Behind The Diamond

There is something deeply broken in today’s youth baseball culture. Somewhere along the way, we stopped developing ballplayers and started raising entitled participants. The game has become less about the grind, the learning, and the slow burn of growth and more about instant gratification, clout, and curated social media moments. Every coach sees it. Most are too tired or too afraid to say it out loud. But it needs to be said. This is the era of entitlement.

Young athletes today think they deserve to play just because they show up. As if being on the roster earns them starting positions, big moments, trophies, and praise. But the truth is that showing up is the bare minimum. That just gets you in the door. What keeps you there, what earns playing time, respect, and success, is work. The kind of work no one sees. The kind of work that takes no shortcuts. The kind of work that does not ask for credit. And here is the tough part. It is not just the kids. It is the entire system feeding this entitlement. Club ball, with all its pay to play politics, has ruined a generation’s understanding of what it takes to truly earn something. We have handed out roster spots like candy to families willing to write checks. Johnny is hitting fifth and playing shortstop, not because he is the best, but because mom and dad bought the premium package. So of course he thinks he is a star. Of course he thinks he is owed something. And when that illusion breaks, when he does not start in high school or gets cut, his world collapses. Not because he is not talented but because he was never told the truth. He was never taught to work. He was never taught to fail and grow. And now he does not know how.

Let us talk about the signs. The ones we coaches see every single day.

It is too hot. I am tired. I have got something else after practice. Bad body language when they strike out. Eye rolls when corrected. Heads down when they do not get their way. No fire. No fight. Just a slow and whiny drift toward mediocrity while blaming everything and everyone except themselves. And when you do try to coach them, really coach them, they disappear. Not physically. They are there. But they are not truly present. They do not absorb it. They do not apply it. They do not take it and go work on it. That is what separates the old school grinders from this new crop. The grinders wanted to be coached. They wanted the hard truth. They knew that adjustments were made to help them succeed. If I change your stance or your swing path or your approach at the plate, it is not because I am guessing. It is because I have seen hundreds of players before you and I know what works. I am not adjusting you to fail. I am adjusting you to survive and thrive. Because when you do, the team wins. And when the team wins, the program grows. That is the job. That is the purpose. But today’s player does not trust it. They would rather listen to a guy on Instagram who has never coached a game but has slow motion videos and a catchy slogan. They would rather buy into a self proclaimed hitting guru who tells them what they want to hear instead of what they need to hear. You cannot build a ballplayer on flattery and filters. You build a ballplayer in the cage, in the gym, on the field, and in the film room. Day after day after day.

So why do we even bother? Why do we coaches keep showing up, pouring into kids who will not listen, who will not work, who will not apply the things we know will make them successful? The answer is simple. Because every once in a while, there is a kid who gets it. A kid who listens. A kid who shows up early and stays late. A kid who takes the adjustment, works it into his game, and turns the corner. And watching that kid grow, watching him become something real, that is why we coach. But those kids are getting harder and harder to find. It used to be that kids were encouraged to play multiple sports. I agree with that philosophy. I lived it. I played multiple sports growing up and was lucky enough to be good at all of them. That variety made me better. Different sports teach different movements, different mental skills, different ways to compete. But here is the reality. At some point, I had to choose. I had to realize that baseball gave me the best chance and I had to commit. That is what commitment means. Choosing. Sacrificing. Locking in on something and doing everything you can to master it.

These days, that realization is happening earlier. The game has changed. Kids who are serious are waking up before school and hitting three or four buckets. They are handling their schoolwork. They are locked in at practice. Then they go home and hit again or do positional work. They hit the gym. They eat clean. They sleep. That is the level of obsession it takes now. If you want to play at the next level, there is no halfway. There is no balance. You either commit or you do not. And if you do not, that is fine. But do not waste the coach’s time. Do not show up pretending to be all in while splitting your focus and then blaming injuries or burnout when things fall apart. You want to play multiple sports? Great. Then go be great at all of them. But do not expect to coast through baseball season just because you were the MVP of your football team. It is a different game. Different skills. Different grind. And if you cannot handle that, do not sign up. Do not take a roster spot from a kid who is willing to do the work.

Because here is what is happening. The entitled ones, the ones who do not work, who do not listen, who do not prepare, get exposed. By the time they get to high school, it is too late. They are sitting the bench or getting cut altogether. And when that happens, it is never their fault. It is the coach. It is politics. It is favoritism. It is “he just does not like my kid.” So mom and dad march into the office and complain to the athletic director. “Little Johnny was a club ball ring winner. A fourteen and under all star. He has always been a starter.” And none of that means anything anymore. Not when Johnny cannot field a ground ball. Not when Johnny does not know a bunt sign. Not when Johnny melts under pressure because he has never had to earn a thing. This is what entitlement looks like. It is not just about attitude. It is about a lack of preparation. A lack of accountability. A lack of resilience. And it is killing the game. You cannot develop if you will not listen. You cannot grow if you will not work. You cannot win if you do not care enough to compete when it is uncomfortable. This game is hard. It is supposed to be. Baseball humbles everyone. But it also rewards those who grind. Those who adapt. Those who embrace coaching and work when no one is watching. The gap between those kids and the rest is growing. The workers are separating. The serious ones are making their own luck. And the entitled ones are being left behind, confused, frustrated, bitter, and loud. It is easier to blame a coach than to admit you did not put in the work. It is easier to complain about playing time than to fix your swing. But none of that changes the truth.

Coaches do not owe you anything. This game does not owe you anything. You earn everything. And if that does not sit right with you, maybe this is not your sport. So here is my message to the next generation. If you want to be great, really great, you better get serious. Show up early. Ask questions. Apply the adjustments. Hit your buckets. Lift your weights. Run your poles. Learn the game. Respect the grind. And do it every single day. And when you do, you will start to see the separation. You will realize that while others are talking, you are doing. While others are distracted, you are improving. While others are coasting, you are climbing. That is what kills entitlement. Work. Humility. Coachability. Effort. The things that do not show up on a stat sheet but win games and earn respect. We are still out here coaching because we believe in that version of the game. We believe in the kids who want it. But do not make us waste our time. Do not nod your head at practice and ignore it afterward. Do not play the part if you are not willing to live the life. Baseball has never been a sport for the lazy or the entitled. It is a game that demands everything you have got and then some. And if you are not ready to give it, step aside for someone who will. Because the era of entitlement might be loud, but it does not last. The era of the worker, the doer, the grinder, that is the one that always wins in the end.