Whenver I first begin pitching in a game. I get nervous. It usually takes me an inning, or even a few batters to full calm down and get my mind set and pitching mechanics up to par so I pitch to my best ability. Such factors that make me nervous are the finding the umpire’s judgment of the strike zone, getting used to the mound, and being put in a specific scenario(for example, having the bases loaded with only 1 out) Anyone have any advice to where I can feel less nervous, so when I go out there and start pitching, I don’t have my nervousness overtake me and mess me up entirely? I want to be able to go in there right away and pitch the best I can, without having to shake off any nervousness I have while on the mound.
i used to do this too, but i dont think your nervous for the reasons you listed because mine definatly werent… i was always worried how id play, what if i screw up, what if a batter smashes one off me.
the way i got around this, i honestly just stopped caring
i stopped caring what would happen i just went out there knowing that im a great pitcher because ive been told by many and that i can get any batter i want out if i focus on every pitch i throw. and i believe in pitching thats all you really can do, prepare then deliver nothing more nothing less
Mickey Rivers, who used to play centerfield for the Yankees, had this to say: “Ain’t no use worryin’ about things you got no control over, ‘cause if you got no control over them ain’t no use worryin’. And ain’t no use worryin’ about things you got control over, ‘cause if you got control over them ain’t no use worryin’.” Think about it for a minute. What aspects of the game have you no control over? Just one—the plate umpire. He is what he is, and if he’s a good umpire he calls them as he sees them. The rest of it—you do have control over them. You have control over the pitch sequence you’re going to use. You have control over your fielders, how you’ll position them. You have control over your stuff—and that is so important. You know, or should know, what your best pitch is, what your second best pitch is, and you know how to use those pitches. You know how to get the ball over the plate and make the batters hit it—to make them go after the pitch you want them to hit. And you know how to get those outs.
Satchel Paige once said, and I don’t know of anyone who could have put this more succinctly: “You have to believe in yourself. When you believe, you do.” He also said, “Throw strikes. Home plate don’t move.” Yes, there are a lot of things over which you do have control, so focus on these things and let everything else go.
And if you should enter a game in relief, in the middle of an inning with runners on base, that’s the time to use strategic pitching. You can call your catcher out to the mound to discuss the situation, formulate a plan of action, and then just go ahead and make the batters look very, very stupid. Most important—TRUST YOUR STUFF, and trust your catcher. 8) :baseballpitcher:
I’ll be attending a conference in Boston by the author of this book later this month… might be helpful - http://www.steppinguptotheplate.com/sp/HOME/index.cfm
Thanks alot for the help guys. I guess if I just relax and stop worrying so much, I’ll do better.
That’s what I did. I found that if I didn’t care about the results and just focused one pitch at a time the game went more smoothly and I was having more fun which led to more confidence on the mound. Remember ur only one groundball away from a double play. Just have fun out there kid.
Nervousness is fear. Fear is ok, if recognized. Fear must be overcome or partnered with. Fear is unavoidable really, our media thrives off of it really, Fear of crime. Fear of you name it, our news will recognize it. A really great guy by the name of Andy McKay told me that the acronym for FEAR is “Fictional Events Already Realized”. Couldn’t be more true. Recognize it and put it in its place. The umpire could be ready to give you 2 inches off the plate after YOU establish a strike zone.
Not caring is a form of not giving FEAR it’s just due. Which is ok, until something happens and you begin to care. All the great ones really fear things. Fear that someone may be doing more, so they work harder. etc. How you handle FEAR and/or Nervousness is the key.
Welcome it. Thrive on it. Look it in the face and know when to put it in the closet and say “not today”. If you put in the time and preparation, there has to come a time in which you trust that preparation. If can do that, the FEAR becomes an allie and you control it, for what it is worth…to find victory.
Hope this brings about more interaction and ideas.
P.S. = The phrase “no fear” is found in the Bible over 365 times…one for each day of the year.
Consider the rellief pitcher.
Somebody once said that the ideal relief pitcher is a comic-book reader with his brains beaten out of him. My idea of the ideal relief pitcher is that greatest of closers, Mariano Rivera. In either case, the relief pitcher has to be somebody with no fear—with ice water in his veins—because he comes into the game in the toughest of situations: ninth inning and a one-run lead to protect, and he has to slam the door in the other team’s face. If the relief pitcher shows any sign of trepidation, of uncertainty, he will be of little or no use in that situation.
As a pitcher, I often would relieve between starts, and always in the late innings—eighth, ninth—and I would go into the game with just one idea in mind: get the side out in order. Preserve that lead. And being a strikeout pitcher, I would go to my best pitch—a particularly nasty slider which I often combined with the crossfire move (I was a natural sidearmer). If anything, the one emotion I would experience at such a time was pure enjoyment; I had so much fun making the batters look very, very stupid. Good morning, good afternoon, good night, and I got the save (at that time I called it a rescued game), and we went home with another win under our belts.
Let me tell you about one situation where a relief pitcher got scared out of his shoes. Let’s go back several years, to the fourth game of the 1996 World Series. The Yankees, after having been behind 6-0 for much of the game, came to bat in the top of the eighth inning behind just 6-3; they had cut the Braves’ lead in half. Mark Wohlers, the Braves’ closer, was on the mound. Now, as I have said, the closer has to be someone with no fear. But Wohlers ran into trouble from the start, and the Yanks had runners on first and third with only one out—a couple of hits sandwiching a force play—and now Jim Leyritz, who had entered the game in the sixth inning to catch, was at bat.
Leyritz had a reputation as a guy who could change the course of a game with one swing—he was a power hitter who could go to all fields when he had to. Wohlers steeled himself for the task at hand and came in there with his best fast ball, a 98-mile-an-hour blazer—and Leyritz got a good piece of that pitch and fouled it off. And suddenly Wohlers got this look on his face—a look of uncertainty, of doubt. “My best fast ball, and he fouled it off”, he thought, and now he was no longer sure he could retire this hitter. The next two pitches were curve balls that missed the strike zone, and Leyritz wasn’t biting. Wohlers tried another fast ball, 99 miles an hour this time—and another foul ball. Now he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to get Leyritz out with that pitch, and he went to his third best—the slider. He threw it, and Leyritz lined that one foul down the first-base line.
And here is where Wohlers really lost it. He made a fatal mistake: he completely forgot that you should never throw the same pitch twice in the same place at the same speed, and he came in there with another slider. This one just hung there, flat as a pancake, and Leyritz got hold of that pitch and blasted it over the left-field wall. I had been watching that game on TV, and I will never forget the broadcaster’s excited scream: "Back at the track—at the wall—WE ARE TIED!"
The Yankees won that game in the tenth inning. And something happened to Mark Wohlers. He was never the same after that. He tried pitching for a couple of other teams, but he had just plain lost it. Eventually he dropped out of the game, utterly destroyed by one powerful swing of the bat.
That was fear, pure and simple. You can’t have that if you’re a closer. 8)