In the box score, it simply looked like a bad outing. The starting pitcher didn’t make it through three innings. He struggled to throw strikes and gave up hard contact and crooked numbers. When the manager pulled him, I watched closely as he walked off the mound and calmly sat down in the dugout. Those moments often reveal the makeup and maturity of a player, along with how they handle failure. There was no temper tantrum, no Gatorade cooler punch, and no sulking. I was impressed, thinking this was the proverbial even-keeled player, able to handle the ups and downs of the game.
That was, until the next day.
As is customary, starting pitchers do a next-day review with the pitching coach to go over what went right, what went wrong, and where to go from there. It’s a healthy process that helps players learn to be more in tune with how they’re doing, and it’s great for coaches to build a strong rapport that allows for open dialogue all season long. Each pitcher is also given a data report from the outing detailing strike percentage, velocity, spin rate, induced vertical break, and anything else the organization felt was important. This particular review was taking place in the coaches’ locker room, where I was getting ready for my day.
“Talk to me about last night,” the pitching coach started.
“Probably the best I’ve thrown all season long,” proclaimed the pitcher. “I feel really good about it.”
I had been around plenty of these reviews and rarely paid much attention to them before going on with my day (my roles over the course of my career have all been far from the pitching space). But when I heard that, my ears perked up.
The pitcher continued, “I thought like I spun the ball well. Held my velo above 95 into the third inning and hit my usual marks for IVB. Could have gotten better extension out of the hand, but I’ll get there next outing. My sweeper was really darting out of the zone, too!”
Not a word about the walks given up (on that sweeper), the runs surrendered, or the fact that he put his team in a huge hole that we couldn’t dig out of in a lopsided loss.
My attention turned to the pitching coach, whose head looked ready to explode. He read off the stat line—2⅓ innings, seven runs, five hits, six walks, and three strikeouts—before mentioning how tough of a spot he put his club in and asked again for the pitcher’s thoughts.
“I’m not worried about the results,” the pitcher said bluntly.
What I had initially thought was an impressive, mentally strong player was unfortunately a pitcher who didn’t care about his actual performance, or his role in helping his team. There was no competing against an opponent, no sense of playing for his teammates. It was as if he was “getting his work in” at a pitching facility in the off-season—but in the middle of the Minor League season.
Here’s the thing: it’s not the kid’s fault. He had been conditioned by the industry, the organization, his private pitching instructor, and by social media narrative. His response would have been perfect had it been an evaluation of a bullpen session. Everything he mentioned can and should be used as feedback, as they are indicators that success can be built from. But when the lights turn on, it’s about doing your job.
Player development is about blending process with results, work with execution, and the game is the time to simply put it all together and go compete to win. If everything before the first pitch is the time to work, then the game is time to play.
We’ve all heard the acronym for WIN: What’s Important Now. In baseball, the pitcher’s job (while not easy) is simple: get outs. An infielder’s job is to make plays, and the offense is expected to score. How players do those things doesn’t really matter, so long as they get it done.
It’s during pre-game work—not the game—when the focus should turn to the how. There is a time when the results should matter, and a time when process should be the priority. This pitcher didn’t understand the difference.
When used right, data can be an incredibly impactful piece of player development in every facet of the game. It provides players with direction towards getting better, but it should never be the ultimate destination. When you get to the big leagues, there is one thing that matters and one thing only: win. It would be incredibly challenging to learn how to win at the game’s highest level if a player’s journey to get there never emphasized the things it takes to get that done.