For instance last year, it was said that Ichiro was not having an Ichiro year, bacause of thoughts of how his people in Japan were dealing with the earthquake and tsunami's.
Or Ryan Braun would have a down year this year because of fans reminding him of his off season brush with suspension.
Every hitter is thinking about the next pitch. It's that simple.
Sure, on their own time, hitters may be thinking about real life. Not at the plate.
The only time a good hitter is not thinking about the next pitch is when masking injury. He's trying to figure out how to get the best swing on any pitch without hurting himself further. Even then, the pitch dictates the action.
A hitter in the batter's box is like us hearing a noise in the middle of the night and tip toeing downstairs with a baseball bat.
We are not thinking about Aunt Ruth in the hospital or our dad passing away two weeks ago. We are defending our home with 100% focus.
It's the same for a hitter.
You'll notice I only mention hitters. Pitchers are a different breed. They have way too much time on their hands and can be distracted easily.
In fact, being a former pitcher, I'm distracted now and will change the course of this post.
Now, I'll tell this story because most of you think I'm this nice guy who just sits on the Boards telling nice stories.
I'm not a nice guy and even my best friend calls me 'asshole'.
Here's the story
I pitched in a game and got bench jockeyed by a coaches son that wouldn't shut his trap.
He was a pretty good hitter and he knew it.
He had taken me deep and I had struck him out.
He reminded me of that home run the whole game.
To make a long story a little shorter, we were up 3-2 in the last inning.
With runners on second and third, Bigmouth was up.
Our Coach called time and came out to tell me that we were going to intentionally walk him.
I knew that's what he'd have on his mind and knew that he wanted this game as much as I because he had no love for BigMouth's Dad, the rival coach.
I asked him if I could do my own intentional walk. Four pitches inside without the catcher standing.
I reasoned that if I hit him, nothing would be lost and that I wasn't used to throwing intentional balls, and that I'd hate to see a ball float over the catcher's head in a big game.
Besides, maybe an inside pitch would accidentally hit his bat and we could get an easy out.
He smiled and said, "So, you want to brush the kid back four times or hit him?"
"Yep"
Still smiling, he said, "Promise me you won't throw a wild pitch."
"Promise."
The first pitch was at his hands.
Perfect.
Inside, but not enough to let him know what was up.
The second one put him on his back. I was hoping the third pitch would have this effect, not the second.
Now, he was a little guarded.
The third pitch was the same as the first. I had intended for it to be closer, but missed.
It was 3-0 and I couldn't throw a strike.
I knew this because he was digging in like his old man had given him the hit sign.
He didn't know my goal was to hit him.
I didn't want to head hunt and I wanted a pitch that my catcher could handle if I missed him, so I aimed for his ribs.
The pitch came in and I was right about him having the green light.
He was started into his swing when realizing the ball was coming directly at him.
In a moment, he was in the dirt writhing in pain. I hit him on the arm. Not where I was aiming, but he was where I wanted him after the fourth pitch.
In the dirt.
His Dad cried out that I had done it on purpose. It fell on deaf ears from the umpire, my coach, and me.
My catcher threw me the ball and I started playing catch with the first baseman to keep warm.
BigMouth got up after awhile and went to first base.
My best friend in school was the first baseman.
Here is how he recounted his conversation with BigMouth to me later-
'Your pitcher is an asshole'
He's my best friend'
He's still an asshole'
'How's your arm? Does it still hurt?'
'Like a sonofabitch'
It is then that the first baseman calls time and comes to the mound.
'Dan, let's do a timing play at first'
'What? The bases are loaded with two out! His run doesn't mean anything! Why?
'Just do it' and he left.
So before throwing a pitch to the first batter, I threw to my first baseman on a timing play.
BigMouth made it back with a dive, but I realized why my friend Terry at first wanted the ball.
He tagged BigMouth hard on the arm that had been hit. Really hard.
BigMouth got up and threw a punch. Terry tagged him, not with a punch but with his glove.
Game over.
Pandemonium broke out.
The coach yelled at the umpire's. Mini skirmishes broke out everywhere.
At first base, Terry and BigMouth were wrestling and I headed there, but was pulled back by our coach.
He then grabbed Terry who by now had an armbar on BigMouth. Of course, his sore arm.
Our coach pulled them apart and demanded our teams presence in the dugout.
With another smile, he told us, "That was the damndest game I've ever seen! Kicking that teams ass on the scoreboard is better than on the field.
Let's go home!"
Terry and I have been lifetime friends. He was the best man at our wedding.
Conversations between us inevitably find their ways back to that game.
If not for BigMouth having a big mouth and Terry and I not being nice guys, the game surely would have had a different ending.
Thanks to BigMouth, Terry and I have since affectionately referred to each other occasionally as 'asshole'.
So, when thinking I'm a seemingly old nice guy, remember, even my best friend calls me asshole.
