John Fiorenza

My middle son, Ryan, was a skinny 9th grader with a weak arm and virtually no bat 62 mph pulldown His best swings barely cleared the infield And he was deceptively slow He tried out the for the JV team at our high school as a second baseman His older brother had starred at the same school and was now playing in college To my knowledge, no one had ever been cut from the JV team Ryan was cut from the JV team That night we watched Rudy My idea I expected a pity party Instead, he looks at me and says: “Dad… we screwed up the position. You know how to train pitchers. Next year I’m not trying out for JV. I’m MAKING VARSITY… as a pitcher.” I did a double take Swallowed hard “Sure, Ry. But that means you work. Every. Single. Day.” I figured it would last a week It lasted a year He lived at The ARMory Every night Like a man possessed He gained 20 pounds (up to 145) Fastball to 75 Added a changeup And showed a crazy, unanticipated knack for living in the strike zone He tried out for Varsity as a pitcher He made the team And never played All season: clean pants, empty stat line Last game of the year, bases loaded, 2 outs He finally gets in… to pinch run at first One pitch Routine ground ball Force out at second Season over Next year, his velo is up to 82 The staff is loaded Three weeks left in the season… still hasn’t thrown a pitch Then comes the promise Soft opponent on the schedule Coach says, “Ryan’s starting.” I clear my calendar 4 pm, my phone rings “Hey bud, you ready? You nervous?” “I’m excited… but I’m not nervous.” Pause “Because I’m not pitching. Rex is pitching.” My heart sinks Rex? We don’t have a Rex I’m running through the roster in my head “Who the heck is Rex?” “Dad, you’re gonna love him. Rex is 6’8” and throws 96.” Ryan is 5’9” and tops at 82 Suddenly, Rex sounds like a better option I get to the field right as the anthem ends There’s no 6’8” dude Just my 5’9” son, grinning Ryan had invented an alter ego That night, Rex took the ball Same 82 mph fastball Completely different presence Rex walked like an ace Breathed like an ace Stared in like an ace Attacked the zone like an ace He refused to throw a ball Groundout. Pop up. Groundout. Weak fly. Over and over. By the 5th inning it was 12–0 He had given up 1 hit He punches out the last hitter Game over on a mercy rule The team dog piles him on the mound Ryan (a.k.a. Rex) had just thrown a one-hit shutout Same body Same arm Same 82 mph Different identity Everyone wants a new pitch, a new drill, a new program Sometimes the unlock is simpler: You don’t need a new body You need a new alter ego In baseball or in life Name the version of you who attacks the zone Then let him (or her) take the ball Find your Rex