Those who know me and my lunatic ways on the baseball field are often surprised to learn about how painfully shy I was as a child. Many introverts are shy as kids, as we do not realize until later in life that while we can be social, and, yes, even enjoy being social, that it takes a tremendous amount of energy for us to do so.
As a child, this feeling of social depletion often leads to an aversion to and anxiety about being with people. I remember this being especially hard for me at my one sleep-away camp, Blue Star, a Jewish camp in North Carolina. In retrospect, it wasn’t a bad camp. I made a good friend, almost landed my first real girlfriend, and hindsight tells me it had most of the usual activities and idiocies that movies like Meatballs tell me I should expect from the experience.
But I hated it.
I have come to understand that my particularly strong negative reaction came from the fact that you are never, ever alone at sleep-away camp. From bunks to bathrooms, there is no respite from socializing other than sleep (fleeting as it was with the usual jackass pranks and early-morning bugles).
Those of you who aren’t introverts might think that the person reading the book in a crowded restaurant has that issue solved. Now that I’m a little more comfortable in my own skin, I can do that and feel energized. But at the ripe old age of 12, I knew that just made me look like the weird kid.
My one redeeming moment at Blue Star was in the annual talent show (Meatballs, I’m telling ya). At that time, I was a huge Steve Martin fan; listening to Comedy is not Pretty until the needle wore out, and tacking his “Best Fishes” photo from the album along-side my poster of U.S. Senator John Blutarski. My counselor refused to let anyone not participate, and told me to “do something” for the Gong Show portion of the competition.
I really can’t remember the routine, as when he literally pushed me on stage, I just kind of went somewhere else. I remember poking fun at the guy who went on before me (he used a dead frog on a stick to do a dance) and teased the counselors.
I remember laughs. A lot of them.
And I remember after asking my counselor whether people were making fun of me when they laughed.
“No way, man!” he replied earnestly. “You were hilarious! Who knew Scott Nathanson was funny?”
In looking back at my childhood, I realize that there were two places “in a crowd” I actually felt energized: on the stage, and behind the plate.
The one unifying factor for both?
I was Spiderman.
That nerdy kid who put on the mask and became the wise-cracking hero.
Whether it was playing King Achashverosh, the drunken regent of Persia for my 3rd Grade Purim play (back by popular demand in the 4th!), or the lout of a husband who gets his just “desserts” in my fabulous filmmaker friend Thom Harp’s Proof is in the Pudding, putting on the mask of another character felt freeing rather than draining.
I felt the same way when I put on a catcher’s mask. While normally my coaches had issues prying a single sentence out of me, when I caught, it was hard to shut me up. I talked to my pitcher non-stop. I urged. I coaxed. I may have even taunted the batters just a little, tiny bit at times. I distinctly remember a few hitters telling me to, “Shut the hell up.” I would merely shrug, and continue to yammer away.
And despite being born with a terminal case of “Catcher’s Disease”—I’m left handed—I was pretty darned good. I remember getting validation early on. I was nine, and our ace Pitcher Wes Winterstein was on the mound. I was late to the game and arrived in the 2nd to find that we were already down to the Phillies 6-0. To make matters worse, they had runners on first and second with no one out. I remember the coach saying, “Thank god you’re here,” and taking out the boy catching in the middle of the inning as soon as I was suited up (not something I would do today as a coach, mind you).
The change in Wes was immediate. I remember to this day yelling at him, “I’m back, let’s go!” He stared in, and buzzed a strike down the middle.
The Phillies wouldn’t score again.
It’s funny how in the scramble to help kids find their own path, we coaches – and I think teachers and parents as well – will sometimes shy away from our own stories. We don’t want to do the, “Back in my day…” thing; feeling rightly that each child and each generation has unique characteristics and qualities. And as the mercury pushed up past 70 degrees this past Saturday, I organized a special catcher’s clinic for my 11-year-olds. My main goal was to start working on how to frame pitches and the mechanical skills it takes to move (or not move) the glove. And I had been watching a lot of videos on technique and found new approaches to framing I had never learned as a player.
But as I brought the boys to the backstop, all those old memories began to flood back. And so we spent as much time talking about who you need to be as a catcher than what you need to do. Both are important, but I realized just then that I had been remiss with my catchers in instruction on the former. I think it’s because that, ironically for an introvert, that was the one part of this very difficult game (and an even more difficult position) that actually came naturally to me.
And so, I have committed myself to working more with my catchers in general, but go beyond just framing, throwing, and blocking. Those skills make for getting better at playing baseball, but they don’t make for better ballplayers. In addition, the social art of catching transcends the game itself, teaching empathy, leadership, partnership, along with verbal and non-verbal communications skills that can help a player mature as a person.
Now there are a million great catching videos out there (I’m quite partial to the Touch ‘Em All series, and this GameChanger blog has a nice compilation) that go into the mechanics of the position. But for those interested, here are my tips that look at the skills you need behind the mask.
CoachN’s Social Skills Catching Drills
- “Talk” with the umpire: A catcher is having a game-long conversation with the umpire, both verbal and non-verbal. Remember that you want it to be a friendly conversation, not a debate. Introduce yourself to the umpire at the beginning, and make him feel like you’ll do your best to give him the best looks at the pitches and protect him as best you can. Then continue that conversation with every pitch you receive.
- Your #1 job: be your pitcher’s best friend: The best friend a catcher has on the team is whoever it is on the mound at that moment. Your job is to make him feel comfortable and confident no matter what the situation. Talk to him, point at him, take the blame for wild pitches if he’s having trouble even if it’s really not your fault. Plain and simple, the pitcher is the center of the action and driving the plot, not you. Your job is to try and get the best out of him you possibly can. To geek-out a bit, he’s Luke, you’re Yoda.
- Be positive: About the worst thing I have ever seen a catcher do is call time out, go up to the pitcher, and tell him that he stinks (and yes, I have seen that). If you think that is a good move for a catcher, it’s time to find another position to play. A catcher should be relentlessly encouraging to his pitcher, giving him fist-pumps and thumbs-ups on good strikes and close pitches, and little encouragements and the occasional pat on the keester if he’s struggling.
- Be honest: If the coach comes out and asks you how you think the pitcher is doing, be honest with the coach. You have the best view of the pitcher, and if you are focused on him, should be able to get perhaps an even better sense than he has as to whether he has anything left in the tank. If you think he does, go to bat for him, as that buys you considerable cred with your pitcher and will pump him up. The coach will make the final call, but you can definitely help him, the pitcher, and the team by being honest.
- Speak like Spiderman: Chatty, competitive, and a little funny; just like you see the catcher in movies from The Sandlot to Bull Durham. So talk all the time, not just when you have a conference on the mound. While you need to feel out if this is working for your pitcher or the umpire, these are the good base traits for a catcher. A chatty catcher will sometimes engage and sometimes annoy hitters. Either way, they are thinking about something else other than the pitcher; that’s a good thing. Chatty catchers help keep the umpire engaged and develop a relationship. Getting a grin out a pitcher in a stressful moment helps to relax him. Chatting also helps keep you focused and not falling asleep behind the plate.
- The catcher/pitcher relationship does not end on the field: When an inning is over, players tend to go find their buddies on the team and hang with them. Remember, no matter what the case outside the ballpark, the pitcher is a catcher’s best buddy. Unless you’re getting ready to hit, spend the time in the dugout talking about the last inning—what was working and what wasn’t. Go to the coach together and give suggestions (particularly if the coach is calling pitches) as to what pitches and locations seem to be working or if something is making your pitcher uncomfortable. If it looks like a new pitcher is coming in the game, bring that pitcher together with the last one to share information.
- Talk catcher-to-catcher: Talk to the other catchers on the team during the game. You may not catch the whole time, but the catcher who was in the game should be giving information to whomever is coming in about the umpire, the pitcher, and anything you’ve seen in the hitters. That information is vital and you do no favors to the next guy by having him come in cold.
- Frame a ball, tell a lie: Umpires will know a clear ball if they see one–it’s usually anything more than 2-3 inches (that’s not much) outside the strike zone. Any pitch you jerk from far off the plate is a lie you are telling to the umpire and your pitcher. It makes both of them less trustful of you. Just catch that ball and quickly throw it back to the pitcher to keep him in rhythm.
- Move a strike, lose a strike: This is about the hardest thing to do at the same time that you are learning to stay outside the borderline pitches and catch the ball with a slight movement toward the corner of the plate. If a strike carves the outside corner and you move it toward the middle, you are telling the umpire you think that pitch was outside. If you catch a pitch crossing over the middle of the plate and you simply follow it as it finishes inside, you’ve turned a strike into a ball. Same goes for a pitch at the top or the bottom of the strike zone. For any pitch anywhere in the strike zone, the less movement, the better. This may be a skill, but it’s also part of the conversation, as by holding a ball in place, you are telling both your pitcher and the umpire to, “check out that beautiful strike.” Now that’s framing.
Now, you’ll note that this list does not include anything on the “field general” end, such as calling out plays and cuts and such. I’m just starting that with my catchers, and really want them to get comfortable with the pitch-and-catch aspect of the game, as most coaches will tell you this aspect is about 75% of the job.
Until next time, True Believers!