It is two in the morning and I am wide awake. The house is quiet but my mind is loud. I have already flipped the pillow a few times and kicked off the covers then pulled them back up. The ceiling fan hums above me offering no comfort just background noise to my thoughts. Sleep will not be coming anytime soon. This is the night before the big game. For my players it is nerves and excitement. For me it is something heavier. Responsibility. Doubt. Hope. Fear. Strategy. Leadership. My stomach twists with tension and my mind replays every inning we have not even played yet. I know we are ready. We have practiced hard. We have drilled every situation we could think of. The players are locked in. The lineup is set. But still I toss and turn because the burden of coaching especially the night before a game like this is one that never really lightens. Tonight something else has crept into my thoughts. Beyond the anxiety and the tactical planning I keep thinking about something that has bothered me for years. Why do people hate winners so much? You know the ones I am talking about. The teams that work harder than everyone else and win more often. The programs that do things right and still get sneered at. It is not just jealousy. It is deeper than that. There is a resentment for those who dare to chase excellence and actually catch it.
This is the story of what it feels like to be the coach of one of those teams. The story of what keeps us up at night. The story of what people do not see.
Preparation is Never Finished
The hours leading up to a big game are full of movement. Planning. Reviewing. Talking to players. Watching film. Setting strategy. But now in the stillness of the night the mind replays every single decision like a broken record.
What if they bring in their lefty reliever early will we be ready to adjust?
What if we get down by three runs in the first Do I change the approach or trust the plan?
What if our catcher tweaks something mid-game and I need to go to the backup Will he be ready?
Coaching is about preparation but more than that it is about anticipation. It is about trying to see three moves ahead and still being surprised when the game throws something wild at you. I remember games from years ago like they were yesterday. Mistakes I made that cost us. Times I trusted too much or not enough. Calls I wish I could have back. Those memories do not fade. They sharpen in moments like this. They add weight to the quiet. And yet I also know the other side. I know the feeling of being ready. I know the look in a player’s eyes when they trust the work we put in. I know the satisfaction of watching a drill from March show up in a clutch play in May. That is what keeps us going. That is why we prepare like maniacs. But the preparation never feels complete. Even when everything is done there is always the feeling that something was missed. That maybe one more conversation or one more rep would make the difference.
The Emotional Toll of Leadership
Being a coach is not just about baseball. It is about people. Young people. Kids who are learning who they are through this game. Some come in with confidence and swagger. Others are broken before they even put on a uniform. And they all become your responsibility. You try to build them up. Challenge them. Teach them. Hold them accountable. But also protect them. And that balance is delicate. There are moments I question everything. Did I push him too hard? Did I not push that other one enough? Did I miss signs of something deeper going on at home or in school? When we lose I feel it in my chest. Not because of the scoreboard but because I know how much they care. And when we win it is joy yes but it is also relief. Because for a moment you feel like maybe just maybe you did right by them. The hardest part is knowing you cannot control the outcome. You can teach and coach and inspire but when they step onto the field they have to make the decisions and you have to live with what happens. I think of the seniors playing their final season. The ones who may never wear a uniform again. I think of the underclassmen who will grow into leaders someday. I think of the quiet kid who finally found his voice this year. I carry all of them in my heart. That is why sleep does not come easy. Because this game means something. It means everything.
Why They Hate Winners
This thought will not let go of me tonight. It started as a whisper but now it is loud. Why do people hate winners?
We built something strong. Something disciplined. Something that values work and toughness and details. We teach kids how to compete the right way. We celebrate their growth not just their stats. And yet every year as we start to win more games the murmurs begin. They are cocky. They think they are better than everyone else. They do not do it the right way. They are just lucky. They recruit. They bend the rules. They are not really that good.
I have heard it all.
What those people do not understand is how much this took. The years of losing. The long nights. The empty bleachers. The soul-searching. The changes we made. The culture we built from scratch. None of it came easy. But winning threatens people. It makes them uncomfortable. It exposes their excuses. It reminds them of what they are not doing. And so rather than chase their own greatness they try to pull down those who already found it. It used to bother me. A lot. Now I understand it. But I still do not accept it. Because the truth is most of the hate does not come from our players. It comes from adults, parents, coaches. People who should know better. Winning is lonely. That is the reality. When you do things well and consistently you become a target. But I would rather wear that target than hide from it.
What They Do Not See
They see the trophies. The banners. The dogpiles. The photo on social media with the score in the caption and the kids in matching hats. They do not see the team meetings where hard conversations happen. Where kids cry. Where accountability gets real. They do not see the hours spent with families trying to help a kid stay eligible or stay focused or stay out of trouble. They do not see the meals skipped or the family time missed or the strain this job can put on a coach’s own relationship and family. They do not see the games we lost that taught us more than the ones we won. They do not see the fear in my chest every time a player gets hurt. They do not see the text late at night from kids who need advice or just someone to listen.They do not see how often I question whether I am doing enough. People see the success. They do not see the story. And sometimes I wonder if they even want to.
Still Awake
It is almost four now. I am still wide awake. I will probably stay this way until the sun comes up and it is time to head to the field. I am not nervous about the game. I am at peace with what we have built. But my mind never stops. There is always something to adjust or review or prepare for. But beyond the game I am thinking about these boys. What they have been through this season. How far they have come. How much they care. How much I care. I think about the criticism that will come if we win big tomorrow. I think about the looks and the words and the fake smiles from people who want us to fail.
And I realize something….
They do not really hate us. They hate what we represent. We represent effort that does not waver. Standards that do not drop. Confidence that does not apologize. We represent what happens when a group refuses to settle. When a group chases something bigger than comfort. We represent excellence. And excellence makes people uncomfortable. So let them be uncomfortable. Because tomorrow when the ump says play ball I will be right there with my team. Focused. Ready. Locked in. Win or lose I will lead them with everything I have. I will love them hard. I will push them to be their best. And if that means we keep winning. Then let them hate us. We will keep doing it our way.
And I will keep losing sleep for all the right reasons.
Behind The Diamond 