The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [36]
Today Hoffman got right to the point, launching into a speech about preparation and routine. About not only how practice makes perfect, but how it’s not just practice at the pro level, it’s a way of life. Successful athletes control all the variables. They are disciplined with their rest, eating, workouts, and love lives. They set goals and reach them.
Next, Hoffman started talking about how good and bad thoughts influence our ability, how negative thoughts can defeat us before we take the field, and how positive ones can help remove doubt. He said he talked to himself, confessing, “When I have a bad thought, like I think I can’t make a pitch or I worry about a negative result, I stop myself, pull the thought out of my head, crumple it up, and throw it away.” Then, to demonstrate, he took his hand up to his head, grabbed an imaginary object floating next to his ear, pulled it away from his head, crunched it up, and threw it on the ground. Whoa!
Hoffman finished his speech with a customary message of hope, telling us we could all make it to the bigs someday because stranger things have happened. He said that he, for example, was drafted as a shortstop, and his legendary changeup didn’t come along until later in his career. Then, before closing, he put his hands back on his hips and in a very magnanimous way said, “As long as you have uniforms on your backs, you got a chance.” I expected him make a dramatic exit, like flying off into the clouds. Instead, he opened up the floor to questions.
Some hands popped up while I mulled over his words. To be honest, his speech disappointed me. It was like Captain Kirk talking about what it’s like to work with his producers and not about fighting Klingons or firing photon torpedoes. He didn’t even talk about sexing up green chicks. I wanted more. I needed more. He was supposed to tell me the meaning of the baseball-player life and why I wore my secret decoder jersey. Where was all the deep, mind-blowing insight? Most of this stuff was on the wall in my high school guidance office.
Unsatisfied, I started thinking of a question to force depth out of him. I set my vocabulary to stun and threw my hand up. Hoffman’s gaze came down on me, “What’s your question?”
“I was wondering,” I said, “what kind of mantras or psychological routines you operate under? Do you have beliefs that you inculcate yourself with to remain focused and directed as a player?” I thought the question was deep, intelligent, and perceptive. Surely, a man of his greatness was impressed by it. Hoffman stared at me as if I just asked him what testicles were.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, buddy. I don’t know about all those big words. ‘Mantras’ and ‘inculcating,’ whew!” he chided, smiling at the rest of the guys as if to imply what’s with this guy, huh? Brent’s head dropped, Ox snorted. “Why don’t you try and keep it down to a level we can all understand. We’re just baseball players here, pal.”
The minor leaguers surrounding me begun chuckling. Partially because I just went Rambo with a thesaurus and partially because if Trevor had simply snapped his fingers like the Fonz and said, “Laugh now!” everyone would have.
“Are you trying to ask me what kind of things I think about to stay in my element?” he said, offering me a rephrase.
“Uhm…Yeah, that’s it,”
“Well, what I do…” and he went on to list a series of things I didn’t hear because I was too busy trying to calculate just how badly I embarrassed myself in front of my peers and a baseball demigod. When Trevor finished his answer, he looked back to me and asked, “Does that answer your question?”
“Oh yes, yes it does, thank you,” I lied.
“Any other questions?”
No one else dared raise his hand, not even to ask the quintessential Hoffman must know of, “How do you hold your changeup?” I had officially snuffed out the meeting, and we sat awkwardly looking at the floor while Hoffman towered over us.
“Well those were all very good questions, and I wish you all the best of luck.