I know baseball more than anything else in the world. I started playing when I was 7 and I’ve been trying to become the best player I can for the past 38 years (yikes!). I love playing baseball, writing about baseball, and talking about baseball.
When my son decided he wanted to play baseball, I had to make a decision: get really involved and teach him everything I know or let him figure things out on his own.
I’ve seen a lot of father-son relationships where the kid is doing something because the dad is pushing it, and it doesn’t end well. It’s something I’m really careful about, and I wasn’t sure what to do.
I’ve only been a father for 15 years and I’m still learning as I go.
Aided by my wife’s insistence, I arrived at my answer: if my son wants to play baseball it would be downright irresponsible of me not pass along whatever knowledge I have to help make him a better player. And also: we would get to spend some quality time together.
So when he expressed an interest in pitching, I decided to go all in. Made sure the mechanics were solid. Gave him some tips to help him throw a little harder. Talked about the mental part of pitching.
We were having fun!
Then I told him about the changeup.
Most kids want to learn how to throw a curveball because that’s what they see on TV, and the idea of being able to curve a ball in mid air connotes some sort of wizardry. So I get it.
But a curveball can hurt young elbows if you don’t throw it right, and it isn’t allowed at his age anyway.
The changeup is the often-overlooked, younger cousin of the curveball. It looks and feels just like a regular fastball and then — oops! — it changes.
To the batter it feels like someone just pulled a string on it halfway to the plate. It’s unexpected and messes up all your assumptions.
It’s a different kind of wizardry, but wizardry nonetheless.
”Hitting is timing. Pitching is upsetting timing.”
— Warren Spahn
So I showed him the grip (the circle change, for the baseball people out there) and I told him the secret: “Hold it gently, like it’s an egg you don’t want to break. Then throw it as hard as you can.”
This creates a visual trick — the hitter sees all the signs of a fastball and he revs up for it.
But then it changes.
The hitter’s plans get shot to hell and — unless he’s familiar with this magical twist — he’ll swing and miss. As a hitter it’s maddening.
As a pitcher, it feels like you just made the Statue of Liberty disappear.
My son started tinkering with it, and a few of the throws were perfect. You could see it was clicking.
The look on his face said it all: he was loving it.
I was loving it too.