The Regrettable Rush to Commit

    5am: Time for another three plus hour trip to some town that I have never heard of, for yet another showcase camp to try and gain the attention of schools that I have never heard of, as they barely even turn their heads at my efforts.  But, hey, that is the life for an uncommitted high school senior in the middle of his fall semester.  At this point, I had already come back from summer break to start my senior year and, as it did for many of my fellow teammates, a crushing sense of reality had start to set in.  Everyone was aware that DI programs are always one year ahead in the recruiting cycle, and my graduating teammates had already been selected for their programs.  Teammates of mine who you would have sworn were going to play in college come hell or high water were now talking about this upcoming season being their last, what college they wanted to go to, and what frat they wanted to join.  It was surprising to see, but if I was being honest, I kind of felt the same way.  I mean when you think about it, this was never how it was supposed to go.  We were all supposed to get that P5 offer some time during the summer of our Junior year, playing for our dream team Perfect Game affiliated select program. However, that summer came and went with no offers for players like myself, and when you are a senior, you cannot play for most select teams the summer after you graduate, unless you are committed to play somewhere. 

    While I did not go as far as to proclaim my senior year in high school as my last, I was dealing with the crushing reality that not only was I going to go to a DII or DIII program, I was going to have to travel to showcase camps far and wide just so they would even consider me.  The stress of that situation is what ended up being my downfall.  I made a goal for myself to get an offer and be committed before opening day of my senior season.  The goal was not to find a good fit for myself, or to see if the program had an actual path for me to get on the field, but just simply to commit somewhere.  The stress of that goal would only intensify with every passing week that fall.  The showcase camps that I would attend throughout the fall were all hosted by junior colleges, as they are littered throughout the state of Texas. Although the camps were at a JUCO campus, plenty of DII programs were in attendance as well, putting us 80 or so players per camp in front of about 10-15 different JUCO & DII schools for the day.  The camps were designed for players in my situation, players who knew the DI boat had sailed and were looking for the next best option.  I knew that trying to get an offer from a JUCO was my new goal, and an excited DII coach who really wanted me to play for his program sounded like just as good of an offer.  A few JUCO programs would ask me to stay back with a few others for further evaluation. None of this led to an offer, but to know I had turned their heads a bit was enough to keep me going.  This is where the main part of my frustration set in.  Despite a few looks from a JUCO here and there, not one DII coach would approach me or even ask if I had other schools looking at me as the JUCOs would.  

     With my frustration growing, and starting to wonder if DIII programs even existed because I had yet to see one at any of the campuses I went to, I decided to listen to what all my select coaches had been telling me to do: go pitch.  As an undersized left-handed first baseman, who did not have the speed to move to the outfield, it was starting to seem like the only option.  Only one little problem- I had not hardly pitched at all for FOUR years now.  When I got to high school and found that I was better as a position player than pitcher, and once I found my spot defensively on the field, I pretty much dropped pitching all together.  I mean I maybe threw 20 innings in a calendar year. But since I was left-handed, I was allowed to be considered by JUCOs if I could throw in the low 80s.  Right handed pitchers were told that they did not care how good your stuff was, we have a whole staff throwing 90+, if you cannot do that, please do not waste our time.  I still advertised myself as a first baseman, but one camp, the tempting offer for left handed pitching was too much, and my poor dad, who had been driving me and funding all these camps for me, signed me up as a pitcher without even telling me.  Next thing I know, I hear my name called to throw a bullpen, and while I am obviously unprepared, I realize what has happened.  To say I toed the rubber a bit ticked off would be an understatement.  "Throw a fastball" the head coach of the camp said to me.  I proceeded, and threw a line drive right down the middle.  The coach that was behind the catcher with a radar gun yells out "85."  That was the first time I had ever hit that number on a radar gun.  "Throw it again." Yet another 85mph strike, down the middle.  "Throw your off-speed."  My off-speed?  Like I had one.  I just gripped the most basic slider grip I could think of and just let it fly.  Two sliders land for strikes back to back, and I still am unaware of how any of this has happened other than a result of me being pissed off and not thinking (not necessarily an approach that I believed  I could build off of in the long term).  To the coaching staff that just witnessed it, it appears that I have been working on those pitches for years.  

    I went on to play first base for the rest of the camp, as I was still signed up for it.  Just like all the other camps, I played well, but there were at least 2-3 guys right next to me at 1B who were all bigger, faster, stronger and taller.  I get held back at this camp and I am so hopeful that a coach has finally noticed me at first base.  None other than the coach who saw/instructed my bullpen approaches me.  He shows me a piece of paper and asks "this is your cell phone number right here, correct?" I confirm and the coach tells me "we will call you."  Sure enough, the next evening, my phone rang.  Head coach offers me a walk on position.  I would have a jersey in the fall and be on the fall team, but of course they were just "out" of scholarship money.  Regardless, I felt my stomach unknot for the first time in months and 1000lbs lifted off my shoulders.  The mood was a bit tainted when he ended the offer with "take the weekend to decide, but I need to know by then.", as if the offer was only good for 2-3 days.  Still, I rush to tell my parents who had been carrying the same weight.  They are floored and I can tell that a huge weight has been lifted off their shoulders as well.  When the excitement finally settled down, I mentioned that the coach wanted to hear back from me in 2-3 days with a yes or no.  I was curious to see if that seemed like a red flag to them as it kind of did to me.  After all, it seemed like very basic sales tactic; I knew that if some salesman would have used those tactics at their front door, they would have sent him packing.  I mean, isn't the process supposed to look something like inviting us for an official visit where they meet my family, take us to dinner and assure them that I am in good hands?  The new information did not dampen their mood in the slightest as they continued to call relatives to tell them the good news.  "Eh, maybe I am idealizing the situation", I told myself at the time.  I called the school back the next day and hastily committed to the program.  It felt great at the time. All my family was beaming with pride and I was finally able to accomplish my goal of committing to a school before my senior season started.  

    A new knot would form in my stomach as time went on though.  When I told my coaches and teammates that I had committed to a high level JUCO, there were looks of befuddlement. Not at the fact that I gotten an offer from that level, but that I got, and no less accepted, an offer to be a pitcher there.  As my senior year went, on I settled back into my routine as a first baseman.  This only led to the knot getting tighter and tighter.  I knew that my future teammates/competition in college were all toeing the rubber every week, getting better as a pitcher, while I jogged out to first base week in and week out.  Surely, someone in my inner circle, family or otherwise sees what I am seeing and will say something, right?  No one said anything and I stayed committed to my one offer.  I thought I may get an offer from a DIII as my senior year went on, but my JUCO level commitment made them feel as their efforts to talk to me would be in vain.  Little did they know that I was begging for a school to offer me anything so I could get my family excited about that school and decommit from my current.  As the summer after graduation went on, I watch a handful of DI kickbacks commit to my school.  I knew that my chances there were only getting worse.  Regardless, I show up to campus and it goes just about how I expected it to.  I get redshirted after the fall season, which at a JUCO means you're cut, but they'll tell you that part after the spring season is over.  At that point, I had not picked up a bat for a year and had only worked on pitching alone for about 14 months.  I was a rusted out hitter, or a project pitcher.  Either way you looked at it, I had to find a new school in 3 months with no film outside of high school film that was over a year old at this point.  

    When I finally do find myself a spot on a DIII roster, it's as 8th option out of the bullpen.  One bullpen session, my pitching coach revealed to me, "We thought you were a really good first baseman in high school, but we saw you were already committed to a JUCO." All that rushing, just praying to get committed somewhere, when in reality if I had been patient and not settled, I could have stayed in and developed my preferred position. I would have actually enjoyed my baseball "career" in college if I hadn't forced the situation. Take it from me: be patient and take the time to explore all options before you decide to commit.