Next Level Ballplayer’s Day in the Life Blog features guest posts from professional ballplayers and coaches. Players are free to write whatever they want; most of the time about their journey to the next level and what it took to get there. These are the guys grinding it out in the minors today so they can be the stars of tomorrow. If you like what you read, please feel free to drop a comment and the writer will get back to you at his earliest convenience.
My name is Will LaMarche, San Francisco Bay Area native and 25 year old pitcher for the San Francisco Giants organization, and this is my story:
When I am asked to speak about my baseball career, the only place I know where to start is one deep breath. To be honest, I don’t really think about the teams I’ve played for; Even the success I’ve had isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. What I think about- naturally- is taking that deep breath. It seems symbolic for my career. Long, slow and grounding.
I think about the challenges and lessons it has taught me- those invaluable lessons. If only they were easy… But easy isn’t what a lesson or challenge is about. Challenges are revealed to us in our lives for opportunities on personal growth. I’ve learned that some are easier than others, and I’ve learned that the hard ones can make you question everything you thought you were certain about. No ways around it, every corner, twist and turn to a hard lesson is a serious gut check.
For me, at the age of 25, I’ve stopped counting. I heard a quote once that has stuck with me. “It seems you are either moving into a storm, in the middle of a storm, or just coming out of a storm.” Life is a challenge, a beautiful one. To me, baseball isn’t separate from life. Baseball is life, and life is baseball. So all challenges, on and off the field- especially when you learn whatever it is you were supposed to learn- are applied to every aspect of our lives. As I have mentioned, there truly is too many to note in this “quick” article. But, I have chosen a few baseball related challenges to reflect on that have molded me into the player that will be taking the field tonight– different from the player that took the field even just one month ago and different from the player that I will be when I choose to finish.
On March 27, 2008, I met my first real challenge. At 16 years old, I was lucky enough to always have one of the better fastballs growing up. To any ex- teammates reading this, I sincerely apologize for how long I was capable of keeping you guys waiting out there during my innings in the burning heat, or icy cold, as it was a common occurrence to walk 3 guys in a row, and then take the next three batters to 3-2 counts, ending in maybe a few strikeouts and a lucky pop up… for about 4 or 5 straight innings. But, I got by, and seemed that way for about 12 seasons up until that point.
March 27th had a message for me. One that would so eloquently prove that life will hit you in the face sometimes.
It was spring break of my junior year of high school. Our high school baseball team, Amador Valley from Pleasanton, CA, would head to an annual tournament in San Luis Obispo, CA for a few days. A team loaded with talent, we had several players heading off to D-1 schools, draft prospects, and future big leaguers- like St. Louis Cardinals clean up hitter Stephen Piscotty. After making the guys wait through 2 shaky innings to start the game, I headed out to the mound for the 3rd inning and remember telling myself out loud, “let’s make this inning quick.” It was quick. After taking the first hitter to a 3-2 count, of course, I trusted my fastball would do the same thing it always did- get me out of the jam. I wound up, threw and the hitter took a swing, but this time the ball did something different- something I had never seen before. I noticed that after the hitter made contact, the ball froze. It froze, and then grew in size, at a freaky rate. This is what the baseball looks like when it is heading right back towards a pitcher’s head off the bat. You don’t notice it, you don’t recognize it, you’ve never seen it before. The ball travels directly back up the same plane it took on the way getting there- you don’t see any side angle of the ball, it just gets bigger, really, really fast. I tried to move my glove, but it felt stuck under water. Before you really know it, the ball connects and the situation is over.
My world began to shake. My vision, electrified with an amount of adrenaline I cannot describe, shook violently, like an earthquake in my head. I fell down on my back and immediately got back up to look for the ball. When I looked down, at the age of 16 years old, was the moment I had no choice but to accept that my life wasn’t going to be the smooth sailing ship to my dreams. I saw blood pouring out from my mouth, way too fast. I felt scared. I thought of two things in that moment, “I hope I can still make it to the major leagues one day,” and “my mom is watching this.” I heard screams, and “STAY DOWN,” from our head coach Lou Cesario. My best friend, Tony Olguin, who was catching me at the time, rushed out to the mound, sat me down and grabbed my neck to secure it. The ball had squared my mouth up, ricocheting back towards home plate, breaking my upper and lower jaw and dislodging the top 4 front teeth and bottom 4 front teeth. Root canals had to be performed on each of the 8 teeth, 4 separate times within a year, for a total of 32 root canal procedures. I later found out, as I will explain soon into this article, that the ball was 104mph off the bat. This is the first time I learned that my love and passion for baseball would be challenged. And this is where I also learned that it would take a lot more than that to get me to consider anything else.
Fast forward two years. Late into the summer before my freshman year of college, I received a scholarship to play at a school I had always had my eye on, Long Beach St. (although LBSU wasn’t my dream school, another long sequence of changes did end up leading me to experience my “college baseball dream” of playing at the #1 ranked baseball program in the country, LSU, for the 2013 season). I was called by Long Beach St.’s recruiting coordinator, who mentioned his understanding that I had been hit in the face with a line drive while pitching, and liked that I showed an unwavering love for baseball considering the circumstances. In fact, the reason I later found out the ball was 104mph off the bat, was because he was the one watching the game…
Unfortunately (or fortunately for me, depending on the size of the overall picture you are looking at), I ran into some elbow issues early into the fall of 2009, and battled this issue for the entire 2010 season. I did not play a single inning and was constantly frustrated and upset about this elbow situation I couldn’t shake. Never before had I been a victim of arm problems, or let alone miss a single game in my career up to that point. I had tried to work as hard as I could to see if the theory of “hard work brings great results” would yield its implication. Yet, the “progress” seemed to reach newer lows. However, as I am able to look back, I will forever give credit to the year of 2010, for introducing me to an acquired level of work ethic that would reliably sustain me through the darkest moments of my baseball career to come.
During the last series of that 2010 freshman season, after my job on the team was well known NOT as the pitcher, but as the team chart/radar gun helper during games, I was called into my head coach’s office. I was broken two sets of news I had never heard, or even thought would happen to me. “Will, you are going to need Tommy John surgery. Your elbow needs reconstruction. Since we believe it is an injury that occurred prior to you joining us, we cannot take responsibility for the injury and will not cover the expenses. You have shown an unmatched work ethic, and we admire you for that. However, we cannot keep you on the team for next year, and will be releasing you from Long Beach St.” I left the room clouded. Fighting tears, I didn’t want to show the rest of the guys getting ready for the game in the locker room the sadness that had overcome me. I went to my locker and acted like I was looking for papers. This was the moment I learned that if you love something so deeply, you also expose yourself to deep heartbreak. This was also the moment I felt something burn deep inside of my chest and stomach- a physical feeling that felt something like the start of a jet engine heating up. I could feel the birth of a sensation I could later describe as “Fuel.”
The next 3 years or so would allow me to experience massive feats. The “fuel” I had acquired was used to a precise discipline, as I felt I had no other choice but to focus ALL of it on returning to baseball a much more advanced product than I was before. I saw it as an opportunity, the next two baseball seasons would sideline me with Tommy John rehab (one full season rehabbing, another full season of re-entering the game with Chabot Junior College in Hayward, CA. Chabot, coached by legend Steve Friend and Will Tavis, would serve to be one of the greatest blessings ever bestowed upon my career as a baseball player). The time away would allow me the opportunity of taking all aspects of my game to the next level. And part of my motivation? To receive a phone call from the coach who let me go from Long Beach St., asking me to rejoin the guys. Well, after the season with Chabot, my phone rang, and I did see his name. This was a memorable moment for me, as my heart jumped, because the motivating factor had manifested. Although something greater had manifested along with it. My college dream and baseball giant, LSU, was already where my commitment was set. You never truly know the extent of what can happen when you focus your determination on a very specific goal.
In that span of 3 years, I had taken my fastball from a physically painful 80mph at Long Beach, to 98mph at Chabot. I was drafted twice (once to the Minnesota Twins in the 18th round in 2012, and once to the Detroit Tigers in the 9th round in 2013). I had pitched for my dream school at LSU and experienced the 2013 College World Series with an unbelievably special group of guys. Head coach Paul Mainieri, pitching coach Alan Dunn, hitting/recruiter Javi Sanchez & Will Davis carried the legacy of that program with an elite style and energy. I am forever thankful for them believing in me and allowing me to experience a dream. I followed that by becoming a professional baseball player for the Detroit Tigers and lived the minor league lifestyle. Life was smooth, but I always knew in the back of my mind, that there was still one more “piece” I needed to learn before my dream of pitching in the big leagues became a reality. I had a great arm, but I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t admit this to myself, but I soon learned that you can never run from the truth either.
2014, oh 2014. I say thank you to you now. Now I have a much better understanding. But you, and the next 2 and a half years to follow, challenged me to what I felt was the very last drop of energy I had left… until You pushed me even further, over, and over and over again.
About midway into the 2014 season, my first full year into pro ball, I started experiencing anxiety. The shaking, the insecurity, the inability to turn off a worrying mind, I had it all. The season was not going as planned, and as a new professional, I had expectations that were not being met. As a first timer, this can be scary and unexpected. Life has a plan for each one of us, and this part of the plan was not meant for me to speed through and quick fix. We all want it to stop when it gets bad, but this is where I learned that things can get much, much worse before they skyrocket forward.
After FINALLY having a good outing, after what felt like months of struggle, I got back to the hotel that night, the night before my 23rd birthday, and felt something different in my elbow. This was pain. This was not-good pain. Directly behind the back of my elbow felt like a dagger stabbing into it. I knew it wasn’t good, but I didn’t think that it was going to be the last time I would ever throw in a Tigers uniform. I also didn’t know that it was going to be the final outing I would have in minor league baseball until 3 months before my 26th birthday. We (The Tigers and I) shook off the incident, called it fatigue, and finished the last 2 months on the DL. The entire off season went by and it was time to leave for the 2015 spring training. As my dad dropped me off at the airport, I couldn’t handle the nerves any longer. I grabbed my bags out of the back of the car, and vomited all over the street and onto my dad’s shoes. Embarrassing, however it seemed to have a foreshadowing effect for what was to come. I tried to get through spring training with everything I had, but the pain was too much and only 5 days in I was placed back onto the DL, and joined the rehab crew to start the year. Up to this point, I still had no idea what was wrong with my elbow, as no pictures, MRI’s, or anything had been done. After spending 2 more months at the rehab complex and a few unsuccessful prednisone attempts to cure the symptoms, we finally got MRI’s and CT scans. With the results in, I knew I wasn’t crazy. A protruding bone spur, a floating bone chip and some inflamed scar tissue was filling the joint. By the grace of God, my repaired ligament from Tommy John surgery was solid and in place. June 23rd, 2015 was the scheduled date for surgery, almost 11 months after my last appearance in a game. The Tigers sent me home to get a clean up surgery in San Francisco by Dr. Michael Dillingham, and I rehabbed in San Francisco at Active Care with Lisa Giannone and Ian McMahan. Thank you, God, for these people. An entire article should be dedicated to just you.
This time at home served to be the most healing time of my life- and I knew this was the window that I was either going to learn that “missing piece,” or my career would pass me by. The acquired skills of 2010 kicked into a new gear. But this time, it wasn’t just a physical reconstruction. I went for something deeper, the root of it all. What was CAUSING all of this? This was what I wanted to go after. I didn’t know where to start, but I trusted that if I just opened myself up to the idea of the answer coming to me, then it would… and on August 3rd, 2015, it did.
I could write an entire book on the significance of this 8 month span of time rehabbing at home. The people who helped me, my mom Jeanne, my dad David, my sister Danielle… but for the sake of the article, I will keep trying to keep things “brief.” There is just so much to talk about, with so many significant moments that are hard for me to leave out. But I have to remind myself that for the sake of this article, I have to keep shortening.
August 3rd, 2015. I was sitting in my backyard alone, and in the middle of a dark depression. Life was obviously not going the way I had planned. I was out of baseball for the second time in my life when I felt I should’ve been in it and having success. I made an effort every single day to be a good person, read positive things, meditate, but I wasn’t seeing the results I wanted. It only sent me deeper into the spiral. As I was sitting outside, having a rougher day, I heard a voice as clear as if someone was standing right next to me. “Write it down.” I rolled my eyes, picked up a rock and threw it at the fence. “WRITE it down,” as if the voice had moved about 2 feet from my right ear. I looked around, really becoming concerned as to what was happening. I blew it off and picked up another rock. “WRITE IT DOWN,” like it was yelled directly into my ear. I shot up out of my chair, scared as ****, and ran inside. Coincidentally, I ran straight to the nearest drawer, opened it, and a pad of paper and a blue pen were sitting right there- as if it was already planned. I grabbed it, put the pen to the piece of paper, and began writing- anything. I thought I had written for quite some time, maybe 30 minutes, when I looked up at the clock and saw 4 hours had gone by. 24 pages of my thoughts had been written down. This was the moment I learned how to listen to my heart.
The process had started and my spirituality had become the front runner of my way of living. I decided that THIS was far more powerful than trying to outsmart or have a stronger ego than anyone else. Life is way smarter than I am, so why not let it do its thing on me- after all, that’s what it’s called when something is “meant to be.”
I found myself committing to a yoga practice every single day (today is day 609 in a row) to further advance this process, meditating daily, choosing to listen to positive messages and reading books to fill my mind with more positivity. I began the process of learning about a better diet, and how to unlock the full potential of our human capabilities through fueling our bodies with the right foods. Clarity was the goal. A clear mind is a clear body is a clear path on the way to fulfilling our specific purposes on Earth. These are just a few of the things I began to apply.
So I had done all of this work, and it was time to head back to the 2016 spring training with the Tigers. The window for me to learn what I needed to learn in that time frame at home was taken advantage of. It’s time.
March 23rd, 2016. 3 weeks had gone by, and I was finally cleared off of the DL since August 6, 2014. I took a breath of fresh air, when it seemed like that’s all I had time for. A coach had fetched me from the training room as I was preparing for a healthy day as a returning ball player. “Will, we need to see you in the office.” My throat clenched. I sat down in the office and looked into the eyes of 4 men. One began to speak. Without wasting any time, the words out of his mouth were, “Will, the Tigers have decided to release you. We do not have any space left for you. You have been a professional throughout this process and we wish you the best of luck. Do you want us to notify any teams that you are available for pick up? Or, you know, you’ve been out for quite some time and still seem to have some room to go…” as if to imply that they didn’t think they should notify other teams of my availability. I’ll always remember that.
I left the office and went to my locker, looking for… papers. This feeling was all too familiar. I tried to look as normal as possible while everyone was putting their socks and cleats on. The pain and embarrassment I felt in that moment was unmatched. I went back to the dorm room they had all of the minor leaguers staying in, picked up the phone and called my parents. That was the hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make. But in the midst of this brutal challenge, my supportive parents – who not ONCE ever showed me anything other than an unwavering support for my dreams – and I expressed out loud to each other that, “this was only making the story a little better.” I felt a very unexpected release, like a weight had literally been lifted off of my shoulders. I could breath. In just minutes after the breaking news, I learned that this was exactly how my story was “meant to be.”
Out of baseball once again, this was a very scary period for me, but fortunately an independent ball team- the Gateway Grizzlies in the Frontier League near St. Louis- gave me a chance to continue pursuing my career. An ex-teammate by the name of Craig Massoni (who I had played Junior College ball with) believed in me and my story and called up the manager, Phil Warren, who agreed to give me a chance. That season was magical, and gave me a completely new perspective on independent baseball… a perfect breeding ground for learning your craft as a player, what your strengths are, weaknesses, and how do YOU find ways to win. Independent baseball is looked over far too often. The amount of talent in these leagues is baffling, and the pure entertainment of big home runs, bat flips and ejections, the whole 9. I give credit to my time spent in Indy ball in rejuvenating my spirit with baseball. Not that it had ever left, but the past few years felt like I had been running on E compared to those few months playing in the Frontier League.
Now, the challenge was proving to these affiliated organizations that I was healthy, that they could take a chance on signing me back into affiliated baseball. This was a frustrating and patience testing process. I knew I was healthy- I was the one throwing the baseball. But they didn’t believe it. My arm had felt better than it ever had even before my first surgery. I am a firm believer that injuries are ultimately a blessing. They DIRECTLY show you how to use your body to take stress off of the areas that have been taking too much stress. I had to relearn how to throw a baseball competitively- with proof that my elbow responded healthily- if I wanted to keep my dream alive. Talk about a whole different rollercoaster in relearning your craft. The ups and downs, aches and pains, sadness and confusion, frustration and anger. If you have experienced any of these in your process of coming back from being knocked down in life, congratulations, you’re sitting on a gold mine.
Yet, no teams wanted me after the best season I was able to put together. I went back home for the off season and worked at a warehouse for money. I coached a little league team, and began pitching lessons for kids. I made sure I kept up with my bullpens by visiting our local high school, Foothill, regularly. To Cameron Rowland, varsity pitching coach of Foothill, I thank you for allowing me to get my work in at the drop of a hat. You never questioned me. Head Coach Angelo Scavone was just as supportive, and never gave anything but support to me. Connor Mckean, junior varsity catcher at the time, caught every single one of my bullpens. Thank you, Connor. I knew what I had learned from my injuries could be applied to younger pitchers, and that it could hopefully prevent a lot of the nasty side effects of throwing with too much stress in the arm, so picking up another side job with pitching lessons became an off season favorite. I skim over this section rather quickly, but it is an extremely important period of my life. This is where I learned that coaching is actually how you take your learning to the next level. The more I could learn about pitching, my passion, the greater chance I had at achieving my dream.
I decided that I needed to put together a bullpen for some scouts in the local area. I saw it as a good opportunity to prove to them how much I wanted this. To set up this bullpen myself was intimidating, nerve wracking, and a TON of “trusting in the process.” I knew it had to be done because of how challenging and awkward it felt in my gut. The more challenging it feels, the more rewarding it will be for your growth. So one by one, I called up every scout I knew in the area to invite them out to a bullpen on January 20th, 2017. Four scouts showed up that day: the Cubs, Royals, Twins and my childhood dream team, the Giants. The bullpen was ok, I left it feeling torn. But my dad, who came out to watch and support me, continued to remind me that it was a monumental step taken, and it could only yield great results. I received 3 no’s right off the bat. A “no” from a scout is hidden behind an, “I’ll keep in touch,” sort of answer. It seemed their body language changed when they asked how many surgeries I had had on my elbow.
But, the Giants. Keith Snider, the area scout for the Giants, saw something in me that day that the three younger scouts didn’t. Keith said, “I’m interested and will give you a call tonight.” Keith and I stayed in contact for about two weeks. Each time we spoke led me to believe that this thing was actually going to happen. Life truly seemed like it was beginning to move with forward momentum. I woke up each day a little more elated than the one before. Just one more phone call with a “Will, the Giants are going to sign you,” was all I needed to hear. I began to manifest even more. Every car I saw with a Giants bumper sticker, every black and orange item anywhere, every time I saw a baseball, I went as deep as I could to feel that feeling of becoming a San Francisco Giant. I wanted to send that message to the universe that THIS is what I want. This was my DREAM. Not my college dream, or cool feats along the way. I dreamed of playing for the Giants ever since my dad took me to my first Giants game in 1996. I wanted to be like Barry Bonds. I wanted to wear that uniform and sign every autograph, throw out every baseball to every kid, be the #1 fan and player of the same team.
On February 7th, 2017, I went out on a walk with my dog, McCovey – named after Giants great, Willie McCovey. I felt my phone vibrate in my right pocket. I grabbed it and saw “Incoming call: Keith Snider.” I knew this was the moment.
“Will, hey buddy. I’m not going to keep you long. Your medical reports reached our team doctor and he didn’t like what he saw. I’m really sorry. The Giants aren’t going to go through with you. And I want to be honest, as Giants policy, once we close your records, we will never re-open them. You will never sign with Giants. I believe in you, and I wish they did too. I did everything I could to get you the chance. I am truly sorry. Keep working hard, something will happen with somebody else.”
After I thanked him for all of his effort and time, I hung up the phone and finished the walk. I had about 15 minutes before I had to break the news to my eagerly waiting family for any sort of news. Trying to talk over tears, hiding behind an awkward smile like everything was ok, I told my family. I felt embarrassed, like I had led them on to believe that something great was going to happen.
Within minutes of the news, my entire family felt a collective urge to tell me something. “This isn’t right. We know it. Do not give up. We have an idea and we think you should call someone.” I got defensive and told them we were beating a dead horse. But deep down, I knew they were right. I knew they were right because the second Keith and I hung up, a message arrived in my heart. Dr. Dillingham and Lisa Giannone, the surgeon and physical therapist that helped me recover from my second elbow surgery, had ties with the Giants from the past. I did not want to bother them and suppressed the message that came to me on the walk. My family continued with their input. “We don’t know why we feel this way, but something is telling us for you to call Dr. Dillingham and Lisa.” And this is where I learned two valuable lessons at the same time: 1) life has a magical way of communicating with you and 2) how to fight for what I believe in.
All I had to do was take the first step. As embarrassing, awkward and vulnerable as I felt, I knew that if I took that first step, life would reveal the next one. I made the phone call to Lisa. This was the first time I felt I had taken my dreams as far as I physically could until I literally had to hand it off into the hands of someone else to see if they could help me. With hindsight, I can surely tell you that all you have to do is continuously show Life that you will do whatever you can, to the VERY best of your effort, with what it gives you. Because if you show It this effort, It will show you your dreams.
I didn’t hear much after about a week and a half. Spring training had already started and I was just looking for any way to keep bouncing my name off of the Giants front office. The inner voice had never felt more prominent in my life. Something was happening. Even though I couldn’t SEE it, I could feel it. With every fiber of my being, I trained myself to truly believe that life was formulating a plan just for me. That all of this was going to work out. That I was meant to wear black and orange. That my 4, 5, 8, 12 year old self promised me that I would NEVER give up on my dreams. That I know I was meant to play baseball, for a much bigger reason than just the mere fact of being a baseball player. As time unfolded, my purpose began to unveil itself. I could NOT give up on the purpose that was selected for me in this lifetime. The pain I would’ve lived with for the rest of my life – had I chosen to stuff the screaming message coming from my soul to continue pursuing my dream – would’ve killed me. But the experience, the journey, choosing to believe that Life was teaming up with me instead of always being against me, gave me hope. It gave me something to wake up for every day, even during the deep depression I experienced. It gave me a reason to love this life.
A week and a half after calling Dillingham and Lisa, I met a man at the gym, Rob Bruno, who kept trying to talk to me while I was trying to get a workout in. As I continued to try and put my headphone back in, he insisted on more conversation. Through a matter of 45 seconds, Rob began to tell me about his relationship with a good friend of his, Ken Akizuki- the head surgeon of the San Francisco Giants. This was the man above the team doctor who originally turned down my medical reports. This was the man I was searching for. It had dropped into my lap. Rob was sent to me like an angel. I felt like the universe winked at me. And when Ken Akizuki and I finally got in touch with each other, he had mentioned that Lisa and Dr. Dillingham had already reached out to him and fought for me, and asked for him to take another look at my medical reports. I looked up at the sky, smiled, and knew I was protected.
About another week and a half later, I received a phone call at 10pm at night from a family friend, Mike Crawford, who just wanted to “check in” and see how things were going. I informed him of the current situation. He expressed interest and said he would talk to his son, Brandon. Brandon Crawford- the fellow Pleasanton, CA Phenom, and shortstop for the San Francisco Giants. Mike wanted to see if Brandon could find out what the next move would be by speaking more with Ken Akizuki- and he did. Mike would even take it a step further, or 100 steps further, and decided to gather the rest of the situation into his own hands, making phone calls to the Giants head scouting director John Barr, more conversations with Ken Akizuki, a briefing with area scout Keith Snider, and when he felt he had enough information, took it to the General Manager, Bobby Evans. The situation had gained enough momentum, and on April 14, a month and a half ago, my phone rang. On the other line was Bobby Evans, who introduced himself to me, and scheduled a tryout on May 3rd.
So when I walked out onto that left field line by myself in Scottsdale at 1pm to begin warming up, I couldn’t contain the flood of emotions and tears of gratitude filling my eyes. I didn’t want to. Because in that moment, with the combination of every lesson I had experienced up to that point in time, I learned how to pitch.
