothing?) to fall back on. It
was an emotionally exhausting ordeal he went through, in order to
gain a new—and healthier—perspective.
This is not an isolated or exaggerated example. It is “out there.”
Let the young player beware. If he does not develop and identify an
early “self,” he will become a symbol of his performance, rather than
the substance of who he really is. And he will fail to recognize his
substantial self, giving himself approval only when his “numbers”
allow and confirm that approval.
Earlier in the book, attention was given to players who had been
mentally abused as children, and who suffered through the
consequences of a poor self-image. But mental “abuse” can be
much more subtle than the case of the boy who jumped off a wall,
broke his arm, and “learned” thereby “to trust no one.”
Unrealistic expectations, subtle but constant criticism, one-
dimensional treatment (as a baseball player, rather than a person),
the burden of others’ needs being satisfied through the precocious
young player—all will inhibit the development of a healthy and self-
actualized self. It can distort the boy’s view of himself and influence
the view of the man he becomes.
“Public influence is a weak tyrant compared with our own private
opinion,” Thoreau wrote. “What a man thinks of himself, that is which
determines or rather indicates his fate.” But when a person is a
public figure at an early age, the public opinion all too easily
becomes the private opinion. If baseball statistics help shape public
opinion, they will invariably influence the player who has come to
believe he is defined by them.
A few words about public opinion. First, in general, people “out
there” are more considerate and less interested in us than we think.
In addition, judgments of celebrities, athletes included, are fickle and
fleeting. People have more to do than spend their time judging and
condemning. Their immediate expression of opinion is neither
objective nor sustained. Nor should it be an influence on the
individual player.
The self-consciousness that an athlete might have is a false
pride, a form of egotism which persuades him that what others think
and say about him has more meaning than what he says about
himself. Naturally, the player with high self-esteem, then, is fortified.
The player with little self-esteem is under siege and vulnerable. He
must recognize that he, not the “public,” is the problem and the
solution.
A pitcher who continually refers to his inadequate statistics is, to
use Lawrence Durrell’s metaphor, “tied to the wheel in the sinking
vessel of [his] self-esteem.” His “belief’ and “confidence” are already
submerged. The pitcher comes to discount his successes and
magnify his failures, thus always confirming a negative self-image.
He will be cautious, rather than aggressive. He will be distracted,
rather than focused. He will expect to do poorly, rather than expect to
do well. And he will “tip-toe” through life, intimidated by car salesmen
and plumbers, never realizing his own self worth, despite being a
good son, a good friend, a good teammate, a good husband, and
father. A good man.
Maxwell Maltz, in his marvelous book, Psychocybernetics, wrote,
“Of all the traps and pitfalls in life, self-esteem is the deadliest, and
the hardest to overcome, for it is a pit designed and dug by our own
hands...” Under the influence of others, we may accept a “design”
created by them—but we, most certainly, “dig our own pit.”
Pitchers who so frequently seek to be “comfortable”—on the
mound and off—should also heed the words of Mark Twain. “A man
cannot be comfortable without his own approval.”
Abraham Maslow studied the lives and behavior of people he
believed to be “self-actualizers.” People such as Lincoln, Einstein,
Jefferson, Jane Addams. He extended his study to college students,
and selecting those students who fit his description of self-
actualizers, he found the group to be in the top percentile, in terms of
good mental health. These people made full use of their talents and
capabilities. Some of the behaviors of self-actualizers are included
below.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that he has many dimensions as a person, beyond

being just an athlete.
∎ Recognize that self-esteem should be based on all the traits
and behaviors of an individual, rather than on a singular, albeit
highly developed, ability and skill.
∎ Understand that his identity is related to his substance (who he
is), rather than the symbolic representation of him (what and
how he does).
∎ Work at being more “well-rounded,” valuing more in life than
just baseball performance.
∎ Learn to play the game for himself, rather than for others.
∎ Learn to diffuse the effect of public opinion by understanding its
nature: exaggerated, self-gratifying, subjective, and temporary
—and less interested in him than he thinks.
∎ Perform regular “reality checks” on himself, assessing daily
behaviors—on and off the field—in order to evaluate himself
fully.
∎ Set his own standards and goals, based on his values, and
hold himself accountable through the daily evaluation noted
above.
 ∎ Use affirmative language when talking about himself, rather
than the language of self-disparagement.
∎ Be an advocate, rather than an apologist, for what he values
and believes.
∎ Look people in the eye during conversation (regardless of his
“stats”).
∎ Take responsibility, rather than blame.
∎ Look at life and himself objectively.
∎ Express his sense of humor.
∎ Learn to tolerate uncertainty.
∎ Take risks.
∎ Be honest, rather than being deceptive or a “game player.”
∎ Identify his defense mechanisms and have the strength to work
at breaking them down, recognizing that he does not need to
continually justify himself to others.
∎ Like himself—and deserve it.

∎ SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY
[See SELF-TALK]
If people are, indeed, what they think, the importance of an
athlete monitoring his thoughts should be clear. [See BELIEF] And if
belief is an engine, prediction is a fuel. A pitcher who predicts
outcome—for better for or for worse—is preparing himself and his
muscles to play into that prediction.
Physicians and psychologists—and research—all confirm that a
patient’s belief in the likelihood of his healing will significantly affect
his health. There is psychological and physiological power in
prophecy. The self-fulfilling prophecy is so named because of the
correlation between the belief and the behavior. If a pitcher says
something is going to happen, he will behave in such a way as to
confirm his prophecy. In baseball, it often seems, more often for
worse than for better.
The pitcher with a healthier attitude is more apt to see positive
outcome than negative. He will therefore use more self-affirming
language and focus positively on what he wants to do, rather than on
forces that will inevitably bring about adverse consequences.
The tendency is linked to control, responsibility, mental discipline
—positivism and/or negativism, to name a few related topics. A
pitcher’s perspective will determine the nature and direction of his
prophecy. [See NEGATIVISM and POSITIVISM]
Sitting in a dugout on a May afternoon at Phoenix Municipal
Stadium, in 1985, I was chatting casually with the Tacoma Tigers
(Oakland organization) Triple-A pitcher, Steve Mura. Mura was a 29-
year-old veteran who had spent six seasons in the big leagues,
winning 12 games for the 1982 Cardinals. A bright, dependable
person and pitcher, Mura was the scheduled starter for this night’s
game.
He shook his head silently, and I asked him what that meant. “I
can never win on this mound,” he said.
The reader will be spared the entire lecture, but my first response
was to the language Mura had employed. “There is a difference,” I
said, “between, ‘I have not won and I cannot win...’” And I expanded
the point.
When questioned further, Mura complained about the height and
slope of the mound. I asked what kind of adjustments he could make
because of it. Being intelligent, he thought for a while and produced
a strategy. He never had—and he couldn’t understand why that had
been the case.
“You don’t think about strategies when you think that outcome is
inevitable,” I said. “That’s what self-fulfilling prophecies are all about.
You’ve pitched right into your certainty that you can’t pitch here.” And
so on.
Mura pitched seven innings that night, giving up no runs on two
hits. He threw the ball well. After the game, he was more
embarrassed than elated. Understandably so.
Many pitchers have held similar points of view. Early in his
career, Greg Maddux felt he couldn’t pitch well against a particular
team in the Eastern Division, and felt he just had to “throw my glove
out there,” and he would beat another particular team in the same
division.
 Day games, bad weather, opposing pitchers, opposing hitters—
all present possibilities for formulating prophecies. More often than
not, it is a negative prophecy. “I can’t,” “It’s going to be one of those
days,” “I’ve got no chance,” “This isn’t going to be pretty...” These are
the phrases of predicted doom, almost certain defeat.
On the other hand, having a positive anticipation of outcome will
enhance a pitcher’s belief system and likelihood for success. That is
fine. But an indiscriminate and determined approach to every
external factor will, to my mind, best serve a pitcher in his desire to
be consistent and responsible for his own performance. Rather than
regarding the forces of fate and outcome, he will focus on task and
behavior.
In other words, it is better for a pitcher to believe in positive
outcome than negative outcome. But it is best for him to believe in
his talent and his ability to make adjustments and execute pitches.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the power of his belief system. [See BELIEF]

∎ Anticipate positive behavior, irrespective of external factors.
∎ Make necessary adjustments based on external factors, rather
than predicting failure because of them.
∎ Listen to the language he employs.
∎ Be certain to use self-affirming, functional language, rather
than the self-defeating language of negative prophecy.
∎ Focus on behavior and task, rather than on circumstance and
possible outcome.

∎ SELF-TALK
At the point where the reader is in his life, he responds to
situations based on his past experience and the habit of reaction
from those experiences. His memory of similar circumstance and
their effects on him provokes a patterned verbal response. That self-
talk is most often a help or a hindrance as he faces a current
situation. (It can be, but rarely is, neutral.)
 Self-talk is what a person says to himself, either silently or aloud.
The habit, as noted above, is established according to situation. For
example, if a person spills his coffee at a restaurant, what does he
say to himself and/or about himself? Does he scold himself?
Disparage himself? Condemn himself? The harsh self-criticism is a
language of self-diminution. It does not build self-confidence or self-
esteem. Yet, it is regularly invoked out of habit. [See HABITS]
On athletic fields, as a youngster, my singular emotional
response to a mistake I made was to say to myself, “You jerk.” It was
not helpful. The measure of maturity and efficacy is the length of
time it takes for an athlete to recover from his emotional
unhappiness. On earlier pages, it was suggested that it is acceptable
to be angry (“You jerk”) and purge oneself, so long as the expression
is brief and the recovery swift. A recovery through adjustment and
refocusing on task, rather than the non-recovery of sustained
frustration over what just transpired.
If a pitcher is to function effectively, his self-talk must be
grounded in reality and rationality, rather than in imagination and
irrationality. The latter leads inevitably to emotional disorientation
and poor performance.
Again, the pitcher is called upon to examine his tendencies and
work at developing good (new?) habits. With positive self-talk, he
can train himself to focus on what will enhance him and his
performance, rather than on what will diminish both. He must, of
course, first be aware of what thoughts and self-talk he employs
during his preparation and during the actual performance. It is an
arduous process, as noted often.
One major league pitcher expressed the following thought to me,
having worked diligently on changing the nature of his self-talk: “I try
to get through the tough times [situations] by talking myself into
acting like I’ve got things going for me. Deep down, I know it’s not
necessarily true, but if I keep talking right things seem to work out.”
Brainwashing at its best.
But talk alone is not enough. What a pitcher says is important. So
is how one says it. An instructive tone is more desirable than a
critical one. Listening to what he is saying is an imperative. Pat Rapp
said all the right things to himself during a difficult circumstance,
while pitching for the Florida Marlins. But he did not hear himself.
(The anecdote is elaborated upon in TARGET.)
I used the following illustration with him the next day. A man is
sitting at a breakfast table reading the sports page in his morning
newspaper. His wife is talking to him. He responds to her with
appropriate remarks and answers, still focusing on the sports page.
Twenty minutes after breakfast, she says to him, “It’s time we got
going, dear.” He has no idea where they are going, though that was
her topic at the breakfast table. The husband assimilated only what
he had been truly attentive to—the information on the sports page.
While self-talk may be positive, neutral or negative, it can also be
classified as follows: that which is irrelevant to the task at hand, that
which is focused on the task at hand, and that which is related to the
pitcher himself. Two of those three do not serve him well at all. [See
TASK AT HAND]
When thoughts are focused on himself, they diminish the
pitcher’s ability to adequately see what is going on around him. He
cannot interpret what must be done, nor make adjustments. Nor can
he properly focus on the target. He is mired in self-consciousness
and, most likely, anxiety. Two days before I write this, a major league
pitcher told me of such an experience he had had the previous day.
“I felt numb out there. I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing.”
I asked him what he had been thinking about to start with. “Myself,”
he answered.
Irrelevant self-talk proliferates. On the mound, anything that is not
related to the task at hand is irrelevant. Listed below are some—but
not all—of the most common irrelevancies I have heard coming from
pitchers’ mouths. They include self-talk related to self and self-talk
related to externals. These, the most frequent expressions, are
negatives.
“Idiot,” “loser,” “dummy,” “gutless”—and profane variations on the
theme.
“I stink,” “This always happens to me,” “I can’t believe this crap,”
“What’s new?” “He’s [manager/coach] jacking me around again,” “It’s
not fair,” “The hell with it all,” “I can’t,” “I don’t have it,” and “I’m
clueless.”
 A sampling which, in what is known as semantitherapy, would be
considered as “language of maladjustment.”
These are a far cry from the pitcher “trying to get through tough
times...” noted above. The ease of “giving in” has been established
on earlier pages. So has the difficulty of being relentless in the
pursuit of efficacy. Positive self-talk is the tool. But the tool is only as
good as the worker who uses it.
The “worker’s” task is simple enough to understand. He must be
aware of the language he uses and work effectively at thought
changing. “Blocking out a thought” does not work. The command
becomes a negative one. For example, if someone is thinking about
a pink elephant and he wants not to think about it, he will attempt to
“block it out” by saying, “Don’t think of a pink elephant.” The image of
a pink elephant is still in his head. He must change his thought. He
can say to himself, “Think of a black swan.” He has a new image in
his head.
Pitchers hold great disdain for pitching coaches who come out to
the mound and say, “Don’t walk this guy.” Or give other directives
based on what not to do. Yet, they do it to themselves, saying things
such as, “I better not hang this slider,” or “I can’t hit this guy by going
too far inside.” Their talk of what they do not want to do becomes the
focus of what they are about to do. Rather, they must train
themselves to use self-talk that encourages focus and positivism.
“Good low strike here,” is much superior to “I’d better not get behind
this guy.” “Slider away,” much better than the expressed fear of
hanging it.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Examine and monitor his internal “conversations” related to

circumstance, competition and himself.
∎ Understand that self-talk indicates what he thinks and feels
about his “world” and himself—and should be grounded in
objective reality.
∎ Recognize that positive self-talk and expectations will enhance
his ability to perform, whereas negative self-talk will focus on
and encourage failure.
 Understand that positive self-talk should be accompanied by
∎ involved attentiveness to what is being said.
∎ Know that self-talk should be expressed in a positive and
encouraging tone, rather than in an impatient and urgent tone.
[See URGENCY]
∎ Talk about himself in self-affirming, non-judgmental language.
∎ Anticipate performance with enthusiasm.
∎ During competition, talk about the task and how to approach it.
∎ Understand that he is human and therefore fallible—less than
perfect—and must learn to coach himself accordingly, with
appropriate self-talk, rather than with inappropriate self-
condemnation.

∎ SHUT-DOWN INNINGS
Managers and coaches put great emphasis on shut-down
innings. They value the shut-down inning because, they say, it
maintains the “momentum” their team has established after having
“put runs on the scoreboard”—and then, in turn, held the opposition
scoreless in their next at-bats.
Certainly, it is desirable to do just that. In baseball, the pitcher’s
object—and the manager’s joy—is always to keep the opposition
from scoring. [See ZEROS] But the psychological “boost” an
opposing team gets by coming back and scoring runs immediately
after the other team has scored “changes the momentum.” Though
this is not empirically validated, in the baseball world it is a widely
held generalization, worthy of attention.
The attention given to the shut-down inning is similar to that given
to stopping the big inning. [See BIG INNING] In pointing out an
inning’s uniqueness, coaches and pitchers often seek to achieve the
goal of shutting down the opponent by searching for methods that
are complex, rather than simple. [See SIMPLICITY] Such an attitude
will take the pitcher out of the consistent approach he has
established or wishes to establish. It leads him to believe he must
behave differently, “try harder.” The change will prove to be
counterproductive.
 Randy Johnson, when pitching for the Houston Astros,
responded to a reporter’s question about post-season play. His
response is perfectly applicable to any situation or circumstance for
a pitcher, shut-down innings included. Said Johnson, “You do the
same thing you’ve done all the time to make yourself successful. You
don’t change things.”
No sense of urgency should be attached to shut-down innings.
[See URGENCY] I will allow myself to repeat the words I use at
pitchers’ meetings, already presented in BIG INNINGS. “Anytime the
focus is put on the definition of an inning, the perception of it, the
concern for runners and runs, the idea of making special a particular
situation, something very important—most important—will be pre-
empted: the pitcher’s focus on executing the next pitch.”
The actual purpose of calling pitchers’ attention to shut-down
innings is based on the tendency of some pitchers to get
“comfortable” after their team has scored runs. Those pitchers tend
to go out to the mound with less intensity, because of that illusionary
feeling of comfort. Complacency sets in. Concentration suffers,
aggressiveness is diminished. It happens; pitchers recognize the
truth of it—after damage has been done.
So, a pitcher should be forewarned of the possibility/tendency.
But the warning should be this: be consistent, keep competing. Stay
under control. Maintain your concentration. Think small; stay
aggressive.
The pitcher should do no less than he had been doing just
because his team “got him some runs.” Nor should he attempt to do
more.
This is simply preparation for the next inning. Appropriate
behavior is reaffirmed in the dugout before the pitcher ever goes out
to the mound. Like showing a racehorse the whip, in order to keep
his mind on the right business.
During the presentation of TASK AT HAND (on later pages), an
anecdote about pitcher Bruce Hurst is presented. The theme of that
story can also be related to shut-down innings, as it can to pitching in
general: execute one pitch at a time, with exclusive focus on that
task.
What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize the value of a shut-down inning.

∎ Understand that a shut-down inning is an end, not a means.
∎ Understand that a shut-down inning is too large a concept to
manage during competition.
∎ Understand that outs are achieved through consistent,
focused, controlled, aggressive execution of pitches.
∎ Be aware of tendencies to “let up”—allowing concentration and
intensity to diminish—because his team “scored some runs for
him.”
∎ Prepare himself before leaving the dugout to maintain a
consistent approach and a similar focus on the task at hand.
∎ Compete without regard to the scoreboard.

∎ SIMPLICITY
Keep it simple, stupid. That is a widely held philosophy. But
Albert Einstein said, “Everything should be made as simple as
possible, but not simpler.” Meaning, not stupid. Intelligence is valued
in a pitcher, though too often that intelligence is converted into
imagination. Matters become complicated, not because of
information, but, rather, because of interpretation. Matters are further
complicated when significance is given to irrelevancies.
Simplicity means knowing what matters and what does not
matter. That is what Einstein meant. Quite often, however, pitchers
tend to complicate their world with their needs, their fears, their
desire to succeed. My expressed view to them is that the game of
baseball is simple; people are complicated. Many of them tend to
think that there must be more to the game than executing a pitch. In
terms of behavior, there is not. Each singular pitch has a “perfect
simplicity [that] is audacious.” (George Meredith)
The greatest truths are the simplest, and so are the greatest
pitchers. Not simple-minded, but simple in their approach. They think
small; they are focused on task. [See TASK AT HAND] They do not
allow extraneous issues and circumstance to take them out of their
game plan—which is simply to attack and execute.
Pitcher Jim Abbott, in his comeback attempt before retirement,
understood the difference between what he had done in the past and
what he wanted to do in the future. “... I’m not going to make it as
complicated as I used to,” he said. Stated in positive terms: “keep it
simple.”
Inexperienced closers I have been associated with have often
complicated their thoughts with the responsibility of saving another
pitcher’s runs and saving the win for the team. Such thoughts, on the
mound, qualify as irrelevant and, therefore, are distracting. Too big,
too complicated.
Much of the success of San Diego closer, Trevor Hoffman, comes
from intelligence and a narrow focus. “When I come in,” says
Hoffman, “I know how I feel, what I’ve got going, how many good
pitches I have. I go from there, depending on the situation and the
hitter... I try to keep it all as simple as possible.”
Ron Darling was an Ivy Leaguer before he was a major leaguer.
A very smart man, Darling tended to use his intelligence to
complicate the process of pitching. His Oakland manager
acknowledged Darling’s intelligence, but said the pitcher lacked
“common sense” when he was on the mound. Common simplicity.
Pitcher Mike Flanagan was given credit for pitching intelligently
until his “stubbornness” got in the way of his brain and complicated
his approach.
But smart and simple can be synonymous. Less can be more.
Hans Hoffman, no relation to Trevor, wrote, “The ability to simplify
means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may
speak.” The “necessary,” allowed to speak, will say, simply, “Execute
the next pitch.” That’s smart. That’s simple.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize that a simple approach allows him to more easily

manage his thoughts and control his approach.
∎ Understand that complications arise only when he “thinks too
much,” entertaining distracting irrelevancies on the mound.
 Realize that simplicity means reducing focus to what is
∎ necessary for effective execution of the next pitch—selection,
location, target.
∎ When “things get complicated,” coach himself during
competition by getting off the mound and making an
adjustment to a narrow focus.

∎ STRIKES
The standard question and answer: Question—What is the best
pitch in baseball? Answer—Strike one. [See COUNT]
The value of throwing strikes—establishing the count in the
pitcher’s favor, forcing contact [See CONTACT], being aggressive in
the strike zone—is statistically evident and philosophically agreed
upon. The behavior is the hallmark of successful pitchers. The fact
that being ahead early in the count will dictate an entirely different at
bat than being behind in the count has been well established.
Bobby Cox has waxed poetic about Greg Maddux’ ability—read
“determination”—to throw strikes early in the count. “He can go strike
one with the best of them,” Cox has said. “That’s a huge advantage if
you can do that. You can talk about pitching and mechanics all you
want, but strike one is the first step to success.”
While pitchers will not dispute this viewpoint, many will avoid the
behavior that validates it.
“I hate to use the word ‘fear,’” Yankees manager Joe Torre has
said, “but sometimes it seems they’re afraid to challenge the hitter.
They don’t want to put the ball over the plate on the first pitch, and
then they’re behind.” [See FEAR]
Fearing failure is one thing; acting out the fear is another. Dennis
Eckersley has been noted in earlier pages as an exemplar in this
regard. Though he admitted to a fear of failure, he did not allow this
fear to negatively influence his approach. On the contrary, he used it
to provoke a behavior that he knew, intellectually, would help him to
succeed—to avoid the failure he dreaded. He relentlessly threw
strikes.
 Eck attacked the strike zone aggressively. He did not “pick” or
“nibble” around the strike zone. He did not “just” throw strikes,
putting less than his best stuff in the zone, for the sake of having it
qualify as a strike. He “went after it.”
Attacking the strike zone takes a commitment, especially by a
pitcher who tends to be defensive when he pitches. The
understanding he has about the importance of throwing quality
strikes must be integrated into his behavior. He must have the
courage of that conviction.
Glenn Abbott is a minor league pitching coach with the Oakland
organization. Abbott told me of a situation he had witnessed while
pitching in the big leagues. We had been discussing “throwing
strikes.”
A particular pitcher was having an awful outing, constantly behind
in the count, reluctant to throw strikes, “walking the ballpark,” as
Abbott put it. The manager was furious. He sent his pitching coach
out to the mound, and the coach delivered the message that the
pitcher had better “throw strikes or else.” The coach returned to the
dugout.
The pitcher understood the ultimatum. He guided pitches into the
strike zone and, in Abbott’s words again, “was whacked.” Continued
Abbott, “I mean, doubles were banging off the walls, line drives were
flying out into the gaps.”
The disgusted manager sent the pitching coach back out to the
mound to remove the pitcher from the game. The pitcher didn’t even
wait for the coach to reach him. He walked toward the dugout,
flipped the ball to the coach, and said, “So much for your bleepin’
strikes!”
Aggressively thrown strikes, “best stuff” strikes are quality strikes.
Aimed strikes, guided, dart-throw strikes are “bleepin” strikes.
In 1996, Al Leiter was pitching for the Marlins. The Florida team
that year—the year before they won the Championship—had trouble
scoring runs. Leiter, particularly, received little run support. That fact,
coupled with his tendency to be “effectively wild,” would create
games with little margin for error on Leiter’s part.
During one of his mid-season home starts, Leiter set the
opposition down easily in the first inning. One, two, three. He had, in
his words, “great stuff.” In the bottom of the first, the Marlins,
uncharacteristically, scored six runs. Leiter went out in the top of the
second inning, walked two batters and hit one. He escaped from the
bases-loaded jam without allowing a run.
In the dugout, he explained that, with the luxury of six runs, he
went out there to “just throw strikes.” It did not work. The idea of
steering the ball kept his delivery from being free and loose. The
actual steering of the ball kept him from being aggressive. He
returned to his usual approach the next inning. With the “great stuff,”
he pitched a no-hitter that night.
In May 1999, 25-year-old Phillies pitcher, Carlton Loewer, pitched
a five-hitter for his first career shutout, defeating San Diego, 3-0.
Loewer had been inconsistent during his brief major league tenure.
In the first inning of the game, he had an epiphany. After having
walked Tony Gwynn and Wally Joiner with two outs, he determined
that his approach was based on “not walking guys.” Many of the hard
hit balls over the course of previous outings, he felt, resulted from
“defensive strikes” being thrown. (See Abbott anecdote above.)
Loewer determined to change his focus from avoiding walks to
being aggressive with all his pitches, all the time. On that night, the
philosophy was well integrated into behavior. His goal was to bring
that approach out to the mound on a consistent basis. The process
is enhanced by the determination. [See WILL]
A strike can be an eagle or an albatross for a pitcher. The pitcher
who feels he ‘has to’ throw strike one will be bound up by the tension
that accompanies that feeling. [See URGENCY] Young pitchers who
want to please their coaches feel that burden. I can recall many,
particularly young pitchers in major league spring training camps,
who, having thrown ball one, became disoriented by their “failure to
get ahead of the hitter.” What followed was usually an unhappy result
for the pitcher.
Pitchers can get outs despite having thrown a ball on the first
pitch. Or on the first two pitches. Perspective is needed. Urgency is
not. A pitcher must learn the difference between what is desirable
and what is disastrous. He s6hould attack the strike zone, not
himself. Process. Balance.
What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Reaffirm the value of throwing aggressive strikes early in the

count. [See AGGRESSIVENESS and CONTACT and COUNT]
∎ Understand that strikes thrown with less than his “best stuff” or
with an aggressive purpose are usually counterproductive.
∎ Realize that “aimed” or “steered” strikes are not thrown with
commitment and are not generally quality strikes, if they are
strikes at all.
∎ Understand that throwing strikes in order to avoid walks is
“defensive,” ineffective pitching.
∎ Make a commitment to attack the strike zone early in the count.
∎ Recognize that trust, rather than urgency, is the foundation of
his approach.
∎ TARGET
“Tunnel vision is how I explain it,” Nolan Ryan has said. “You
become isolated from all outside distraction ... and there’s only you
... and the catcher. It’s the most satisfying feeling I’ve known.”
Daisetz Suzuki explained the mastery of archery: “The archer
ceases to be conscious of himself as the one who is engaged in
hitting the bull’s eye which confronts him.” Ultimate focus on a target.
Whether it is pitching, or archery, or skeet shooting, or lasso
throwing, or completing a pass in football, the eyes attend to the
object—to the target. Every physical “throw” requires an aim—a
visual direction. The catcher’s mitt best serves the pitcher as his
target.
In order to develop a consistent command of pitches, the pitcher
should develop consistent habits related to his approach. His
breathing should be patterned, his tempo should be regular, his
delivery should be replicated with each pitch. And so, too, should his
focus on the target.
Inappropriate thinking distracts a pitcher from all or some of the
elements of his approach. Very often, it takes his mind—and eyes—
entirely away from his target. Without a narrow focus, his pitches are
delivered into an expanded area, one seen with “soft focus” or no
focus. If the pitcher sees the target at all, it is with a cloudy vision.
The target is fuzzy, rather than sharp.
The same result follows a lazy or casual mental approach. A lack
of intensity will take a pitcher’s attention away from the target, just as
a particular distraction will. (Recall the magnifying glass anecdote.
[See INTENSITY]
Two examples can be provided to illustrate the above tendencies.
Pat Rapp, when pitching for the Florida Marlins, was having a
fine day against the Cincinnati Reds. He had pitched four and two-
thirds innings at Joe Robbie Field, and had a 4-0 lead. The third
batter in the top of the fifth inning was Dion Sanders. He bunted, and
Rapp came off the mound with enough time to make the play and
retire Sanders. But he slipped—then grabbed desperately for the ball
without being able to come up with it. Sanders was on first. Man on
first, two out. No big deal.
Except for the fact that Rapp made a big deal out of it. He was
upset with himself for not having made the play and getting five
shutout innings—with a lead—”in the book.” He then threw 11
consecutive balls. Bases loaded, 3-0 on the hitter. Rapp laid one in
the strike zone. Double into the left-field corner. Three runs scored;
the manager took Rapp out of the game. He left with a 4-3 lead but
was not eligible for the win.
He was furious. The next day, just before stretching, I saw him
coming toward me. Before he got close he shouted, “I said
everything you always told me to say out there, but it didn’t work.”
“Let me ask you one question,” I said. “What did the target look
like while you were going through all that?”
After a long pause, he said with a laugh, “I’ve got no bleepin’
idea.”
Rapp had been so unhappy with his failure to field Sanders’ bunt,
that, in spite of what he was trying to tell himself, he maintained an
inappropriate focus—and never saw the target.
The sidework done by pitchers in the bullpen has provided me
with many opportunities to point out casual or lazy approaches.
Sidework is preparation. Habits are formed by whatever a pitcher
does on a regular basis. That is enough ammunition for me.
 Many times I have asked a young pitcher to turn around and face
away from the catcher. I then asked him the color of the catcher’s
mitt. Many wrong answers, many correct answers—before some
admitting to guesswork. Purposeful sidework should include
practicing breathing patterns, mechanical consistency—and picking
up the target.
This is a form of rehearsal for a pitcher, as actors have their
stage rehearsal. An actor rehearses his lines, his inflection, his stage
presence—his entire “delivery”—in the manner he wishes to perform.
So, too, does a pitcher rehearse. Picking up the target, one aspect of
his performance, requires his conscientious attention.
Joe Sambito made his big league debut for the Houston Astros a
while ago—in 1976. For a young pitcher, he had unusually good
control—good command. Not the night of his debut. Recalled
Sambito, “I was just hoping to throw strikes. I kept telling myself,
‘Just throw strikes,’ but I couldn’t. [See STRIKES] Later I realized
what I had done to myself. I didn’t have a target. I didn’t even think
about where I wanted to throw the ball. I was just hoping the ball
would go into the strike zone.”
“Soft eyes” were mentioned above. In this context, “soft eyes”
mean “too soft’” not allowing for sharpness of focus—on the object
being attended to. “Hard eyes,” in contrast, are “locked up”—causing
tension to the muscles in the face, probably a result of tension and/or
too high an arousal level.
Not too soft; not too hard. The ideal focus on the target is gained
with a relaxed intensity. This means relaxed muscles (including the
muscles in the face) and a narrowly directed vision (on the target).
Many pitchers are naturally able to bring this focus to their game.
Others learn to develop it. Once again, good habits are developed
through diligent practice.
Finally, pitch through the target, rather than to it, meaning
aggressively attack the target, rather than steering the ball to it.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the eyes are the muscles’ guide, and should
be properly used during the delivery of each pitch.
 ∎ Develop the habit of “being on target,”—i.e., the catcher’s mitt.
∎ Recognize that distracting, irrelevant thoughts will adversely
affect his concentration and “cloud” or obscure his sharp focus
on the target.
∎ Make the necessary adjustment during competition, when he
has a sense of divided attention through gathering and self-
coaching—off the mound.
∎ Develop a consistent, disciplined approach to picking up the
target during sidework in the bullpen.
∎ Focus on the target with a relaxed intensity.
∎ Pitch through the target, rather than to it.

∎ TASK AT HAND
The mother of all pitching mantras is “one pitch at a time.” Rightly
so. The concept brings a pitcher’s focus to the most important,
immediate, manageable task at hand: the next pitch he will execute.
It has been said that all we have is “the now.” The “now” for a
pitcher is the very task of delivering his next pitch. All else in a
pitcher’s head is extraneous, whether it is an historical past or an
hysterical future.
Living in and for the moment makes it easier for the pitcher to
adapt to situations as they change. His focus is narrow; the
requirements are limited to that time and space. All attention is
concentrated on delivering the next pitch. He can understand that;
he can control that. It is small and elemental. That task at hand is his
exclusive concern, and always should be.
In 1983, while interviewing players for The Mental Game of
Baseball, I spent some time speaking with Wade Boggs in the
Boston Red Sox dugout hours before game time. Bruce Hurst, a
young pitcher who had won seven games over the past three years
with Boston, was sitting nearby.
After I had completed my interview/discussion with Boggs, Hurst
came over and said that he had been listening, and that he was
interested in talking about “the mental game.” “I can use that
information,” he said. We talked. He was particularly interested in the
concept of focusing on one pitch at a time. His concentration had
been less than he would have wanted it to be.
Hurst’s next start was to be in Anaheim in a couple of days. He
would be pitching against Tommy John and was “looking forward to
the challenge.” He was enthusiastic about following the principle of
taking care of the singular task at hand—the execution of the next
pitch.
At the end of seven innings in Anaheim, the score was 0-0. In the
top of the eighth, the Red Sox scored three runs. The Angels scored
five runs off Hurst in the bottom of the eighth. Bob Stanley relieved
him. (Boston tied the game in the ninth and won it in extra innings.)
When the team returned to Fenway, I was there, doing more
interviews. Hurst greeted me with a guilty smile. “Do you know what
happened?” he asked.
“One of three things,” I said. “You were focusing on one pitch at a
time all game, until you got three runs. Then you went out in the
bottom of the eighth thinking either, ‘Six more outs and I beat Tommy
John,’ or ‘Two more innings and I have a win,’ or ‘Two more innings
and I have a shutout.’ Which one?” I asked.
“All three,” Hurst replied.
He had gone from thinking small to thinking big. From focus on
the target and the execution of one pitch, to focus on the
unmanageable and distracting future. From process and behavior to
result, albeit an imagined “happy” one. Irrelevant to task,
nevertheless.
The only life a man can lose is the one he’s living at the moment.
To forfeit the moment, for a pitcher, is to relinquish his control and
ability to effectively accomplish his task. If great wisdom is in
knowing what to do next, a pitcher who is attending to anything other
than the moment—the next pitch—forfeits his wisdom as well.
Previous topics have also addressed the need for this
concentrated attention to task. That concentration, as has been
noted, will be pre-potent. It will power the pitcher’s mental energy—
his mind, his muscles, his eyes—toward the execution of a pitch.
Nothing else will matter. Nothing else will intrude on the pitcher’s
“now.”
 The greater his ability to establish such focus, the more often he
will—naturally and without effort—”be in the zone.” Some pitchers
will achieve it more naturally than others. But it can be an acquired
instinct. The acquisition is through the process of disciplined
preparation. Of adopting mantra number one: carpe momentum.
Seize the moment. Deal exclusively with the task at hand. Execute
the next pitch.
That execution is what the pitcher should be thinking about. And
talking about—to himself, to the media, to whomever attempts to
expand his thinking beyond what is relevant and controllable.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Adopt the mantra of one-pitch-at-a-time, which is always the

pitcher’s immediate and essential concern on the mound.
∎ Understand that whatever other thoughts are in his head during
competition diminish his ability to concentrate appropriately on
that task.
∎ Remember that his behavior is within his control; results are
not.
∎ Recognize that he should function in the present—the “now”—
rather than fretting about the past or fantasizing about the
future. [See YESTERDAY and “X”]
∎ Reiterate the philosophy of dealing exclusively with the task at
hand, especially when media or others wish him to conjecture
on matters beyond his control.

∎ TEMPO
In 1990, the Oakland Athletics had a good pitcher and an even
finer man on their roster. He won 17 games for the A’s. But
teammates were not enthusiastic about playing behind him when he
pitched. His tempo was excruciatingly slow. The games he pitched in
seemed interminable. As effective as he had been as a pitcher, the
A’s sold him to another American League team after the season. The
defense was not unhappy.
 A slow tempo has infielders playing back on their heels, rather
than on their toes. Their concentration, they are very willing to admit,
wanders because so much time is taken between pitches.
Beyond that, a slow tempo allows the pitcher time to “think too
much” and/or to have his mind wander. His approach does not “flow.”
Neither does the movement of the game.
Pitchers who slow their tempo also give the impression they do
not want to throw the next pitch. Such a reference was made to a
pitcher in BODY LANGUAGE. In fact, he did not want to throw that
next pitch. He had lost his aggressiveness, and this was evident to
everyone watching him, including the opposing hitters. And,
perceiving the pitcher to be vulnerable, a hitter bolsters his own
confidence and has ample time to “get comfortable.” As a result, the
hitter, rather than the pitcher, is establishing the tempo. That should
not be acceptable to the pitcher.
A steady, regular tempo is desirable. Deliver the pitch; get the
ball back from the catcher; get up on the rubber; take the sign;
deliver the pitch. That pace keeps hitters from having all the time
they wish to get ready. It rivets the pitcher’s attention. It dictates the
movement of the game. It gives the appearance that the pitcher is
control. And, when a pitcher establishes such a tempo, he is in
control.
A time does comes when pitchers must slow the tempo. Herein
lies an issue for many who, when circumstance goes against them,
accelerate their tempo. The tendency for many pitchers is to work
faster when they are in trouble. They are anxious to extricate
themselves from the difficult situation, so they rush. “The faster I
work, the sooner this will be over,” they are saying to themselves.
They “rush.” Their thoughts swirl; their muscles tighten; they jump
out of their regular delivery. In the process, the difficulty mounts.
A pitcher should realize that when he is in a difficult situation, a
situation that requires him to make an adjustment, he must break the
tempo that is working against him, get off the mound and gather
himself, coach himself, and re-establish the desired tempo.
Pitchers who have told me they were “lost out there,” or “numb,”
or had the sky fall on them “before (they) knew it,” neglected—for a
variety of reasons—to “stop the bleeding” by breaking the tempo and
“taking care of the wound.”
Bob Welch, already a Cy Young Award winner, still had a
propensity to rush himself when he was annoyed or distracted. An
aggressive competitor, Welch could not wait to get the ball back from
the catcher and go at the hitter. Literally, he could not wait. A high-
energy, hyper-kinetic athlete, Welch would, at times, rush himself
into difficulty because of his great desire to attack it.
A particular tendency would show itself at such times. If Welch
went 2-0 on a hitter, he too often threw ball three and ball four on
consecutive pitches. Being 2-0, he would come down off the front of
the mound, reach his arm toward the catcher impatiently waiting for
the ball to be returned, get it, and deliver ball three. Repeated act,
then ball four. Further annoyance; further distraction. The cycle
needed breaking. [See URGENCY]
I discussed with him an idea for changing this pattern, one that
included the catcher’s participation. Welch, being the open person
he is, thought it worth a try. A simple plan was devised. Whenever
the count went to 2-0, or whenever he sensed an out-of-control
tempo, Steinbach would hold the ball for a moment, rather than
immediately returning the ball to the impatient pitcher.
Terry Steinbach, Oakland’s relatively inexperienced catcher at the
time, laughed when he understood the rationale behind the idea.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been throwing gas on the fire. We’re both
so competitive, and I see him pumped up out there, so I’m shaking
my fist at him, saying, ‘Come on, let’s go,’ and firing the ball back to
him, when I should be calming him down.”
They both changed their behavior at such times. Welch, standing
in front of the mound with his arm extended, would see Steinbach
holding the ball, not returning it to the impatient pitcher. A couple of
clock ticks later, he would understand the key. Steinbach might
sometimes put his palms down, in a calming, slow-down gesture.
Welch delivered the next pitch with a greater sense of purpose,
rather than with a greater sense of urgency.
There are two ends of a continuum. At one end is the pitcher who
works with painstaking and pain-inducing slowness. At the other is
the pitcher who is rushing aimlessly through an inning, without
regard to the singular requirements of each pitch. The place to be is
at the spot where each pitcher establishes a balance. A consistent,
steady pace when all is well. An effective deliberation time to correct
what is not going well. Break the unfavorable cycle; re-establish a
favorable one—one that keeps the game moving, makes the
pitcher’s aggressiveness evident, keeps his mind on his business,
and keeps the defensive players on their collective toes.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the advantages and necessity of establishing a

good tempo.
∎ Recognize the effects a poor tempo has on him and the
defense.
∎ Recognize any possible tendency to rush himself, when an
inning is beginning to go poorly.
∎ Know how and when to slow the tempo, in order to gather
himself and make necessary adjustments.
∎ After self-coaching, re-establish the regular tempo, rather than
continuously stepping off the mound and delaying the
execution of the next pitch.
∎ Use the catcher, if necessary, to provide keys—gestures or
language—as reminders related to appropriate tempo.
∎ Remember that rushed thinking adversely affects his focus and
his mechanics, whereas a consistent and focused approach
brings a sense of purpose to each pitch.
∎ UMPIRES
God and Satan get together to form a baseball competition, in
order to “liven up” the afterlife. Satan, as is his nature, is bragging,
expressing his certainty that his team would defeat God’s team.
“You can’t be serious,” God replies. “Don’t you know what kind of
pitching I have? Among other outstanding pitchers on the staff, I
have Cy Young, Walter Johnson, Christy Mathewson, and Don
Drysdale,” says God. “And now I have Hal Newhouser.”
“And I have the umpires,” answers the devil.
The devil, it has been said, is in the details. And an important
understanding a pitcher should have about his game is that the
homeplate umpire is an external detail. Umpires, therefore, should
be irrelevant to his approach.
The problem posed by umpires is based on pitchers’ responses
to them, as it affects their next approach. I have witnessed pitchers
who lost their focus, because they were so affected by umpires they
thought were “squeezing” them. Not giving the pitchers strikes they
thought they deserved to get.
“He [the umpire] took me out of my game,” more than one pitcher
has explained to me. My response used to be, “You allowed him to
take you out of the game.” After a time, my more accurate answer
has been, “You took yourself out of your game.”
Umpires have been easy excuses for irresponsible pitchers for a
long time. Fine umpires do their jobs consistently and effectively.
Others are inconsistent. Still others are consistently ineffective. The
same is true of pitchers, teachers, and auto mechanics.
What a poor umpire brings to bear on a pitcher is just another
test of the pitcher’s ability to recognize what he can and cannot
control. A test of the pitcher’s ability to control himself—his emotions,
his focus, his poise.
After a frustrating experience with the calls of a homeplate
umpire, young pitchers have appealed their case to me—an
eyewitness. I invoke the words my father used when, as a boy, I
made such an appeal to him: “You can hope for justice, kid. But don’t
expect it.” Indifferent Fate will not intervene on the pitcher’s behalf.
To a pitcher who expresses his frustration to me during a similar
“bad experience” with an umpire, I simply say: “Shut up, focus, and
compete.” End of sermon. A pitcher’S need for sympathy at this
moment, if satisfied, would become a long-term cruelty.
Umpires are part of the environment of the game of baseball. The
great umpires from the past declared that they were best doing their
jobs when they went unnoticed. The issue is not whether or not that
remains the modern-day umpires’ agenda. The issue is that pitchers
must adhere to that agenda: the umpire should go unnoticed.
Many external distractions can be found in the environment of the
baseball world. The umpire is right there behind homeplate. If the
pitcher cannot adequately deal with a possible distraction that is so
immediate, proximate and repeated, he need not be concerned with
any others. He will be out of “his” game—and out of the game.
The most successful pitchers are pro-active, rather than re-
active. They attack the strike zone, rather than reacting to the person
who may determine it on a given call. On a given day.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that ideals in this world, in this case an umpire’s

ball-strike calls being consistently “accurate,” are not to be
 expected.
∎ Understand that an umpire’s call is one of the many things the
pitcher cannot control.
∎ Realize that the response of frustration over a call will impede
the effective mental set that helps him execute the next pitch.
∎ When frustrated by circumstances involving the umpire, get off
the mound, gather himself and go through all the procedures of
self-coaching—required at that time, because of that
circumstance.
∎ Remember that nothing or no one can “take his focus away”
without his consent.
∎ Remember, as well, that his efficacy as a competitor is
evidenced by his self-discipline, not by self-destructive
behavior.

∎ URGENCY
Conventional wisdom speaks to the point that athletes perform
better when they are in a relaxed state. This view is supported by
much research on the topic. [See RELAXATION] A sense of urgency,
so common in pitchers, is the antithesis of relaxation. At best, a
pitcher’s urgency inhibits his ability to function well. At worst, it
makes him dysfunctional.
A feeling of urgency can have as many causes as there are
pitchers. Each individual brings his perspective and needs to the
mound during every outing. If one pitcher feels the need to do well to
“save his job,” he can manifest this need by “trying too hard.” If
another is pitching a “must game” for his team, his urgent response
will work at cross-purposes with his intention—“to win the big one.”
He will “try too hard,” becoming too aggressive and less controlled.
As mentioned previously, some pitchers have a sense of urgency
kick in as soon as they fall behind in the count—or put men on base
—or have runs scored against them. They always seem to be
pitching to “get something back,” governed by a vague perception of
having lost something. What has actually been lost is their good
approach.
 This excessive concern or worry or fear produces the same
symptoms: a loss of a controlled mental and mechanical pattern.
Desperation sets in, and thoughts become disjointed and scattered.
Muscles tighten, the delivery quickens.
A relaxed state speaks to the pitcher by saying, “Be easy, trust it,
stay on task, let it flow.” Urgency speaks another language: “Hurry
up, force it, I’d better ... ”
The “language of maladjustment” was mentioned in SELF-TALK.
It is not difficult for the reader to recognize the distinction between
the language patterns above. One expression is conducive to
adjustment and an effective approach to performance, the other to
maladjustment and an ineffective approach. A sense of urgency
rushes a pitcher’s thoughts toward judgments related to
consequences. His concentration and muscles follow those thoughts
—all going in the wrong direction.
Urgency is “I have to” and “I must.” Urgency is tension and fear.
Urgency is “or else.” Urgency is “do or die.”
Urgency induces loss of control, loss of purpose, loss of balance,
loss of focus, loss of tempo, loss of trust—to name a few losses.
Illustrative behavior can be seen just about every day, in just about
every game. It happens, to varying degrees, to just about every
pitcher. The greater the sense of urgency, the greater the loss of all
the elements of a good pitching approach.
Real crisis tests mental discipline. Perceived crisis tests the
pitcher’s view of the world and of himself. Whichever tests him, a
controlled behavior helps him to pass. Urgent behavior induces
failure.
The passing “test key” is a reaffirmation of a healthy point of view
and a renewed understanding of what works and what does not work
on the mound. First, a pitcher who performs with a heightened sense
of urgency has made everything “matter too much.” The “or-else
syndrome” takes over. Dire consequences are always close to his
surface thinking. A healthier perspective is required.
Second, the pitcher, having gone through the experience of
performing at this high level of urgency, understands its power over
him. He must further understand what measures he should take to
transfer that power. In my experience with pitchers, this has been
done with constant and frequent reiteration of a desired approach.
The “brainwashing” referred to in earlier pages. [See MANTRA]
Daily work on mental discipline and preparation helps train the
pitcher to A) establish a healthier, more effective approach, and B) to
recognize when it breaks down during competition and to make an
adjustment. This, rather than allowing the urgency to “cut off his
head,” and have him pitch like the proverbial chicken.
Finally, regular relaxation exercises are appropriate for a pitcher
who regularly performs with a feeling of urgency. Philosophy deals
with the issue; techniques deal with the symptoms. An urgent pitcher
should deal with both.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that a sense of urgency will take him out of the

relaxed state that helps him to maximize his ability.
∎ Recognize the causes of urgent behavior and work at
developing a more realistic perspective.
∎ Reiterate and/or review his philosophy of effective pitching on a
daily basis.
∎ During competition, be aware of any tendency to accelerate his
tempo and rush his delivery.
∎ Make the necessary adjustments at such times, gathering
himself, slowing his thought process, using calming self-talk
and refocusing on task.
∎ Use the catcher to help him with keys or triggers when urgent
behavior is evident.
∎ According to need, develop a routine for using relaxing
exercises and techniques.
∎ Re-read RELAXATION.
∎ VISUALIZATION [See APPENDIX A]
Visualization is the technique of recalling information in images
and physical forms, rather than in language. Some people learn
more effectively with their eyes than with their ears. With others, the
opposite is true. My approach is to present the concept and process
to players, allow them to see how simple the procedure is, and
encourage them to give it a try. The rest is up to them. The reader
should allow himself the same opportunity, an opportunity for “mental
rehearsal.”
The first and most obvious value of visualization is in the fact that
it can be utilized away from the field. On a living room chair or
reclining in bed. Each provides an environment for using the
technique.
Having recognized the ability to “rehearse” away from the field,
the pitcher can be further encouraged to use the practice by knowing
that research has found mental practice often to be more useful than
physical practice. Stories abound to verify these studies, including
the one about a POW who had never played “actual” golf in his life,
but who spent years playing “visualized” golf—36 holes a day—to
make his days in captivity more tolerable. When he became a free
man, he also became a very respectable golfer. Immediately. His
mental rehearsal had prepared him well.
Athletes who conscientiously prepare for performance wish to
include some form of visualization in their program. Prerequisite for
its successful use is that the player understand what makes
visualization work and that he then believes in its value for him.
Some pitchers are initially skeptical about their ability to visualize. I
simply ask them to recall what they were wearing at their wedding or
their senior prom. “What was your wife/date wearing?” I then ask.
And I ask for other details. That data, stored in the subconscious, is
easily recalled by the player.
His conscious mind determined that this information was
significant to him, and he filed it for future reference, should it be
needed. Sensory experience was thereby registered at the
conscious level and stored at the unconscious level. “Memory in
pictures,” I tell them to simplify the idea, sparing them an explanation
of Karl Albrecht’s definition. Visualization, he wrote in Brain Power, is
“all non-verbal thought forms that [the] brain organizes into a spatial
pattern, not just a mental picture.” (Emphasis mine.)
The POW who played “mental golf” had pictures of people
swinging golf clubs in his memory bank. He had observed, therefore
he had the images. His eyes had seen golf being played, his
conscious mind stored the images for future reference, and he
recalled them when he “needed” them. He was able to “re-create”
dog legs to the right, dog legs to the left, water hazards, sand traps,
and a good golf swing. He had these pictures, though he had not
had the physical experience.
Pitchers have had the physical experience, and therefore have
kinetic memory, as well as visual memory. Another experiential
advantage. Visualization will help the pitcher to program his nervous
system and his muscles. And, as noted, he has an experiential
reference point to assist him in “getting it right,” especially in regard
to mechanics.
Joyous or traumatic memories are so vivid that the emotions from
those moments are often reproduced—an example of memory
controlling muscles and nervous system. This power can be utilized
before the fact. The pitcher sees himself participating in the event—
the game or the singular pitch. He can mentally simulate crowd
noise, tension level, circumstance. Called subjective visualization,
this technique allows the pitcher to include and adjust his emotions
within the experience. (Being a spectator is objective visualization.)
He then directs his intentions with self-talk. “Good slider here, down
and away.” And he sees the execution of that pitch.
The pitcher decides whether this is done at the kitchen table or
behind the mound. Jack Nicklaus claimed he visualized every golf
shot he took before he took it. But the movement and time between
golf shots allows for that. The pace of a baseball game does not—on
a regular basis.
My recommendation to pitchers is that they rehearse either the
night before they pitch (starters) or in the clubhouse before each
game (relievers). “When your head hits the pillow, use the next 10
minutes for putting in a tape of your best performances,” I tell
pitchers. “See yourself kicking butt, establishing good tempo, putting
the ball just where you want it. You’ll usually fall asleep with the tape
still playing.”
In 1991, a youngster, Gavin Osteen, was pitching for Huntsville,
Oakland’s Double-A team in the Southern League. The team was
playing in Greenville, and Osteen and I were shagging in the outfield.
Ryan Klesko was playing with Greenville that year, and the previous
time Osteen had faced him, Klesko hit the ball hard in every at-bat.
Two doubles and a home run, if I recall correctly. In any case,
Osteen was concerned about facing Klesko the next night.
Knowing that Osteen was very effective in his use of the
visualization process, I asked him why he was so concerned after
one bad game against Klesko. “Aren’t you preparing by visualizing
good location and execution?” I asked. A long and pregnant pause
followed the question. Then he responded, “My gosh, that’s what’s
bothering me. I’ve been visualizing, but I keep seeing the pictures of
balls going off the wall every time I deliver a pitch to him [Klesko].
I’ve got the wrong pictures working.”
That night Osteen processed the right pictures. A left-handed
pitcher, he struck out the left-handed hitting Klesko three times the
following night. Klesko has been a major league player for a number
of years; Osteen, at this writing is still in Triple A. So this is not meant
to be a “Jack Armstrong” story. But it is simply a true one—about
mental rehearsal, not relative physical talent.
Visualization requires concentration. A pitcher who begins the
process and soon loses interest will not benefit from an activity he
cannot sustain. Just as every concentration exercise requires mental
discipline, so too does every visualization exercise. It should be clear
that visualization serves more than one master.
Many exercises can be used to develop and practice the
technique, through observation, imagination, invention, and recall. A
keen observer sees much. When entering a hotel/motel room in
which he has never been, the pitcher should notice the spatial
relationship of the furniture, the window and door locations, anything
unusual about the room. He should be attentive to detail, observing
all, rather than just being another “piece of furniture” in the room. He
should see colors (bed spread, picture on wall), feel texture
(curtains), smell fragrances (wood, room freshener). He should “get
the picture.”
A different setting can be invented. The pitcher can sit and
visualize himself water skiing, riding a horse, playing golf, or eating a
favorite meal at a restaurant. The accompanying sights and sounds
should be included. And smells. And tastes.
The pitcher can imagine finding a gemstone in his travel bag, for
example. He senses its color, observes its size, and feels its texture.
He can recall past events and recreate the setting and images he
has retained at a lower level of consciousness. A gathering of
friends, a skiing experience. A wedding or prom, as mentioned
above. Some special visit during childhood. Any vivid recollection will
serve.
The above are examples of exercises that can be helpful in
developing a pitcher’s ability to create and sustain visual images.
Their ultimate value is in the developing and enhancing of the
pitcher’s ability to “see” himself perform—to visualize the execution
of effective pitches.
Don Carman, who pitched in the big leagues with the Phillies and
the Texas Rangers, developed a “picture” of an alley, much like the
gutter on the side of a bowling lane. The alley went from his release
point to the desired location of the pitch. “I just put the ball in the
alley,” Carman would say. Simple and clear to him. The hitter was
irrelevant to him, as was the case with Carman’s Hall-of-Fame
teammate with the Phillies, Steve Carlton, a master at visualizing—
and pitching.
The pitcher himself will learn whether he is able to utilize
visualization during competition. Visualization off the field is certainly
easier to master and manage. As in every case, the pitcher will make
his choice. A good understanding allows for a better ability to make
that choice.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand the concept and purpose of visualization.

∎ Understand the technique used to visualize.
∎ Understand the value of visualization.
∎ Do practice exercises in order to enhance his ability to
visualize effective performance.
∎ Utilize and further develop his sensory abilities through keen
observation, imagination, invention, and recall.
∎ Visualize peak performance from his past, seeing himself in
“flow” experiences of delivery and execution (possibly “feeling”
the muscles and emotion during that performance).
∎ Incorporate mental rehearsal into regular preparation program.
∎ WARRIOR
In 1992, I read a book written by Oriana Fallaci entitled, A Man. A
passage struck me at the time. It referred to the protagonist, who
was a political prisoner. The major part of the passage follows:
“ ... [T]he true hero never surrenders ... [H]e is distinguished from
the others not by the great initial exploit or the pride with which he
faces tortures and death but the constancy with which he repeats
himself, the patience with which he suffers and reacts, the pride with
which he hides his sufferings and flings them back in the face of the
one who has ordered them. Not resigning himself is his secret, not
considering himself a victim, not showing others his sadness or
despair ...” Exploiting whatever psychological weapons are at his
disposal, the author added.
Just last week, seven years after having read Fallaci’s work, I
completed John Katzenbach’s, Hart’s War, which included the
following: “It is easier to guard a man who thinks himself as a
prisoner than it is to guard a man who thinks of himself as a warrior.”
Though the above references are to politics and war, the
descriptions speak to my view of a baseball warrior, as well. A
warrior pitcher. “A man.”
The subject of competitive spirit has already appeared in earlier
pages. As have the topics of aggressiveness, relentlessness, and
control. So spending time writing about warriors seemed
unnecessary to me, until I considered how much the term is used in
the game of baseball. And in athletic competition, in general.
Most recently, Dodgers general manager Kevin Malone used the
term to describe Kevin Brown and used it as a rationale for the rich
contract he gave Brown. The same label was attached to Roger
Clemens, when he went from Toronto to the New York Yankees.
People in both organizations called Clemens a “true warrior.”
Baseball people use the term glowingly but sparingly. They say
things such as, “This guy will find a way to beat you.” “This guy will
leave it all on the field.” “This guy will gut it out.” “This guy will always
take the ball.” (My own minor adjustment to that statement is that a
warrior doesn’t only “take the ball,” he “always wants the ball.”)
Scientist Louis Pasteur attributed his success not to his brain, but
to his “tenacity.” It is this tenacious approach which truly
distinguishes a great competitor from a mediocre one. Red Sox
pitcher Pedro Martinez speaks of his approach in such terms and
recognizes the ball as a weapon. Martinez speaks of using his
fastball to intimidate hitters, hoping to cause what Sun Tzu, in THE
ART OF WAR, called “psychological dislocation” of the opponent.
Warrior talk.
All this considered, one should have an idea of what behavior is
characteristic in a pitcher who is considered to be a warrior. To serve
that purpose, a list is provided. These traits are integrated into
behavior, irrespective of circumstance, adverse or favorable. The
behaviors begin with the first pitch and are manifested until the last
pitch has been thrown.
• Courage
• Intensity
• Competitiveness
• Consistency of focus
• Confrontational attitude
• Aggressiveness under control
• Relentlessness
• Responsibility to do what the situation requires
• Responsibility for own behavior
• Honesty
 • Self-sacrifice-a commitment to the team’s agenda
• Self-trust
• Ability to make necessary adjustments
• Positive approach to task and circumstance
• Mental discipline
• Ability to cope effectively with adversity
• Indifference to hitters’ presence or posturing
• Ability to “do what needs to be done”

Not all-inclusive, to be sure. But just as surely, a pitcher who

“checks off” all of the above as being representative of his own
‘make-up’ and approach qualifies as a warrior—and a winner.
Is anyone always the consummate warrior. I think not. Perfection
may be desirable, but it is not attainable. Its pursuit, if realistically
approached, can help a pitcher to enact the desired behavior more
consistently and more emphatically.
Certain warriors come to mind, other than the ones noted
throughout the book. My own stated favorite was Bob Gibson. I also
admired the tenacity of Don Drysdale and Dave Stewart. Current
candidates include Todd Stottlemyre, who is not a quiet warrior. And
Mike Mussina, who is.
In a 1999 confrontation with Kevin Brown and the Dodgers,
Phillies pitcher Curt Schilling faced a bases loaded, no out situation.
Twice he went 3-0 on batters, and twice he came back to strike them
out. The Dodgers did not score. Schilling and the Phillies won the
game.
After the game, a reporter asked the pitcher whether he would
have been happy to get out of the inning with only one run scoring,
what with the two 3-0 counts he had reached, and so on.
Schilling responded, “I concede nothing. I wasn’t looking to give
up any run, even with a 3-0 count. Nothing will happen until I throw
the ball, and I won’t give in on any pitch.”
Spoken like a warrior.
Warriors do not always win. But they reveal their identity to their
opponents as pitchers who, if they do not stand as winners of a
particular game, have “gone down fighting”—while still standing as
“winners” in the competitive arena of baseball. Those pitchers are
mentally unconquerable.
Confucius’ suggested that “he who conquers himself is the
mightiest warrior.” One issue comes to mind, based on my
experience with warrior-like pitchers. They want the ball, and they
take the ball, as established. But sometimes, they should not have
the ball. Too many pitchers have damaged themselves by “sucking it
up” and pitching hurt, with a hurt that caused (further?) physical
injury. Some intelligence is required. Ego and excessive pride are
not helpful to the pitcher. A trainer and physician are. Conquering the
self includes conquest of all the emotional factors that lead a pitcher
to poor decision making. A fallen warrior cannot do battle. An
aspiring warrior must beware. The “weapons at his disposal” when
he is hurting are honesty and courage. The courage to tell the
necessary truth and deal with the consequences—his inability to
take the ball at that time.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Recognize the advantages of warrior-like behavior in any

competition.
∎ Be aware of the traits and behaviors that define a warrior-
pitcher.
∎ Understand that his ability to be self-actualizing is prerequisite
for effectively competing at an optimum level.
∎ Work at integrating positive, warrior-like behaviors into his
pitching approach.
∎ Remember that the development of desirable traits and habits
is a process, requiring consistent monitoring and conscientious
effort.
∎ Know that warriors, who tend to “do too much,” must maintain
self-control.
∎ Understanding this, recognize that pitching with pain may
cause physical damage.
∎ Share the decision-making responsibility related to physical
injury with trained professionals.
 ∎ Be rational, keeping his ego out of all decision-making
processes.

∎ WILL
Will is power. Will is determination and resolve. It is the imposing
of desire onto behavior. Many value it; not that many exert it.
A study of people who made New Year’s resolutions was
conducted quite a few years back. I remember some of the findings.
Enough to support the statement above. In the large “study group” of
those who pronounced their intention to enact specific changes in
their behavior, 25 percent abandoned their resolutions after two
weeks had past. Fifty percent “gave in” after three months. All they
seemed to have was what Saul Bellow called “a warehouse of
intentions.”
The intentions, unfortunately, were more strongly expressed than
the peoples’ resolve. “Men are distinguished by the power of their
wanting,” wrote novelist Barry Unsworth. Their wanting, without will,
achieved little or nothing.
The undistinguished behavior of broken resolutions is “normal.”
But it is a normalcy other than what elite athletes seek for
themselves. Ordinary people have, as Durant wrote in The
Reconstruction of Character, “a thousand wishes but no will.”
Ordinariness is not a goal of pitchers who wish to excel.
“Warrior” is the person—the athlete; will is his psychological
weapon. The designation of an individual as a “tough pitcher” is a
reference not to his physical capacity, but, rather, to an indomitable
will. Most of the misfortunes a pitcher faces during competition are a
result, I believe, of weakness of will. He has gone into battle with a
blunt weapon—or with no weapon at all. The strong determination a
pitcher has for “getting it right” connects him to his appropriate
concentration. As it does to positivism, aggressiveness, and all the
other traits and behaviors he values. The expression, “He wills
himself to win,” speaks to that point.
Even when a pitcher’s internal system is invaded by self-doubt or
fear, his determination enables him to disregard these intruders. He
redirects thoughts and immediately regains control of his approach
and performance. Self-control requires a strong expression of will.
Much has been written about people who have performed
remarkable feats because of their expression of will. An anecdote is
provided in The Mental Game of Baseball telling about a European
pistol shooter who was favored to win a gold medal in the 1968
Olympics. A year before the games, he lost his right hand (his
shooting hand) in an accident and disappeared from public view.
People presumed his despondency and a desire for seclusion. He
reappeared before the games, now shooting with his left hand. He
won a gold medal.
A story of Native American origin tells of the ordeals an
adolescent boy is required to face and conquer before his tribe
considered him to be a man. A long, solitary walk was one of the
requirements. Five miles. Before he departed, an elder would tell
him, “If you can walk five, walk six.” After a will becomes strong—it
becomes insistent.
“When will is as taut as a bowstring, the ant can overcome the
lion.” An African tribe’s “lesson” to their boys with “manly”
aspirations.
Cancer patients have offered many examples of the assertion of
will extending life, as opposed to resignation—“giving up”—assuring
death. More often than a “normal” person thinks, he is able to take
himself beyond that norm. With will power. Tour de France winner
Lance Armstrong beat the disease and all other opposition in 1999.
FIRST INNING addressed pitchers who are “hopers.” Hopers
want good things to happen to them. “Doers” take responsibility for
making things happen. The difference relates to the statistics of
failure in people who make “resolutions.” Most were probably
hopers. Goal-setters are more likely to be people who establish what
they want and hold themselves accountable for getting it.
The goals I most value for pitchers are behavior goals, for the
very reason that the individual has complete control over these goals
and can impose his will daily, working to achieve what he wants. The
“power” Unsworth spoke of above. [See APPENDIX B]
The ability to think appropriate thoughts during competition and to
behave in a way that is compatible with his understanding of what is
required distinguishes the ordinary pitcher from the exceptional. His
thoughts and focus and right decisions are part of a man’s act of
choice. When he makes the right choices, a pitcher senses the
control he has over himself and his performance. The resultant self-
confidence rests on the foundation of a confidence he has in the
power of his mind. Such a pitcher is much more capable of “doing
what it takes.”
Certainly, as has been mentioned many times, the development
of this mental discipline is an arduous, trying, and exhausting
process. It is many cultures’ right of passage from boyhood to
manhood. For baseball pitchers, the metaphorical passage is from
soldier to warrior. An implacable will can make all the difference.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Be aware of the power of a strong will as it imposes itself on

behavior.
∎ Understand that ordinary people most often express intentions
without expressing the resolve required for those intentions to
become reality.
∎ Re-establish his broad goal of being extraordinary, rather than
ordinary.
∎ Be certain his specific goals are expressed in behavioral terms,
allowing for their achievement through his determination and
daily attention.
∎ Recognize that the expression of a strong will affects all
aspects of his pitching approach in a positive way.
∎ Remember that self-improvement as a person and as an
athlete is a process, an arduous one for those who are
determined and persistent.
∎ “X”

“X”—the 24th letter in the alphabet. In The American Heritage

Dictionary it is defined as “any unknown ... factor (or) thing ...” As
students learn in algebra class.
The future is an unknown. It is the pitcher’s “x”.. It will remain so
for him—and everyone else—until it is revealed in the immediate
present, by actually becoming the “now.” The “now” is what the
pitcher can know, can manage and can address. His musings on the
future are surely distracting and potentially anxiety producing. That
unknown, wrote H.L. Mencken, “sits ... calmly licking its chops,”
ready to devour the pitcher who has lost his way—who has strayed
from the path of the next pitch he is to deliver.
As has been said, the “now” is all a pitcher truly has. What he
does with it will determine the extent of his effectiveness. Past and
future must not intrude. [See YESTERDAY] The pitch about to be
delivered is the most important pitch he will ever throw. That is the
viewpoint he should bring to it. Having done that, he then focuses on
the next pitch, the new “now.” Then, and only then, on the one after
that.
In such a progression, the irrelevant unknown becomes the
relevant known. The “x” is no longer “x.” It has been transformed by
action, not by time. The action was the delivery of the previous pitch.
So the pitcher will always have an identifiable “now” to deal with.
He need not and should not deal with the “x-factor.” Because he
cannot—except in his distracted mind.
The reader might wish to review the anecdote in TASK AT HAND,
telling of Red Sox pitcher, Bruce Hurst, and his distraction with the
unmanageable future. Hurst’s focus went from a focus on one pitch
at a time to entertaining possibilities two innings into the future.
One young pitcher minor league pitcher I had been talking with in
1984, a Double-A pitcher in the Cincinnati organization, strayed just
two pitches into the future. The unknown was lurking there as well,
“licking its chops.”
The day after his relief appearance, he approached me and
revealed what “had happened” to him during the previous night’s
game. He explained that, after having taken the sign for the next
pitch, he brought a thought and picture into his mind and his “mind’s
eye.” They were related to the pitch that would follow the one he was
about to execute. “I was about to throw a fastball inside—move the
guy off the plate. Then I saw myself throwing a slider away after that
—while I'm on the rubber! I was thinking about that slider when I
threw the fastball. It was away, where I wanted the slider to be. He
[the right-handed hitter] smoked it against the wall in right,” the
pitcher said.
“But I’ll tell you something,” he continued. “At that very moment, it
kicked in. I mean I really understood the idea of one-pitch-at-a-time. I
understood right out there what had happened to me. I was thinking
way ahead of myself.”
“Way ahead” is a relative term. But one pitch ahead is still
enough ahead to qualify as an “x factor”—the distracting unknown
and irrelevant future.
Aeschylus wrote 2,400 years ago (in “Agamemnon”), “The future
/ you shall know when it has come; before then, forget it.” Better yet,
ignore it before it needs “forgetting.”
For all of us, there will not always be a future. But there will
always be a present. A pitcher should devote himself to that “now”
during competition. It is what he has, what he knows, and what he is
responsible to be attentive to.
What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the future is beyond his recognition and

control.
∎ Realize that his ability to effectively perform is reduced by a
focus on the unknown future, rather than the manageable
“now.”
∎ Understand that “one-pitch-at-a-time” is a mantra specifically
used to direct attention to his most important approach—the
exclusive focus on the immediate task at hand.
∎ Realize that the regular tempo and flow of his game is
enhanced or diminished by his ability or inability to maintain a
disciplined focus on the “now.”
∎ Monitor and evaluate this ability during and after each
performance.
∎ Make necessary mental adjustments to his focus during
competition through awareness and the use of gathering and
self-coaching techniques.
∎ Know that the future will become the present through his
actions, which always take place in the present.
∎ Determine, therefore, to have his mind and actions always
functioning in the same time zone.
∎ YESTERDAY
Yesterday can be a help or a hindrance. It is helpful to those who
learn from it and then “let it go.” It hinders those who dwell on it and
thereby distract themselves from the needs of the present.
“Yesterday,” in my use of the term with pitchers, is defined as any
time before the present. What is over and completed is “yesterday.”
The players might say, “It’s history,” but I prefer “yesterday,” as in “I
can’t get yesterday’s [bad] game out of my head.” A previous pitch,
hit out the ballpark by the batter, can be an indelible memory—as he
approaches the next pitch. “It’s a more immediate and damaging
yesterday,” I tell pitchers. “But still a yesterday.”
If “today is to be yesterday’s pupil,” as Thomas Fuller thought it
should be, the prospect depends as much on the pupil’s ability to
learn as on the “teacher’s” ability to instruct. My initial introduction of
the subject to pitchers is to present two homilies about “yesterdays”;
“Use it, or it will use you.” And, “Use it, then lose it.”
The past has value in that it can provide information to the
pitcher, giving him the opportunity to learn and make necessary
adjustments. Mistakes are vehicles for learning. Again, the lessons
are there, but will the pitcher seek answers or be mired in his misery
over having made mistakes? [See ADVERSITY and RESPONSE]
 A pitcher is able to properly use the past if he has asked himself,
“What was I trying to do? What went wrong? What do I want to do
next time?” And then answers these questions. The quicker he is
able to follow this process, the quicker he is able to rid himself of the
past. “Lose it.”
Dwelling on the past is as common as trying to conjure up an
unknown future. Perfectionists, and there are many pitchers who
proclaim themselves as such—with either false pride or dismay—
tend to punish themselves with the past. Any mistake is given longer
life by being dragged along into the pitcher’s present. (perfectionists
tend to see “mistakes” where no realistic pitcher would, intensifying
the issue of “letting it go.”)
The understanding of tending to business in the “now” must gain
power over past behaviors and outcomes. The pitcher who gives
more power to the past does not usually learn from it. That is what is
meant by, “It will use you.” The past controls the pitcher’s thought
patterns and diminishes his ability to focus on matters of the
moment. “Yesterday” is alive, though not well, in his head. A
distraction, to say the least. At worst, an obsessive thought, which
can lead to dysfunction.
D.H. Lawrence wished the past would “decently bury itself,
instead of sitting waiting to be admired by the present.” Pitchers
usually agonize, rather than admire the past which, unfortunately, will
always be sitting and waiting, just as Mencken’s future always “sits
calmly ... licking its chops.”
Past and future are brought into the present only as mental
images and imaginings. The fact that “X” and YESTERDAY are
consecutively presented in the book is helpful, in that the emphasis
on the valued present can be reiterated through the juxtaposed
devaluing of the before and after.
All pitchers’ yesterdays should be appropriately summarized in
his todays, and all his tomorrows are his to shape—as they become
the “now.”
“This only is denied even to God: the power to undo the past.”
(Aristotle) Available to all is the power to use it well.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Understand that the past can be useful or harmful, depending
on his connection to it.
∎ Understand that the past provides him with the opportunity to
learn from it.
∎ Understand that dwelling on the past is a distraction and
inhibitor of present performance.
∎ Develop the ability to recognize what adjustments are called for
during competition, through a quick assessment of what
caused a past mistake.
∎ Develop, then, the habit of jettisoning these past mistakes from
his mind.
∎ Focus on the moment during competition by redirecting
thoughts related to past events and behaviors, using gathering
and self-coaching techniques.
∎ Realize the choice and power to control his focus are his to
make and use.
∎ ZEROS
Zeros are the ultimate result goal. Their value is apparent to
everyone, as is the fact that a pitcher who puts up only zeros on the
scoreboard will never lose. Still, zeros are ends, not means.
Because of this fact, a pitcher’s focus on zeros during competition is
not appropriate. That focus does not direct him to present task, but
rather to future outcome. Desired outcome, that is. The more divided
the pitcher’s attention is, the less likely he will achieve that desired
outcome.
Putting zeros on the scoreboard is a what-to-do. Executing one
pitch at a time is the how-to-do-it. Whether the zero is desired in the
first inning, the fifth inning, a shutdown inning, or a closer’s save
inning, the approach is the same. This has been reiterated many
times in these pages. And it comes down to this final topic—the zero
as ultimate result—as an opportunity to provide a final reiteration.
Execute the next pitch!
The persistence with which a pitcher approaches the
development of his ability to have pre-potent concentration on his
immediate task will be a factor in the enhancement of his
performance. It has all been said.
And it all is related to the difficulties a pitcher must understand
and overcome and the philosophy and behaviors he develops. In this
regard, his effective mental approach will facilitate his efforts to
perform well. Clear-headed focus will help him put up an abundance
of zeros. By thinking small, keeping it simple.
Chekhov wrote, “If many remedies are prescribed for an illness,
you may be certain that illness has no cure.” The “remedy”
advocated in these pages is a singular one: stay on task by focusing
on the “now”—the execution of the next pitch. The zeros will come.

What the Pitcher Should Do...

∎ Execute that next pitch.

∎ Trust that zeros will come, because of his effective approach
and trust in his talent.
∎ Know his ABC’s. [See ALL PRECEDING PAGES]
∎ APPENDIX A
The purpose of this page is to provide the reader with access to
additional information related to topics treated in this book. Because
of the nature and purpose of the book, these topics have not been
presented as broadly or in the same manner here as in my previous
book, The Mental Game of Baseball. There they have been more
fully developed as chapters. The topics are listed below as they
appeared in that book’s Table of Contents, should the reader desire
further reference to them. (They are in alphabetical order here.)

• ATTITUDES

• DEDICATION

• CONCENTRATION

• CONFIDENCE

• GOALS

• LEARNING

• MENTAL DISCIPLINE

• PREPARATION

• RELAXATION

• VISUALIZATION
 Many related sub-topics are more specifically treated in the
ABC’s book. An example: COURAGE and WILL are more developed
here than in The Mental Game of Baseball, where they are
mentioned in the chapter on MENTAL DISCIPLINE.
∎ APPENDIX B
Listed here are goals of behavior and attitude. They are all within
the control of the pitcher. Result goals are not. A pitcher who trusts
his talent and commitment will be able to devote himself regularly to
the development of routines and habits that are conducive to
effective performance.
The list is not to be considered all-inclusive. Pitchers will be able
to think of other goals related to their individual needs. Setting these
specific goals—and monitoring his attempts to reach them—allows a
pitcher to be attentive to his own strengths and weaknesses.
Behavior goals provide purpose and direction. Just as a pitcher
should focus on executing one pitch at a time, so should he work on
one goal at a time. He should establish his own list of needs and
priorities and work diligently at mastery, before moving to the next
goal. Establishing those priorities is an initial act.
His dedication to excellence will determine the level of behavior
and achievement he will reach. Elite athletes, by definition, have
exceptional habits, which are tools of an effective worker.

∎ GOALS
To develop:

• an aggressive mentality (challenging hitters)

• an effective intensity level (aggressiveness under control)

• consistent focus and concentration on the target and task at

hand
• a steady tempo and flow

• an ability to recognize adverse settings, thoughts and behaviors

and make the necessary adjustments (gathering & self-
coaching)

• poise (utilizing positive self-talk, breathing patterns, good body

language, consistent behavior on the rubber, appropriate
responses)

• ability to visualize effectively

• a positive and realistic attitude toward self and the game

To:

• be consistent in throwing first-pitch strikes

• get outs early in the count by forcing contact

• establish the count in my favor

• finish hitters when ahead in the count

• have good ball-strike ratio

• develop ability to effectively locate pitches (good focus on

intended target)

• have a consistent preparation routine

• treat all situations consistently (focus on behavior and purpose,

rather than on possible consequences)

• field position well

• hold runners effectively

 A key to the pitcher’s success will be his ability to be self-
instructive, rather than self-critical. Making excuses for mistakes
should have no place in his attitude or program. Neither should self-
punishment because of mistakes or temporary inability to achieve a
goal. Growth, it has been said so often, is a process. His
determination to “stay with it” is critical. Will power is real power.
 About the Author
Harvey A. Dorfman’s background has been in education as a
teacher, counselor, coach, and consultant. He has a Master’s
Degree in Communications/Psychology and is most knowledgeable
about baseball and the factors necessary for success in the game.
He was employed from 1984 through 1993 as the Oakland A’s full-
time instructor/counselor and from 1994 through 1997 with the
Florida Marlins. He joined the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in the same
capacity in 1998. In 1999 Dorfman became full-time sport
psychology consultant for the Scott Boras Corporation. He lectures
extensively on sports psychology, management and leadership
training, and personal development. He has, as well, been a
consultant to the Vancouver Canucks and the New York Islanders of
the NHL, and to a number of major universities. In addition, he has
experience as a newspaper columnist and freelance journalist,
writing for The New York Times, Boston Globe, and Miami Herald,
among others. In 1989, his first book, The Mental Game of Baseball:
A Guide to Peak Performance, co-authored with Karl Kuehl, was
released. Published by Diamond Communications, Inc., this
bestselling book is considered to be the classic guide to developing
the mental mechanics of the game.