Personal Narrative: The Mechanics Of Baseball

Few people ever fall in love, and even fewer people remember when they did. I am not one of these people. The first time I fell in love was when I was 5 years old and my dad gave me my first ever baseball. I can still remember running my fingers against the seams and gripping the ball in a multitude of ways, imagining I was Nolan Ryan trying to select which pitch I would throw.

Unfortunately however, instead of learning to throw the greatest curveball known to man, my dad told me that I first, would need to learn the proper mechanics of pitching as well as the most instrumental—and most fundamental—pitch; the fastball. My dad instructed me that I was to watch this little blue cassette called “Teaching the Mechanics of the Major League Pitcher”

every day before I could even think about going outside to use my ball and glove. He explained how many people learn to throw…but that only a select few learn how to pitch. Thus, I was to learn not only the proper grips, but also the proper arm positioning as well as the numerous rules for delivering a pitch. After I had mastered the classroom portion of the game, he promised, I could move on to the physical part.
It took a little longer than I had anticipated to commit all of the various rules and regulations to memory but once I did my dad unveiled the next part of my training; my very own backyard baseball field.

Lucky for us, our backyard was quite large and rectangular in shape. We had a back garage on one side—which my dad painted a white square on to resemble a strike zone—as well as a large tree on the other side, which helped in keeping the soon to be home runs in the park. I practiced my new mechanics daily, diligently following each of the various steps I had engrained to memory. Following months and months of practice in my backyard, the day finally arrived; my first ever game. I remember executing each of my pitches crisply and following every step of my game plan dutifully. I finished the game triumphantly for my dad in the stands and came back to a dugout full of high fives and pats on the back as the game came to a close. Unfortunately however, my dad’s hand was not one of these. “Pitching” he said sincerely, is not just memorization and application of techniques. It’s not just finger positions and arm placement. It comes from the

heart.
This was how I discovered passion.
Curveball, Knuckleball, Change-up and Slider; the grips and techniques of these complex pitches are brilliance printed on paper and engrained in history, but ultimately, it is the pitcher who brings them to life. Yes they have standard rules and instructions however they are also open to a multitude of artistic interpretations. Even a pitch as simple as the fastball can inspire well over a dozen different variations. With this renewed focus on pitching, I began to see immediate, significant and sustained improvement. Each time I practiced from then on, I poured whatever emotions I could into the ball and began to love every second of it. I conjured up images of people, events or things (whether real or imaginary) in my mind as I played, and the feeling and pitches began to flow easily; anger and frustration into my fastball, hope and anticipation into my curveball and slider, pure joy into my change-up. Ultimately the repetitions of practice no longer illustrated a chore; it illustrated a privilege, and an honor.
Now, fast forward to high school, where I began playing for my school’s team as a freshman.

The team had lacked pitching for years before my arrival and on my first day I remember the coach handing me a binder with information on the mechanics of pitching as well as on the techniques of each grip. Given that I had already become accustomed to what all was in there, I began experimenting with the pitch grips in order to make things more interesting for myself, as well as the opposing batter. I rarely used the same pitch sequence twice, and if I ever threw the same pitch, it was never with the same grip. I realized early on that the beauty in improvisation was that it involved feeling as much as logic and theory. Different situations and different moods produced different results. Sometimes the fastball needed to be clean and beautiful in its simplicity, other times it needed to be complex and practically undiscernible in its delivery. The fundamental direction and technique remained the same however, even as the grip and arm angles

changed.
Although my formal baseball career ended as I entered college, the lessons it engrained in my soul with remain with me forever. Throughout the years I have developed a lifestyle of discipline and internalized drive for self-improvement. I have gained an appreciation for the complexities and the subtleties of interpretation. I understand the vital importance of having both a sound foundation and a dedication to constant study.