Tyler Knott Gregson - Tyler Knott Productions Brain Rain

Monday, April 28, 2003

As you know, my Dad is in Boston as of late, helping out with the pitching. Here is one large problem I am having as I watch more and more major league baseball: The complete (or nearly complete) lack of constant connection that exists between the pitching coach and his pitchers. As I reflect back on my childhood, growing up a ballpark rat, I remember vividly how often my Dad would make trips to and from the mound, his stiff torso standing tall, arms firmly at each side, the professional jog back from the quiet conversation shared between pitcher, catcher, and coach. What was said at the mound didn't matter, I'd come to find out later sometimes my Dad would just b.s. about golf, or football, or women, or whatever, anything to take the pitcher's mind off of his poor performance. The point of the trip to the mound, my Dad would tell me, was to calm the guy down, get him out of his own mental battle long enough to remember that it was a game, and all he had to do was throw the ball over the plate, that there were 7 guys behind him that could take care of the rest. Miraculously, after my Dad jogged back, the pitcher (99% of the time) would get out of the jam he found himself in, ON HIS OWN. It is this personal connection that is so prominent in Minor League ball that I miss so much as I watch more Major League games on ESPN. It seems to me that managers and owner's are so damned afraid of the men they're throwing millions of dollars at, that they won't Coach them anymore. It is as if once a guy reaches the Big's, he's done, he's perfect, and he is in no further need of alteration, suggestion, or improvement. I couldn't disagree more with this viewpoint. I firmly believe that it is at this point in a man's life in which he needs the most suggestion, the most "personal care," and is certainly in need of a talk about golf, football, women, or whatever, to calm him down, and let him work himself out of the jam he worked himself into. All I have been seeing lately, with increased frequency, is a pitcher giving up a run or two, a walk or two, or a couple of base-hits, and instantly the Manager(not the Pitching Coach) saunters out, gives a funny looking signal to the bullpen, and a few moments later, out strides the "relief" pitcher. Is it not a bigger relief to learn that you can solve problems yourself? It seems now that once the starter is done, anywhere from 4 to 7 relief pitchers are rotated in and out of the game. I don't know, but I think the Pitching Coach of a team should have a much more inclusive role on the team, and a much more appreciated one. Games are won and lost based on pitching, and I feel the manager of the team gets far too much credit, and tries to play too large a role in the Pitching.

Maybe I'm wrong, but honestly I am tired of watching the manager waltz out to the mound to pull a pitcher at the first sign of trouble. Send the Pitching Coach out, and let him do his job. Let the connection between Pitcher and Coach during troublesome times of a game be rekindled, and I think we'd all be amazed at the outcome. It's time to throw it back to the innocence and purity of the game that exists in the Minors, when people play for hardly anything a month, ride 10 hour bus rides to cities like Reno, Palm Springs, Visalia, or Salinas, and slide into first base or throw at a hitter based on principle alone. A time when clubhouses were decked out with a large room with 4 showerheads, frozen lasagna trays to split amongst 25 starving guys, little white folding chairs and Max Patkins...warning tracks with golf balls littered in them from the neighboring country club. Teams that used hand-me-down uniforms, caps with the mesh backs, and had "Ball Park Annie's" that looked like the girls that couldn't get backstage at a Van Halen concert. I miss the days of summer with my Dad, going on road trips and staying in the worst motels in each city, eating 'dinner' at 7-11 consisting of month-old tuna salad sandwiches, yellow Gatorade, and oatmeal cookies, the "healthy" part of the meal in case Mom asked. Baseball isn't the pastime of America, it IS America. It's the American dream embodied in a game, a simple game with 9 players a tiny white leather ball, and a wooden stick. Players start in the rookie leagues, play through A ball, Double A, Triple A, and if they're lucky, the Big Show...it's Manifest Destiny, it's progress, it is the American Spirit, in a game. I truly believe that if the players in the Major Leagues played with the intensity and purity of players that are stuck in the Minor's, the game would reinvent itself, and silently slip back to its roots. There are guys that are "lifers" in the Minor Leagues that play with more passion and more intensity than 99% of the players I see on ESPN today, and for what? I hate to be cliché but it is for nothing more than the love of the game of baseball. I also might be biased, but I see that intensity in my Dad, the very spirit that makes the game so great. He's worked his butt off for well over 20 years, made his way from A Ball to AAA as a Player, then got injured. The injury didn't stop him, and he became a coach, again working his way from Rookie Ball, to AAA and finally the Major Leagues. I may be biased, but I know that he is not appreciated like he should be, he is not respected as much as he has earned, and his talent is not utilized anywhere close to as much as baseball needs.

Though I know it will not happen, I will continue to hope. I will continue to hope that players will remember what it was like to ride on broken down buses with the air-conditioning turned up so high that the whole team would wake up with a cold, the feeling of hitting a homerun out of a park "filled to capacity" with 2,000 fans, getting blindsided during a brawl over a brush back, or the family section of the stands filled with little blonde kids like me--dressed up in a tiny little uniform replicating his Dad's. It has been a long time since I've been on the field with my Dad, or shagged fly balls with the boys of summer, but I remember it so well. The smell of fresh leather warmed in the sun, the sight of fresh cut grass and the infield after it has been dragged, the taste of sunflower seeds parching the insides of my cheek, the pain of chasing a fly ball after too much bubblegum and Lemon-Lime Gatorade. The sounds of a cracking bat, the rush of taking batting practice, the casual thrill of playing Pepper, and the feeling of walking tall out of the clubhouse so many kids my age would have killed to get into. These things shaped my youth and I am forever changed by them. I want baseball to go to back to this, back to it's youth.

To all who remember it this way, I am sure you will agree. To Baseball, wise up. To my Dad, Thank You.

eloquently said by

| 1:00 AM | | |


Monday, April 28, 2003 The Tragedy of Major League Pitching As you know, my Dad is in Boston as of late, helping out with the pitching. Here is one large problem I am having as I watch more and more major league baseball: The complete (or nearly complete) lack of constant connection that exists between the pitching coach and his pitchers. As I reflect back on my childhood, growing up a ballpark rat, I remember vividly how often my Dad would make trips to and from the mound, his stiff torso standing tall, arms firmly at each side, the professional jog back from the quiet conversation shared between pitcher, catcher, and coach. What was said at the mound didn't matter, I'd come to find out later sometimes my Dad would just b.s. about golf, or football, or women, or whatever, anything to take the pitcher's mind off of his poor performance. The point of the trip to the mound, my Dad would tell me, was to calm the guy down, get him out of his own mental battle long enough to remember that it was a game, and all he had to do was throw the ball over the plate, that there were 7 guys behind him that could take care of the rest. Miraculously, after my Dad jogged back, the pitcher (99% of the time) would get out of the jam he found himself in, ON HIS OWN. It is this personal connection that is so prominent in Minor League ball that I miss so much as I watch more Major League games on ESPN. It seems to me that managers and owner's are so damned afraid of the men they're throwing millions of dollars at, that they won't Coach them anymore. It is as if once a guy reaches the Big's, he's done, he's perfect, and he is in no further need of alteration, suggestion, or improvement. I couldn't disagree more with this viewpoint. I firmly believe that it is at this point in a man's life in which he needs the most suggestion, the most "personal care," and is certainly in need of a talk about golf, football, women, or whatever, to calm him down, and let him work himself out of the jam he worked himself into. All I have been seeing lately, with increased frequency, is a pitcher giving up a run or two, a walk or two, or a couple of base-hits, and instantly the Manager(not the Pitching Coach) saunters out, gives a funny looking signal to the bullpen, and a few moments later, out strides the "relief" pitcher. Is it not a bigger relief to learn that you can solve problems yourself? It seems now that once the starter is done, anywhere from 4 to 7 relief pitchers are rotated in and out of the game. I don't know, but I think the Pitching Coach of a team should have a much more inclusive role on the team, and a much more appreciated one. Games are won and lost based on pitching, and I feel the manager of the team gets far too much credit, and tries to play too large a role in the Pitching. Maybe I'm wrong, but honestly I am tired of watching the manager waltz out to the mound to pull a pitcher at the first sign of trouble. Send the Pitching Coach out, and let him do his job. Let the connection between Pitcher and Coach during troublesome times of a game be rekindled, and I think we'd all be amazed at the outcome. It's time to throw it back to the innocence and purity of the game that exists in the Minors, when people play for hardly anything a month, ride 10 hour bus rides to cities like Reno, Palm Springs, Visalia, or Salinas, and slide into first base or throw at a hitter based on principle alone. A time when clubhouses were decked out with a large room with 4 showerheads, frozen lasagna trays to split amongst 25 starving guys, little white folding chairs and Max Patkins...warning tracks with golf balls littered in them from the neighboring country club. Teams that used hand-me-down uniforms, caps with the mesh backs, and had "Ball Park Annie's" that looked like the girls that couldn't get backstage at a Van Halen concert. I miss the days of summer with my Dad, going on road trips and staying in the worst motels in each city, eating 'dinner' at 7-11 consisting of month-old tuna salad sandwiches, yellow Gatorade, and oatmeal cookies, the "healthy" part of the meal in case Mom asked. Baseball isn't the pastime of America, it IS America. It's the American dream embodied in a game, a simple game with 9 players a tiny white leather ball, and a wooden stick. Players start in the rookie leagues, play through A ball, Double A, Triple A, and if they're lucky, the Big Show...it's Manifest Destiny, it's progress, it is the American Spirit, in a game. I truly believe that if the players in the Major Leagues played with the intensity and purity of players that are stuck in the Minor's, the game would reinvent itself, and silently slip back to its roots. There are guys that are "lifers" in the Minor Leagues that play with more passion and more intensity than 99% of the players I see on ESPN today, and for what? I hate to be cliché but it is for nothing more than the love of the game of baseball. I also might be biased, but I see that intensity in my Dad, the very spirit that makes the game so great. He's worked his butt off for well over 20 years, made his way from A Ball to AAA as a Player, then got injured. The injury didn't stop him, and he became a coach, again working his way from Rookie Ball, to AAA and finally the Major Leagues. I may be biased, but I know that he is not appreciated like he should be, he is not respected as much as he has earned, and his talent is not utilized anywhere close to as much as baseball needs. Though I know it will not happen, I will continue to hope. I will continue to hope that players will remember what it was like to ride on broken down buses with the air-conditioning turned up so high that the whole team would wake up with a cold, the feeling of hitting a homerun out of a park "filled to capacity" with 2,000 fans, getting blindsided during a brawl over a brush back, or the family section of the stands filled with little blonde kids like me--dressed up in a tiny little uniform replicating his Dad's. It has been a long time since I've been on the field with my Dad, or shagged fly balls with the boys of summer, but I remember it so well. The smell of fresh leather warmed in the sun, the sight of fresh cut grass and the infield after it has been dragged, the taste of sunflower seeds parching the insides of my cheek, the pain of chasing a fly ball after too much bubblegum and Lemon-Lime Gatorade. The sounds of a cracking bat, the rush of taking batting practice, the casual thrill of playing Pepper, and the feeling of walking tall out of the clubhouse so many kids my age would have killed to get into. These things shaped my youth and I am forever changed by them. I want baseball to go to back to this, back to it's youth. To all who remember it this way, I am sure you will agree. To Baseball, wise up. To my Dad, Thank You. eloquently said by \| 1:00 AM \| \| \|	Tyler Knott Productions Tyler Knott Photography Vimeo Tumblr Twitter Clutch Del.icio.us MySpace Last.fm LinkedIn Resumé Atom Feed Twitters follow me on Twitter Horizon Expanders McGraw Donovan Dave Morin Flickr Blog Jaymie Keller Kevin Casey Nate Warner Rachel Hoffenberg Sarah Joelle Sarah Joelle's Music My Photography Past Downpours Copyright This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.