You Don't Learn How to Hit a Baseball at Practice

When I was seven, I started playing baseball. Pretty early on, I noticed that most of the kids on my Little League team were better than me. But being seven, I didn’t care that much.

That changed the following year. Once Little Leaguers turn eight, they can be selected to represent the All-Star team for their age group. You and about 11 other kids compete through the summer against other parks’ All-Star teams if you're chosen. Getting selected is a pretty big honor. So when I wasn’t chosen, but those other kids who outperformed me when I was seven did...well, the difference in skill level started to bother me then. I realized I was a tier lower than everyone else.

In my experience as a kid, especially if you’re a boy, how fast you’re picked in a draft pretty much determines your popularity. Consistently being chosen toward the end of a draft (and especially if you’re always the last pick) will eat away at your confidence. I was less physically skilled and skinnier than other kids, so I was usually the very last pick. That infuriated me, and I was determined to turn things around.

While all the “good” kids were off traveling around the state that summer, playing for the All-Star team, I was in my backyard, hitting countless baseballs, trying to build up talent and strength. When it was time for the next season to start, I felt ready to go. And I had a pretty solid year: not great, but good. Good enough, I thought, to make All-Star.

The decision came out on a Saturday night. I remember anxiously waiting on my back porch for my dad to pull up the website to see if I’d made the team or not.

I didn’t. Not only did I not make the team, but I was also selected to participate in an event called the “All-Star Game.” Being chosen to play in the All-Star Game is what really ticked me off; it felt like the park had created the event to ease the pain of the kids who weren’t selected for All-Star. It became apparent to me that the only way I would be chosen was if I worked ten times harder than everyone else. My parents always told me inspirational stories about overcoming obstacles, but their words weren’t going to change anything this time. It was time for me to put words into action, to practice more than I did in years previous.

The best thing they did for me the following summer was help me find the resources to accomplish my goals. They purchased a hitting tool for me, a SwingAway, which changed the course of my life.

Everyone was given the same amount of drill work at practice: about 20-30 swings per practice. If I continued to put in the same amount of work as everyone else, I’d never be able to surpass their skill level. Your work must extend beyond practice if you genuinely want to improve something. As Albert Einstein said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

I can only imagine how my parents felt when I had been practicing to make the All-Star team, and they had to watch their son try and fail again and again. But they were always there to support me. The best thing they did for me the following summer was help me find the resources to accomplish my goals. They purchased a hitting tool for me, a SwingAway, which changed the course of my life. I gave up video games and sometimes even hours of sleep to practice on it; I must’ve beaten at least 500 swings into it every night. On top of that, I took hundreds of swings a night into a punching bag, trying desperately to build up my strength. I also began drinking whole milk, which I still drink with just about every meal.

A year of continuous work passed. This time, I was sure that I’d make the All-Star team. But when the time came for the team roster to be released, and again I waited on the back deck with my dad, anxious while he pulled up the list, the results shocked me. I’d failed to get my name on the roster I wanted. However, I made the secondary team, better known as “the B team.” Still...the B team? I was perplexed. Crushed. All that work I put in—all those hours, those swings, that milk!—and I was only selected for the B team? I felt hopeless. I even had thoughts of just quitting baseball altogether. But playing baseball that summer was refreshing, even if it was just on a secondary team. Happy but not satisfied, I got right back to work. I began taking one-on-one lessons and continued to hit balls off the SwingAway. I think I actually broke it a few times. But it was a great way to improve my skill and get my frustration out.

My team won the Championship, and I was Home Run King and won the Lee Hartel award for sportsmanship.

The year I was eleven, I hit more effectively than ever. My batting average was outstanding, and I was one of the best defensive catchers in the league. When the season concluded, and selections for the summer All-Star team came out, this time, the name Alex Mette was typed on the roster for the A team.

I had done it!

On the A team, I experienced some of the most joyful times in my life. I met many friends that I’m still in contact with, even now, seven years later. From then on, I received multiple awards, and people started to wonder how I came out of nowhere. This was one of the first times in my life where I had to fail repeatedly to gain the strength to succeed.

My parents tell me this story to this day, saying they had no idea how a nine-year-old could muster that kind of inner strength. What I didn’t know was that the strength I amassed would be needed again and again over the years: in school, in football, and in other areas of my life. I know there will always be moments when I have to put in extra work to get the desired results. I don’t know what roadblocks I’ll run into in the future. But whatever they may be, I know I have all the tools to push through and come out on top. I’m a fighter, which means I’ll do everything in my power to overcome obstacles.

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