Getting an ‘F’ in Baseball.
It’s fun to write funny stories about minor league baseball and its players, fans, and coaches, but this time I want to describe one aspect of baseball that isn’t fun—failure.
In a game where the greatest hitters get out 70 percent of the time, dealing with failure on the baseball field is a vital part of learning the game. I think this is even more important in the minor leagues, where players who have dominated their whole careers may start to struggle against better competition as they move up the professional ladder.
Baseball has been described as the endless pursuit of fundamental perfection. If everyone on the field executes the fundamental actions required of them, their team will almost always win. This means fielding all ground balls, not walking people, bunting men over from first to second, stealing bases in stealing counts, picking runners off in stealing counts, and so on. Having a superstar on your baseball team doesn’t mean as much as it might in football or basketball. Nine fundamentally sound players will beat eight slackers and a superstar every time. When teams fail to execute, they lose.
Failing in baseball is also infinitely more frustrating than in other sports. Shortstops can practice fielding ground balls until their legs give out, and then get a bad hop the next day and blow the game. Hitters can spend hours in the batting cage, and then face a pitcher the next day with a curveball that drops off the table and strike out. Pitchers can have the best ‘stuff’ in the world, but they still have to put the ball in the strike zone for hitters to hack at—and good pitches get hit all the time. To be able to control so many facets of the game, and practice those fundamentals so extensively, and then fail, is unbelievably frustrating. This is why pitchers punch water coolers, hitters break bats over their knees, and coaches flip out on umpires all the time—these are all methods of dealing with failure.
No matter how calm, collected, and mature you are, the feeling of walking a hitter when you know that since you were 13 years old you’ve been able to throw strikes from a mound 60 feet away will invariably enrage you. I guarantee it.
Therefore, one major way that great players stand out from all the others is the way they handle failure in the game. If you have a .300 batting average, 7 out of 10 of your at-bats will end in failure, and you’ll walk back to the dugout unhappy with your performance. Some guys try to focus on the positives (I hit a breaking ball behind in the count hard, it was just right at somebody…), focus on the past (I’ve already got one hit tonight, so I’m ok…), or focus on the future (forget it, I’ll have three more at-bats tonight). Other guys accept at the outset that they will fail, and expect it when it comes, so they aren’t disappointed. And still others flip out, throw stuff, and expand the vocabulary of young kids sitting within earshot of the dugout during games.
When I was 12 years old, I popped out to left field in a little league all-star practice. A practice! I was so mad at myself that I kicked first base hard enough to break a toe in my foot, and I couldn’t pitch until later in our tournament. In some ways I guess I’ve learned to better deal with failure since then, but now and then that same 12 year old comes back and I lose it over this game—because it seems so easy, and messing up sucks!
Tonight I threw one inning, walked two guys, made a fielding error, and let three runs score in a close game. When I walked off the field, I wanted to put my head through the cement dugout wall. If anyone remembers the spring training post on pitchers being athletes and making fielding errors, you’ll understand my disappointment with myself for that one… Tomorrow though, I’ll show up, put my cleats on, and start the process all over again. Not because I know I’m going to succeed—I make very well pitch again and do just as poorly—that’s baseball—but I have to go out there and put myself in the best position to execute fundamental baseball when I’m pitching: throwing strikes, fielding ground balls when they’re hit, and ultimately getting guys out. The process of working out, practicing mechanics, and getting better can only give me a better shot at success.
I love baseball because when you do well, you know that you were more perfect than the other guy. Being on the less perfect side of that equation isn’t fun, but while you’re there, learning the process and how to deal with failure in baseball will ultimately get you closer to perfection a lot sooner.
