The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [107]
“I’ll tell you what Dirk, you’re having a real good year. One of the biggest things for me is the first pitch strike, and you’re throwing it. You throw a first pitch strike more than seventy percent of the time—that’s real good.”
I knew things were going well for me since my promotion. I knew that my ERA was the lowest it’d been in years and that I wasn’t getting pulled out of games as often. I also knew I was walking fewer guys. Those were about the only stats I kept track of, the only stats I felt really mattered to me, personally. I couldn’t control wins or losses, and strikeouts are great when you can get them, but outs—no matter how they come—are the goal. I was throwing harder too, which I’m sure Abby didn’t care about, but it made me feel slightly more macho. Over all, I felt better.
“I know the organization is big on getting hitters out on three pitches or less and yer doing well with that….” His finger continued tracing the numbers. The television was still on in his office and a muted SportsCenter played highlights in the background. I peeked at the screen as he searched his numbers.
“Your slider’s come a long way,” he said, looking up at me. “I can tell you was working on it in the off-season. I said that to the Brass, I says, ‘Hayhurst’s been a working on that slider.’ You know something, I think it’s made yer curve better, too. It’s tightened it up.”
“It feels better this year.”
“It is better.” He looked back at the notes as he spoke. “You’ve been throwing all your pitches for strikes. Avoiding hitters counts, staying ahead of guys.” Now he looked up at me. “You are definitely my most improved pitcher from last year—and people are noticing.”
I smiled and put my head down. I didn’t know what to say.
“What do you think is the biggest difference from this last year to this?” he asked, pointing at me with one hand while placing the cards back on his desk with the other.
I took a moment to reflect. I thought about how my mental approach changed and how I might explain it in a way that didn’t seem as if I had developed a marijuana problem or had wanted Abby to join a cult or, at the very least, convince him I needed a therapist.
“Well,” I began, “I won’t say I just don’t care about what happens out there, because I do. I want to win when I take the mound. However, I don’t care about what I can’t control once I’m out there. I mean, the way I figure it is, I’m going to go out there and give everything I’ve got. I’m going to go right after guys. It’s all or nothing. I guess this year I’m fine with the nothing part. I’m not afraid of failing.
“Does that make sense?” I replayed the words back in my mind. It made sense to me.
“It’s all or nothing, huh?” he repeated back.
“Yeah. Like I was afraid to ante up before, but now I’m not.”
“Hmmm…” Abby murmured, his face scrunched up in a confused manner.
I wondered if I’d said something wrong. Part of Abby’s job as pitching coach was to turn evaluations of me into the Brass. I hoped I didn’t volunteer any incriminating information by saying I didn’t care about my results.
“Let me ask you something,” Abby said. “Why would you ever go out there with any other mind-set?” In his matter-of-fact country accent, he made it sound as if the things I just spoke were blatantly obvious facts everyone in the game already knew.
“Well, I…uh…”
“I mean shit, what were you thinking all those other years?”
“…”
“You have to go out there and go right after guys; you can’t be scared to—”
“Look,” I said, “it’s different for everyone I suppose, but I put so much stock in what it meant to be a baseball player, I became afraid to fail at it. I’d be out of a job, and out of an identity. I thought I’d lose everything without it.”
“Well hell, Dirk, we’re all gonna be done at some time or another.”
“I know. I guess I thought I’d be done sooner rather than later.”
“Maybe, but