September 14, 2000

Well, after two weeks' hiatus from the baseball season, I start back up for one more month. I spent the break back at home in Dallas, where I refined some mechanical issues I had out of the stretch and realized after 21 years, I still don't know anything about women. I don't know which is more frustrating, losing your feel for part of your pitching motion or realizing you have absolutely no idea what the opposite sex is thinking. Maybe I should write a journal about the parallels one could draw between women and pitching . . . maybe not. Anyway, I had four good workouts with Mike Bacsik and we fixed my breaking ball. Instructional league will cap a whirlwind season for me that included a college season, a month and half of predraft workouts, a month off, the Cape Cod League and two months of Rookie ball.

I don't know quite what to expect since this is my first instructional league experience, but I do know that the atmosphere is definitely based on instruction and development. I tried to ask some of the other players who had been last year and without fail everyone told me to bring my running shoes. Even some guys who didn't speak English heard "instructional league" and started laughing and pretending like they were dying of exhaustion. But I am pretty sure that they are joking, I bet most days we go the pool and play Wiffle ball, work on sliding into bases on a slip-and-slide, and practice hand-eye coordination with ping-pong tournaments. Hopefully, the activities will be somewhere in between.

Leaving what is to come in the instructional league aside, I will respond to the most common question that I get asked both in emails and in person. It seems fans are very curious as to what goes on when the pitching coach goes out to talk to the pitcher. Apparently there is not a set rule about what to say to a pitcher because I have heard everything. Here are some of the more entertaining stories I remember.

As a member of the Junior Olympic team in 1997, Coach Olson expected everyone's development to be about the same both mentally and physically. While physically ready to compete, international competition was a little new to me. The other members of that staff were certainly more polished (Rick Ankiel, Chris George, Cory Vance, Matt Riley), so much so that when I went to my mouth to rub up the baseball Coach Olson was in shock. In international play touching your mouth is an automatic ball. In this game against Venezuela, this ball happened to be ball four. Coach Olson started yelling so loudly on his way out to the mound that my catcher didn't even come out to the meeting, he stayed at home. I think they even brought some security guards to make sure I was all right. Coach Olson's voice is loud as is, and the anger only added to the decibel level. I am not sure what was said but I assure you I never went to my mouth again. While it confused me at first, Coach Olson's approach a lot of times really helped me both in games and in my development. He was one of my favorite coaches.

The funniest talks had to be from Coach Farrell at Oklahoma State. While it was by far the worst year of my career and almost my last, looking back some the events are pretty funny. I had been an enigma all year for him and it obviously frustrated him almost as much as me that I didn't put it all together. Coach Farrell came to the mound in the third inning of an eventual five-inning, no-hit, seven-walk appearance and asked in a serious and confused voice "Hey Will, can you see the catcher's mitt?" I told him I could. He then said "Ok, well, see you later" and walked back to the dugout. I guess that made him feel better that I could at least see the glove.

At the University of Dallas, I walked the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth and Coach Vilade came out to talk to me. He was going to take me out of the game, but I told him before he made the signal that I was going to get out of this. He got the mound and I said "You're not taking me out of the game. I will get out of this." Vilade said later that he likes to leave guys in if he believes that they will get it done. His faith in me paid off. We were winning 7-6 and I proceeded to strike my way out of the jam.

In my first appearance at Missoula, I started the inning with two groundball outs that were errors and had guys on first and third. My pitching coach, James Keller, came out and said "I was going to tell you to just throw strikes and let your defense work for you, but oh well…good luck anyway." I almost laughed out loud.

While there isn't one way to achieve it, most coaches are trying to interrupt a thought process that got the pitcher into the jam in the first place. Scientifically it is called state-emotion and could be shown in Pavlov's dogs experiment. It is the pitching coach's job to interrupt the salivating dogs. A pitcher can get into a jam and mentally be overwhelmed by the perceived situation. Even though it is not out of control, by yourself out on the mound, reality can be perceived incorrectly. The only person talking to you a lot of times has had 15 beers and is mad at his boss, so he yells at you from the stands. The pitching coach's job is to change the gears in the pitcher's head and slow the game down.

In the past, the best way to change my state-emotion is through anger or humor. I never liked a coach who tried to come out and act like everything was okay. If a coach comes to the mound, everything is not okay. Telling me not to worry, those home runs were all luck isn't very convincing. By showing anger, most times coaches can change my focus from being worried about the batter to being worried about my life. And then, the game seems easy in comparison. But usually a little humor works best. I am waiting for the day my pitching coach to come out to the mound and tells me to save everyone a lot of time and instead of pitching to the batter, just turn and throw the ball into the gaps. HAHA!

Will

You can contact Will Rosellini at Rumi54@aol.com.