02/25/2026
BALLS vs BRAINS
I threw my last pitch in competitive baseball 22 years ago and most memories have faded some but I’ll always remember my first CG. 1996 Battle Creek MI, Midwest League (low A ball). Sunday day game. Hot as hell with 90% humidity. The Padres had very strict rules on pitch counts across all minor league affiliates with a hard cap at 100 and you can’t start an inning after 90. Throwing a complete game wasn’t exactly on my radar as I trotted for the first inning because I was usually good for 3-5 walks with a few wild pitches to the backstop. If I went 9 in college it was rare that I wasn’t over 130 pitches to get the job done. The first couple innings were pretty routine, the only thing that stood out was that my control was a lot better than usual. Their lineup was getting a heavy dose of 4 different sliders at 84-88, some two seamers thumbed in there at 90-92 to keep them honest with the occasional curve ball in the low 80’s when I got ahead in the count. After 3 shutout innings my pitching coach interrupts my between inning ritual by sitting next to me (don’t do that) and says “nice work, throw your fastball more”. I nod my head “gotcha”, then go back to a meditative state to clear my head and stay focused. Two more innings of the same, weak ground balls, a few pop ups and through 5 they had only squared up a couple balls. I come back to the dugout feeling pretty good about our 4 run lead, I had no idea what my pitch count was but I knew it had to be low with only 1 walk and a few strikeouts. Pitching coach “hey man, I really like how your fastball looks WHEN you throw it. Find I reason to use it more”. My outside voice “you got it, I’ll try”. My inside voice “get the f*** away from me and go sit next to the cooler where you belong. I’m doing things here.” Two more innings slicing and dicing my way through the lineup, rolling over two seams, dropping my arm slot for some frisbees and finishing them with a hard slider in the dirt. Pitching coach “you feeling okay? Try using that 4 seam now.” I said nothing, I stared at him like he just shot my dog for f***ing with my flow but gave him a head nod as I draped a wet towel over my head to gather myself. My inside voice wanted to say “are you serious right now? I’m owning these as****es. I’ve held them to 4 base runners through 7, we’re sitting on a 5 run lead and you want me to change things up?!? GTFOH”. I sit them down in order in the 8th. Coach “alright, you’re sitting at 82 pitches. You want this last inning?”. I said nothing. My catcher yells out “F*** yeah he does!”. I resume my usual spot on the bench and hide beneath my towel contemplating what it would feel like to actually finish my first professional game. I had never thrown in the 9th before. We make our last out. I soak my hat in water. Throw it on my head. Grab my glove and make my way up the steps when I hear GONG! Then I hear Mick’s voice “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over Rock” GONG! Cute, the PA guy is trying to pump up the other team by playing the Rocky theme. I make my way to the first base line and the horns start kicking in. Something was off, I couldn’t feel my feet hit the ground. My sweat turned ice cold. I got goosebumps. GONG!! Face got flushed and hot, my hair felt like it was on fire. I reached down to pick up the ball and my hand was shaking like Michael J Fox. Fatigue went out the window and for no reason at all I was pi**ed. Alright…deep breath. Let’s get this first warmup pitch somewhere near the catcher then I’ll go through my 6 pitch routine before we throw it down. Mission accomplished, I lob one in about 70mph. Next pitch, crank it up a little. Holy s**t. That looked like game speed and I wasn’t even trying. That damn song was still playing and each gong felt like it sent shockwaves through my body. Alright, let’s let this next one go and see what I can bring to the table after 2.5 hours in this heat. POP!! I lit it up. My catcher stuck the landing, tilted his head sideways, paused for a second, stood up and threw it about 90 back at me and pounded his chest. What the hell was this? A new gear? Ball gets thrown down and the batter steps in the box. Catcher calls for a fastball. I grip 4 seams and aim center cut. The hitter didn’t budge. After seeing nothing but wrinkles and off speed all day it was likely the last thing he was expecting. My blood is boiling at this point. Catcher puts down a 3, I shake, a 2, I shake again, then a 1 before he pounds his glove and settles into his stance. I uncork one and the hitter is a day late. My catcher shakes his head and tosses it back. This time he doesn’t bother to put down a sign. He just held his arms out wide and waves his fingers in like “what…bring it then”. Called strike 3 looking on a c**k shot. He didn’t even bother giving me another sign the rest of the inning. Nothing but heaters belt high middle middle as I’m fighting off uncontrollable tremors trying to look normal out there. I ended up punching out the side on 14 consecutive 4 seamers 94-96 to notch my first CG. After we shake hands following the W I get to my pitching coach at the end of the line when he grabs my hand and pulls me into his face and says “what the F*** was that?!?” I said “what was what?”. My catcher stood next to us nodding his head up and down. Pitching coach looks at him and says “THAT”! I said “that as***le up in the booth played the Rocky song”. PC “I’m sorry, he did what?” “The Rocky song, didn’t you hear it? What the hell did you expect?” “Jesus Christ Kolb…you really are nuts aren’t you?” I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “That’s bulls**t though right, it should be illegal to play that song in between innings.” The manager and he stared at me like a had a p***s growing out of my forehead as they giggled. Now, I ended up with my first CG, our team got the win, but after some time to reflect I saw it as a defeat. I let adrenaline win. The wrong song came on at the wrong time and it threw me for a loop. I had achieved a flow state that carried me through 8 innings pitching with my brain then a shot of adrenaline invited my balls to the party. While I admit, it was kinda fun. But it was also stupid. I busted my ass for 8 strong to put me in that position and I could’ve pi**ed it all away because my balls won an argument with my brain. If I was going to succeed on this journey to the big leagues I needed to get that s**t under control. Unfortunately, I had to learn that lesson far too many times throughout the remainder of my career. A little adrenaline is needed to step on that mound and do battle but too much gives your balls a little too much confidence. At the end of the day, adrenaline is just another distraction to keep you from completing the task at hand. Which is and always will be…use your brain to choose the right pitch, then execute your delivery. Choose your pregame playlist wisely.