He lacks confidence, we think. Or we blame mechanics.
We try to fix it.
We sign up for more lessons.

But what if we’re making the game harder? What if we’re the problem, not the nerves?

I sat down with mental performance coach Dave Austin, who works with big leaguers. He told me distractions kill performance. A lot of the time, parents are the distraction.

He also told me every ballplayer feels pressure.

“A lot of players think, ‘It’s only me who has the nerves. It’s only me who has the doubts.’ Everyone does! Trust me. I’ve worked with MVPs. I’ve worked with Cy Young winners. Everyone feels the same thing.”

The difference?

The best players don’t fight it.
They learn to use it.

“Your nerves become your best friend rather than your biggest distractor.”

That’s the entire game.

We also get into:
– How kids learn to turn pressure into fuel
– What’s actually happening in those 0-for-4 games
– The biggest mistake parents make (I’ve made it)
– How parents add pressure without realizing it

And a story every baseball parent will recognize:
How Little League politics cost Dave’s son an All-Star spot…and how parents and young ballplayers should handle those moments.

Dave also breaks down what put him on the map. He calls it, “Game Ready.”

It’s an approach he uses with every player he works with, including Bobby Witt Jr. and Shea Langeliers—teaching them how to focus, embrace nerves, visualize success, and get in the zone before the game.

A few hours after our conversation, he texted me from Atlanta, where he was traveling with the A’s:

“Both Shea and Zack (A’s second baseman Zack Gelof) hit home runs tonight. They were Game Ready!”

You’ll also hear why Langeliers—one of the best hitters in baseball—almost quit playing during a sophomore slump at Baylor.

Same pressure. Same doubts. Same thoughts every kid has.

If you’ve ever watched your kid struggle and felt the urge to step in, fix it, or say something…

This is worth your time.

So what do you say when your kid goes 0-for-4?

Or strikes out with the game on the line?

Or walks to the car knowing he didn’t have it that day?

I’ve been there.

I put together a simple 2-minute script for that moment—the car ride home—what to say, and what not to say.

I’ll send it to you when you subscribe. ↓

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents and coaches shape the experience for young athletes.

Subscribers also get what I use after games—what to say, and what to leave unsaid on the ride home.

My essays are built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join the conversation: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads (Facebook)
⚾ Follow along: Tony Manolatos – Baseball Dad & PR Guy (Facebook)

More at tonymanolatos.com

“I am pretty sure he was fine with our son, but he was calling and texting me about every mistake,” she wrote. “I was already so nervous for my son to have a good day—it was killing me to keep getting the negative feedback from my husband. I had to tell him to stop.”

She followed up with more.

“I’ve seen dads, including my husband at times, behave like this. It breaks my heart for the kids. Maybe if more men discuss this issue openly, it will help. Maybe remind dads not to redirect their frustrations to mom too.”

Unlike the dad I had written about, her husband wasn’t barking at his son, but there’s a good chance that kid felt his dad’s disapproval during the tryout.

She continued: “Turns out, everything my husband was frustrated about came down to a strained rotator cuff. Now we’re in rest and recovery mode and ready to fight again another day. Something the instructors said out there really resonated with my son. He’s handling this setback well and for that I am grateful.”

Kids are going to feel the pressure. Before the game. During it. At tryouts. Even at practice sometimes. That’s part of it.

The problem isn’t the nerves.
It’s what we add to them.

I talked about this recently with mental performance coach Dave Austin, who works with big leaguers. I’ll share our full conversation next week. This story he told about a dad behind the backstop says a lot (click here to watch on mobile):

Nerves spike when kids feel like they’re letting down mom or dad.

If we’re not careful, we add to that pressure—on the way to the field, in the driveway, even from the stands—and it stays with them longer than any strikeout does.

What we say, how we react, and what they think we expect—it matters more than we realize.

We have a rule in our house: no coaching once we leave the driveway. It gives Alex the space he needs to get locked in without me filling the silence with reminders he’s already heard a hundred times. The drive also is a chance for me to lock in: to clear my head and be present for what’s ahead.

One of his coaches sent a pretty direct email to parents in the fall. He said there was too much coaching from the stands and none of it was helping.

“Trust me when I tell you that reminding them what to do in a game DOES NOT WORK,” he wrote. “All the parent coaching and reminders should happen in the days, weeks, and years leading up to that moment. Not in the moment.”

He added: “These kids have the pressure of the world on their shoulders, and nothing you say in that moment is going to change the outcome of the next play.”

It’s a message coaches have to deliver more often than you’d think.

And it’s not just about adding pressure. Problem parents create problems for their kids with coaches. That’s the last thing any of us want.

I’ve seen kids lose their confidence in the on-deck circle—not because they’re afraid of the pitcher. They’re afraid of disappointing dad, who is pacing behind the backstop, looking like he’s about to put his life savings on black—or like he just lost his whole stack of chips.

Kids feel everything. The body language. The reactions. The tension.

“He sees you, so it doesn’t matter what you say,” my wife has said to me more than once from the stands.

Alex doesn’t feel nerves the same way in every part of the game, and neither do I.

I do feel some anxiety when he’s on the mound, but that fades quickly if I see he’s in the zone. Same thing when he’s playing shortstop and when he’s up to bat. I am a lot less anxious than I used to be, and when he’s in the outfield, I feel like I’m at the beach. That’s also how I feel when he’s playing flag football.

“Feel good, play good,” is what Alex’s pitching coach told him recently. Then he said something I’m still thinking about. “Positivity from the parents is key. Whenever they look over, we want to be pumping our fists, clapping for them, smiling. I heard a dad of a major leaguer say he still does that for his son.”

The tension seems thickest for these kids in the box, and that’s no accident. It’s the place on the field where parents are closest to the action. In those moments, they pick up on everything—the good and the bad.

Nerves also spike at the plate because hitting is hard. Sometimes the moment speeds up, and instead of trusting what they’re trained to do, batters start pressing. The mind gets in the way. The thinker overtakes the athlete. It happens at every level.

I’ve had to learn not to add pressure to those moments.

When those moments surface—usually on the walk to my truck after a game or on the drive home—I try to keep it simple.

I remind Alex nerves are normal, that he’s prepared, and that his job is to trust what he’s worked on. Not the result. The work. “Embrace the pressure,” I tell him. “You feel that way because you care.”

And then I try to stop talking.

Because the goal isn’t to eliminate the nerves. It’s to be the parent who doesn’t make them worse.

I don’t always get this stuff right. Not even close. But I’ve been trying to get better at the moments that matter—especially after the game, when everything we say seems to carry more weight.

If you’ve ever come home from a game thinking you made things harder for your kid, I’ve been there too.

I’ve been working on what that moment is supposed to feel like.

Subscribe and I’ll send you what I say, and don’t say, after games.

Subscribe now

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents and coaches shape the experience for young athletes.

Subscribers also get what I use after games—what to say, and what to leave unsaid on the ride home.

My essays are built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join the conversation: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads (Facebook)
⚾ Follow along: Tony Manolatos – Baseball Dad & PR Guy (Facebook)

More at tonymanolatos.com

I have. My son had just gone 0-for-6. I made it worse.

The car ride home is one of the most important moments in youth sports, and one of the easiest to get wrong.

So I put together something:

Exactly what to say—and what not to say—after games.

It takes 2 minutes to read, and you can use it immediately. If you’ve ever come home from a tournament thinking, “I made that worse” or “I’m not sure how to help him”—this is for you.

I’ll send it to you when you subscribe.

Subscribe now

—Tony

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” I said to my son.

It was just the two of us. He was upset. He had just gone 0-for-6. It was a Sunday, bracket play, so that meant the tournament was over. I was upset, too. I said some things I shouldn’t have, things I’m ashamed of now.

“You were hitless today!” I barked, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. “What’s going on? Were you nervous? Your timing was off. Your swings looked terrible. I’m not paying for more hitting lessons until you figure this out.”

And then he started to cry.

It wasn’t the weak ground balls or the rollovers. It was me.
And we both knew it.

I put together a short playbook for parents—what to say (and what not to say) after the game.

→ Get the 2-Minute Script

I stopped or he stopped me. I don’t remember.
I just know I was yelling—and then he yelled, “Alright! Knock it off!” and threw his water bottle.

He was in the back seat, which is where he sat on the way home when he knew I was upset with his performance. He sat up front with me when he played well.

This wasn’t Little League, so home wasn’t down the hill. This was travel ball. We had a half-hour drive ahead of us.

We drove in silence for what felt like hours. Eventually I calmed down, knowing how badly I had hurt him—and how quickly his mom would figure out what had happened when we walked in the door.

It’s a moment I wish I could take back. But it changed how I parent Alex—and how I approach the car ride home.

That night I apologized.
“Dad has no right to make you feel that way,” I told him. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I meant it. I also knew I’d have to prove it—not just to him, but to Elizabeth too.

This was a couple years ago before Alex started playing with CBA San Diego. He was 10.

Back then I thought the car ride home was about fixing his swing.

I was wrong.

Alex is 12 now. When we drive home from tournaments, I’m his biggest fan.

I don’t cheer unless the moment calls for it. Usually it’s a fist bump, an attaboy or two, and sometimes a hand on his chest or forearm for a moment.

I follow his lead. I can usually tell how he’s feeling before we get in the truck. He always sits up front with me now.

The music comes on—usually hip-hop. Biggie is a favorite. “Did you see that catch I made?” he might say, eyes wide. Or, “Dad, I smoked that ball!”

If he had a rough game, it’s different. I’ll turn on the music. I’ll ask if he wants to stop for a burger. Usually, he doesn’t.

During those drives, there’s a lot of silence at first. That’s okay.

Eventually he’ll say something like, “What was wrong with my swing today?” Or something harsher.

Hitting is hard. And while Alex loves to pitch, what he loves more than anything is barreling a baseball. He’s trained to focus on process, not results. But that’s easier said than done after a tough game.

“You took good swings today, bud. And you were a tough out. That’s what matters,” I tell him.

When he shrugs, I’ll say: “I know you’re disappointed with your performance at the plate, but that play you made at shortstop—that was awesome! You were lights out on the mound this weekend too. And I heard you talking out there, being a leader and a good teammate.”

When Alex owns the box, the game looks easy.

A couple weekends ago in Arizona, he turned on a ball that one-hopped a 260-foot fence—ground-rule double. He told me he thought it was going out. Not bad for a kid not known for his size.

Once, when I was managing him in Little League, I started to give him instruction while he was on deck.

He stopped me.
“Dad, I’ve got this,” he said.

He crushed it.

Less is more.
Let him invite me in. If he goes negative, don’t meet him there.

I can see the tension fade from his face. By the time we get home—or to In-N-Out—he’s Alex again.

Sometimes he heads straight to the backyard to hit. Sometimes he collapses on the couch and watches a random baseball game. Sometimes he jumps in the pool with his twin brother.

Almost always, there’s a moment later that night, just the two of us again.

“Dad, I’m going to stay inside the ball tomorrow,” he might say.
Or, “I’m gonna be on time and take better swings.”

“I know, bud. I believe in you. Do you believe in yourself?” I ask.

He nods. I kiss him goodnight.

I remember a car ride home when I was a kid that didn’t go so well.

Different sport, different situation.

But I remember exactly how it felt.

Those moments stay with you.

Perspective helps. But it’s hard to see when you’re in it—especially in the car.

Most of these kids won’t play beyond high school. Many won’t even get that far.

They’re out there because they love it, because they want to compete, because their friends are out there.

I’ve come to realize the car ride home isn’t the only moment that shapes young athletes.

The more I watch youth sports, and the more mistakes I make, the more I see the same moments come up again and again.

The nerves before a game.

The tough inning that won’t end.

The voice from the stands.

The quiet comparison to another kid.

And, of course, the car ride home.

The moments that shape young ballplayers don’t happen in isolation—they’re shaped by the environments adults create. Coaching, playing time, politics, all play a role.

But if there’s one that matters most, it’s the ride home.

Because what we say—or don’t say—stays with them.

Those car rides used to be the hardest part of a tournament weekend—for both of us.

I thought my job was to fix his swing. But my job is much simpler:

Make sure he still loves the game when we get home.
And still wants to play catch with me.

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents and coaches shape the experience for young athletes.

Subscribers also get what I use after games—what to say, and what to leave unsaid on the ride home.

My essays are built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join the conversation: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads (Facebook)
⚾ Follow along: Tony Manolatos – Baseball Dad & PR Guy (Facebook)

More at tonymanolatos.com

Some of the criticism is fair. But after several years inside the travel ball ecosyst…

Read more

He told me there were complaints from parents on the team we had just played. The parents said I made disparaging remarks about their kids from the scorer’s booth above home plate, and so did the other dad who was up there keeping score with me.

This happened three years ago, when Alex was nine.

I listened to my son’s manager and calmly explained none of that was true, and that I knew where it was coming from. During that game, a mom from the opposing team had come into the booth and made similar claims. She said a parent who was not at the field—but who was watching the game on GameChanger—had texted parents at the park to blow the whistle on us.

Apparently, that parent didn’t realize that when you stream games on GameChanger, the app archives the entire recording. You can go back and watch every inning, every pitch. It’s all there, including every word spoken in the booth.

If you’ve ever come home from a game thinking, “I made that worse” or “I’m not sure how to help him”—I put something together for you. I’ll send it to you when you subscribe. ↓

Some people mute the audio when they stream games. I didn’t. I wanted viewers to have the full experience. I never imagined the audio would matter more than the game. But it did.

The game featured two 10u teams from the same travel organization—Black vs. Orange. Alex played on the Black team, the organization’s A team, and they had just cruised past their buddies on the Orange team. The boys handled it well. Some of the parents did not.

It doesn’t take much. A lopsided score. Bruised pride. One angry text. In youth sports, a kid’s game can quickly become something else.

In this case there was already tension — some parents felt slighted their kid was on the Orange team instead of the Black team.

When the mom entered the booth, she was upset. The dad keeping score with me was stunned. I was too. We asked her to give us examples because we told her plainly: we would never say anything negative about any boy on that field. That’s not who we are.

She didn’t have specifics. She said the parent watching on GameChanger did. Meanwhile, another parent on that team was already spreading the same story along the outfield fence about the mean dads in the scorer’s booth.

It doesn’t take long for accusations like that to travel.

I shared all of this with our manager. He said something that steadied the situation.

“We recorded the game on GameChanger, right? So everything you guys said is on there. I’m going to watch it now.”

He wasn’t the only one. Several parents logged onto GameChanger and watched the entire game. So did one of the men who helps run the travel organization both teams played for. He said it was painful to sit through a recording of a 10u game he had no emotional investment in, but he wanted to know the truth.

The verdict was clear. The only thing anyone heard was two dads calling a baseball game, cheering for good plays, and keeping score. There were no disparaging remarks. No sarcasm. No shots at anyone’s kid.

Some parents from that team texted to say sorry. Others called to apologize, including the manager of the Orange Team. “All I heard were two dads scoring a game,” he said. He told me he sent a stern note to all of his parents.

I remember thinking he was a good guy and a good manager. Both of our boys had played for him in Little League and the experience was great.

But what stayed with me most was the realization that the situation would not have ended so well if not for GameChanger.

Text threads move faster than truth.
Assumptions spread quicker than facts.

As a PR guy, I understand that once a narrative takes hold—especially in youth sports—it can be impossible to unwind.

Technology doesn’t just record games. It magnifies whatever was already there.

Three years ago, that amplification nearly worked against me.

The mom who had entered the booth later sent me a Facebook message.

“The entire situation was so strange and I’m sure you understand where I was coming from,” she wrote. “This parent texted specific examples. Figured I would stop the madness. I am truly glad it wasn’t like that and that the video was there to help clear the air.”

Me too.

I’ve seen parents lose their cool over GameChanger—errors marked as hits, hits marked as errors, pitch counts questioned, stats debated. I’ve heard coaches say they keep their own books and don’t rely on the app at all. “GameChanger is for grandparents,” some of them say.

They’re not entirely wrong.

Alex is 12 now.

I’m no longer in a scorer’s booth. I’m just another dad in the stands. But GameChanger is still part of our baseball lives.

My mom is 78. She lives three time zones away, but she hasn’t missed one of Alex’s games because of that app and her iPad. She watches in real time and texts commentary throughout.

She doesn’t just focus on her grandson. There are kids she’s never met whom she’s come to admire because she likes the way they hustle or how they handle themselves after a tough at bat. She knows who fields their position well, who takes good swings, who throws strikes. She is especially locked in when Alex is on the mound.

“Great pitching,” she texted last weekend. “He rules the mound!”

Recently, after a tournament, Alex and my mom wrapped up a lengthy phone call in my truck. They had discussed several of his pitches, his at bats, and his plays in the field. “Is there a position you didn’t play this weekend, Alex?” she said. “Nana is so proud of you!” When they hung up, he smiled and said, “She’s the best.”

My mom told me not long ago that she gives my dad updates about Alex’s games. My dad passed away nearly three years ago, but my mom still talks to him every day.

“Oh, how he would love watching Alex play,” she said. “He would love GameChanger.”

The same app that once fueled suspicion and nearly created a mess for me is the reason my mother can sit in her living room in suburban Detroit and feel like she’s behind home plate in San Diego. It’s the reason my son gets to share his games with his Nana in real time. It’s the reason my dad, in some small way, still feels part of it.

GameChanger can stir things up. It can magnify frustration and fuel reactions instead of reflection. It’s imperfect.

But it also preserves evidence and connection. The tape doesn’t lie. For out-of-state relatives, it’s the next best thing to being there.

For that, I’m grateful.

For the grace of GameChanger.

👉 If this resonated with you, I write once a week about fatherhood, leadership and communication, and the culture we’re building around our kids.

If you’re in the stands, the dugout, or watching from three time zones away, subscribe and share this with someone who loves the game.

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents shape the experience for young athletes.

It’s built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join our growing community of parents helping parents: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads on Facebook.

More at tonymanolatos.com

That part never surprised me. If you coach your own kid long enough, someone’s going to say it.

If he plays a lot, you’re favoring him.
If he succeeds, it’s because you help him.
If he struggles, it’s because you’re too hard on him.
Some will say you promote him too much.

That’s all part of the deal.

I can handle the criticism. I expect it. I have a harder time when it lands on him. What I wasn’t prepared for was seeing him wrestle with some of it.

If you’ve ever come home from a game thinking, “I made that worse” or “I’m not sure how to help him”—I put something together for you. I’ll send it to you when you subscribe. ↓

Coaching your own kid is complicated. You’re trying to build a team, develop players, and protect a relationship — all at the same time on a very public stage. You’re going to get some of it wrong. I did.

Youth sports has given our family more than it has ever taken. Alex’s best friends are usually teammates. Nicky has made good friends through the seasons, too. We’ve met coaches and trainers who treat our kids like family, and some of our closest friendships were created in lawn chairs, on sidelines, and in dugouts.

But youth sports also comes with opinions, and not all of them stay in the stands. There are conversations you don’t hear but become aware of. There also are direct shots at your coaching and character. A few critical voices can stir up drama and take some of the joy out of a season.

Most of it rolls off. Until you notice it affecting your son.

That’s when things change. That’s when you realize the perception isn’t just about you. It’s about him—and how it makes him feel, when all he should be worried about is competing and having fun.

“Daddy Ball” is an easy label to throw around.

Harder to carry when you’re the kid whose dad is in charge.

Last year in Little League, a mom questioned my decision to give Alex a game ball. Every player on my team received one game ball—no more, no less.

Two years ago, a dad from our flag football team sent a string of angry late-night texts after a playoff game about his son not playing quarterback and my son playing too many offensive snaps. He would later apologize.

Last year, the boys who played flag for me were a couple plays away from winning it all—but our season started on a very different note. A family new to flag football quit after opening night, convinced their son deserved more offensive snaps and Alex deserved less. Their son had told me he didn’t want to play offense because it was overwhelming. So he played every defensive snap and only a handful on offense. We would slowly work him into the offensive, I told him.

Even when you’re doing the right thing, not everyone sees it that way. And when you coach kids, you’re also managing parents. Most are supportive. A few are not.

Alex was aware of the noise. He didn’t let much of it bother him, but some of it did, and that’s when I struggled too. I felt bad for him. I wanted to protect him. I just didn’t always know how to shield him. I was honest with him, open, and reassuring. That seemed to help.

Then there were the times I hurt him myself. I felt bad about that too, but it was easier to deal with. At least that part was on me.

One evening, on our way home following a long practice, he told me he was upset because I was harder on him than I was on everyone else.

He wasn’t wrong.

I did expect more from him. I expected him to set the tone. To hustle. To handle coaching without pouting. To make his plays and act like a leader.

I wasn’t hard on him because he’s my son. I was hard on him because I believed he could handle it.

But that belief can blur into over-coaching if you’re not careful.

There were moments I held him back more than I should have. I told myself it was for the good of the team and the development of other players. Some of it was. The rest was optics.

Then there was Little League Opening Day last season.

I made the decision not to start Alex on the mound.

He was our best pitcher. He knew it. I knew it. Our coaches and players knew it. But I also knew how it would look. So I told him I wanted to avoid the Daddy Ball perception right out of the gate and that he’d start Game 2. He didn’t love it, but he understood.

The night before Opening Day, our scheduled starter said his arm was sore. His dad — one of my assistant coaches — suggested we rest him and start Alex.

So that’s what we did.

Alex pitched three innings, struck out five batters, and we won.

When it was over, it felt like that’s how Opening Day was supposed to unfold. And I realized something uncomfortable: I had been more focused on managing optics than managing the team.

Even then, perception didn’t disappear. In the last inning, when I walked to the mound to make another pitching change, Elizabeth heard someone in the stands sarcastically wonder whether I was going to put my son back in.

It confirmed what I already knew. The narrative would always be there, regardless of how Alex performed.

My job wasn’t to eliminate it. My job was to lead the team — and to protect my relationship with my son.

I wouldn’t change much — except the moments when I managed perception more than the team. I told myself I was protecting fairness and setting the right tone. What I didn’t see clearly enough was that Alex was paying a price for those decisions.

That’s the paradox of coaching your own kid.

You’re there because he asked you to be. You’re trying to lead a young team, manage adults, and do right by every kid in the dugout or on the sidelines. But somewhere in that balancing act, it’s easy to forget your son doesn’t just hear you as a coach. He hears you as his dad.

And he hears everything else too. The second guesses. The comments in the stands. The assumptions about who earned what.

He didn’t ask to carry any of that. He just asked me to coach him.

That’s why the noise isn’t the hardest part.

The real work is making sure my expectations — and the pressure that comes with being the coach’s kid — never become his burden.

👉 If this resonated with you, I write once a week about fatherhood, leadership, and youth sports — without pretending any of it is simple.

I’m not in the dugout or on the sidelines anymore — just in the stands — but I’m still learning. If you’re in the stands or the dugout, or thinking about stepping into coaching, subscribe and share this with another parent who might need it.

We’re all trying to get it right.

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents shape the experience for young athletes.

It’s built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join our growing community of parents helping parents: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads on Facebook.

More at tonymanolatos.com

I know because last week I received an email from Little League International with the subject line: “What Tony Needs to Know with the Season Starting.”

Apparently, I still have a few things to learn.

Last season, I managed my son’s final year of Little League. I wasn’t planning to, but Alex kept asking, so I said ye…

Read more

It usually showed up in the winter, after a long season. A handful of kids—often pitchers—would start missing practices or games. Sometimes it was Little League elbow. Sometimes a growth plate issue. A few times, it was worse. More often, it was just a really sore arm that needed real rest.

Pitching injuries aren’t new. At the upper levels—where the constant pursuit of velocity has fueled a surge in arm injuries—Tommy John is as well known in the dugout as Rawlings. What stood out to me, as a dad and coach, was that the kids getting hurt were usually those pitching too much or throwing mostly with their upper body instead of their lower half.

That pattern stuck with me—especially because our son Alex, now 12, has been a pitcher since he was eight.

Elizabeth and I began studying best practices and asking questions about workload, mechanics, and long-term development. We’ve settled on an approach that has worked for Alex, but there’s no single blueprint. Like most youth baseball parents, we’re still learning, too.

Alex has always loved being on the mound. He’s the kid who wants the ball in his hand when the game is on the line. And because he’s been good at it—hitting his spots and keeping hitters off-balance—he’s carried a heavy load as a pitcher for his teams. That reality has always given Elizabeth and me pause.

If you’ve ever come home from a game thinking, “I made that worse” or “I’m not sure how to help him”—I put something together for you. I’ll send it to you when you subscribe. ↓

During T-ball, there’s obviously no pitching.
Same thing in CAPS, when the league my sons played in used a pitching machine.

But then came Rookies—and that’s when pitching began.

Elizabeth and I knew pretty quickly that Alex was a pitcher.

It became especially clear during the championship run that season. That was five years ago, and I had to search Facebook to remember the specifics.

In one post I wrote, “The kid did it again last night,” after Alex pitched two scoreless innings to protect a one-run lead. The next day, he struck out the side to earn the save. The following morning, in the championship game, he started. He only had three innings of eligibility left, and he threw all three—striking out eight to help secure a 2–1 win.

Afterward, the opposing manager told me, “Alex threw a gem.” The umpire added, “Your kid has ice in his veins.”

Those comments were flattering. They were also clarifying.

Because early success doesn’t just bring confidence—it brings expectations. And expectations have a way of accelerating everything if you’re not careful.

Experiences like that pushed Elizabeth and me to learn.

We weren’t looking for shortcuts or guarantees. We wanted to understand how kids—especially young pitchers—stay healthy over time.

So we read. We listened. We talked with coaches and trainers we trust. We learned about arm care, mechanics, breaking balls, pitch counts, recovery, and long-term development.

If you’ve spent any time around youth baseball, you know curveballs are a hot topic. Some coaches believe certain grips—like the so-called football curve—can create movement with less stress on a young arm. Others argue that breaking balls shouldn’t be thrown at all before a certain age.

What we learned is this: while pitch type matters—and many believe the football curve is easier on young arms—overuse, fatigue, and poor mechanics matter far more. Workload and recovery are usually the real culprits.

And just as importantly, we made sure Alex understood why any of it mattered.

Arm care became part of his routine. Bands live in his bag. Pitch counts and rest days are carefully tracked.
We play a lot of catch, including long toss.
We work out together to build strength and mobility. Elizabeth and I also stress sleep and nutrition.

None of this is extreme. It’s just intentional.

A few years ago, we made another decision that felt important for Alex: we gave his pitching arm a long winter break—and we’ve stuck with it every year since. For our family, that means two months of no pitching—usually mid-December to mid-February.

Not because it’s the only way. Not because other families are wrong or someone told us to do it. We made the choice because it felt right.

The winter shutdown isn’t about doing less. It’s about building capacity—so Alex walks into the spring season feeling strong, fresh, and confident.

We want his arm to rest.
We want his body to rebalance.
We want his nervous system to reset.
We want to give him time to focus on infield and outfield work, his swing, strength training, and flag football—a game he enjoys nearly as much as baseball.
And we want him to come back wanting to pitch.

Knock on wood, Alex has never had a pitching injury. We’d like to keep it that way.

One thing we say often—and that Alex understands—is this: We’re not trying to develop an excellent 13-year-old pitcher. We want you to become an excellent 18-year-old pitcher.

That mindset changes everything.

It makes rest feel responsible, not lazy.
It makes saying “thanks but no thanks” easier.
It keeps the long game in focus.

I know how hard this can be.

When little league and travel ball seasons overlap.
When coaches need strike throwers.
When kids want to play in all the tournaments.
When parents worry about falling behind.

We’ve been fortunate with Alex’s coaches. They’ve made it clear—through their actions—that they care about his arm as much as we do. They want to compete and win, but not at the expense of long-term health, and they’ve been understanding and supportive of our approach.

We know that isn’t always the experience for families, and we’re grateful it’s been ours so far.

Here’s what we’ve come to believe: confidence doesn’t come from constant reps. It comes from capacity—when young ballplayers feel capable and ready.

Kids feel confident when:

• their bodies feel good

• their arms aren’t barking

• they trust their preparation

• they know there’s room to rest, recover, and grow

That’s true for pitchers.
It’s true for all athletes at all levels.
And it’s true well beyond sports.

Every family makes their own choices. Coaches have different philosophies. Circumstances vary.

This is simply what we’ve learned along the way—and what’s worked for our son and our family so far.

If nothing else, I hope it’s a reminder that sometimes the most supportive thing we can do for young athletes is slow things down, zoom out, and protect both their bodies and their love for the game.

Because the goal isn’t just healthy arms.

It’s healthy kids who still love baseball when it really starts to matter.

Share

👉🏻 If stories like this resonate with you, I share one a week here at Baseball Dad & PR Guy — honest, relevant, and practical.

If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll subscribe and consider sharing this story with a parent, coach, or friend.

Culture doesn’t change on its own. It changes through leadership, connection, and conversation — when parents help parents.

Thank you for being here and helping this community grow. ⚾️

Subscribe now

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents shape the experience for young athletes.

It’s built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join our growing community of parents helping parents: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads on Facebook.

More at tonymanolatos.com

They lose it in the hallway.
In the prep meeting.
In the car ride over.
In those final minutes, when nerves spike and everyone suddenly thinks one more tip will make the difference.

I was reminded of this recently. Our starting pitcher was nervous — but this wasn’t a game. It was a public meeting, and the stakes we…

Read more

One of our twins loves the game. The other has little to no interest in it — he’s made that crystal clear more than once…usually while we’re all traveling together in my truck.

Nicky’s argument basically boils down to one question:
Why is baseball such…

Read more

“Why are we doing all of this… for a kids’ game?”

DISCLAIMER: Our son aged out of Little League last season and now play…

Read more

The hard part is knowing what to do next… because handled the wrong way, it can make things worse for your child.

Some of you have reached out with questions and topics y…

Read more

Sometimes the baseball dads I hang out with say things to me that are pretty cool. Recently one said, “I love the way you talk to Alex during games. I hear you. You are really good with him.”

“Thank you,” I said, “I appreciate that.” Then I added: “It wasn’t always that way. I’ve learned a lot over the years, especially with the car ride home.”

That struck a chord because the father talking to me and the one sitting next to him immediately shook their heads in agreement and one said, “Man we all have trouble with the car ride home.”

If you’ve ever come home from a game thinking, “I made that worse” or “I’m not sure how to help him”—I put something together for you. I’ll send it to you when you subscribe. ↓

During Alex’s games I never say anything negative and I leave the coaching to the coaches, but if he takes some bad swings and rolls over I sometimes let it impact my body language. I don’t mean to and when I notice my shoulders shrugging or my head leaning down, I shift back to a more natural and positive position because I know he’s watching me.

Elizabeth has said more than once, “It doesn’t matter what you say, he sees you — so smile.”

A lot of kids will glance over at their parents on their way back to the dugout. You see it when they’ve just struck out the side or when they’ve just struck out with the bases loaded. It’s human nature. It’s only for a moment, and if you’re not paying attention you won’t notice.

Your approval matters more to them than anything. I’m going to say that again because it’s so important for all of us baseball parents to understand: Your approval matters more to them than anything.

If they ground out to end the inning with runners in scoring position don’t smack your hands in disappointment or say things like, ‘What are we doing?!’ Instead, clap and give him credit he deserves for doing something hard: “Good at bat, son! Heckuva battle! You took some good swings.”

Hitting well is the hardest thing to do in sports. Pretty much anyone who plays can get up there and hit the ball — soft ground outs, infield pop-ups. Elite hitters take great swings more often than not, but even then the results are rarely grand.

How many times have you seen your son up to bat with bases loaded? He loads, he transfers flawlessly, he’s on time, his head is down, his barrel is in the zone, his base is strong. He crushes the ball — a frozen rope, a rocket — but this one heads directly to the centerfielder. Easy out. Inning over. But that’s a win. Set the result aside.

What you should want to see are good swings, good at bats, tough outs. Control the controllables. Process trumps results.

Whatever happens, the game will end and you will end up in the car with your child. As I mentioned, this used to be a tough time for Alex and me because I didn’t handle it well. It’s not something a lot of parents handle well. But we should, especially if we want to avoid hurting their confidence and our relationship with them.

They don’t want to feel nervous getting into the car, worried about your reaction. If you start critiquing his performance and showing your disappointment, he’s going to roll his eyes and tune you out, and sometimes he might cry or argue with you. These aren’t moments any of us wish for and unfortunately they are not going to quickly fade away. Some major leaguers still struggle with their relationship with their fathers, and those who do often trace the tension back to those car rides home.

If your son is playing competitive baseball he’s probably a smart ball player, which means he likely knows what he did right, what he did wrong, and what he needs to work on, long before he gets in the car. Your job is to give him room to fail. Your job is to smile, hug him, tell him you love him and that you love watching him play ball. And then ask him if he wants to get a burger. That’s it.

All of us, or most of us anyway, are wired to focus on the negative and he/she is no different. So if he opens up and starts talking about what he did wrong at the plate, for example, let him finish and then say something like: “Sure I get that and I know that’s tough, but man did you pitch well today.” Or, “…..but you made all your plays in the field. You looked great out there today. That catch you made in centerfield was beautiful.”

SIDEBAR: Once after a game while walking to my truck I said to Alex, “Did you see that catch you made down the left field line on that towering fly ball that was tailing away from you? That was a beautiful catch, buddy. Wow!” He laughed and said, “Dad I literally made the catch. So yeah, I saw it.”

Your kid may have done a dozen things well in a game and messed up once or twice. If so, he’s likely going to focus on the stuff that didn’t go well. Help him pivot away from that.

You know he trusts you when he lets you in. He may ask, “Dad, what did I do wrong at the plate today? What did you see?”

When that happens you might say, “I honestly don’t know, son. Let’s look at the video when we’re home.” Or you might say, “You did a lot of things right. Your timing was just off.”

We have to be steady and supportive not surly or sad, especially when our kids are down.

Be their biggest fan in public. Be their coach only if they ask — and even then, be gentle. This is their journey, not ours. They’re leading it, not us. We’re there to guide not direct them.

It’s hard not to let your emotions get the best of you sometimes. But it’s important to take the high road — Elizabeth says, “You never regret taking the high road” — if you want a relationship with your son built on trust, respect, and love. One that is so strong that he looks forward to car rides home with you.

If stories like this resonate with you, I share one every week. Subscribe if you haven’t already — and please share this story with another baseball parent or coach. It’s through you that we can change the experiences we create for our kids.

Don’t forget to get your free copy of The Car Ride Home Playbook.

Thank you and Happy Holidays!

Subscribe now

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and how parents shape the experience for young athletes.

It’s built around the 5 Moments That Shape Young Ballplayers, from the nerves before a game to the car ride home.

From the stands, I write about those moments and what they mean for confidence, identity, and a kid’s love of the game.

Read more about the 5 Moments and why they matter.

⚾ Join our growing community of parents helping parents: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads on Facebook.

More at tonymanolatos.com

We were standing next to each other at a local hitting facility, watching our boys train in a small group — about seven players total — a mix of high school, college, and travel …

Read more

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” my friend Andy said as we walked to our cars after a breakfast meeting last week.

I stopped for a second.

Wow, I thought. I love that.

Not because the idea was new to me, but because of how simply and clearly it was said. Sticky points are powerful. They stay with people. They linger. They’re short and memorable. And this …

Read more

There’s some truth to that — pitching puts your son or daughter on an island, in the spotlight, with every eye in the park waiting on their next pitch. But it doesn’t have to be miserable. And honestly, it sh…

Read more

Not e…

Read more

AUTHOR NOTE: this podcast was produced by Olas Media. What follows is sponsorship info and related registration links. That’s followed by my go-to baseball resource list for parents. Lastly, you will find the story I wrote to accompany this new podcast.

🙌 Thank-You to Our Sponsors

🏟️ Berry’s Athletic Supply — outfitting San Diego athletes for 70+ years (created 30,000+ varsity jackets!)
⚾ East County Rattlers Baseball Club — developing players and community through baseball. The Rattlers are hosting the following events:

⭐ FEATURED EVENT: Swing Into the New Year Classic Tournament

January 2–4, 2026 | 🏟️ San Diego | 🎯 4-Game Guarantee
Kick off the New Year with competitive play and great energy at one of San Diego’s top travel baseball tournaments! 👉 Register Here

• Full Plate Baseball Camp — Nov. 28–29, 9 a.m.–1 p.m. in Rancho San Diego. Register Here

• Cornhole Fundraiser for Cooperstown 2027 — Sunday, Dec. 7, 12:30 p.m. start | $50 per team. Register Here

🧢 Charlie Rose Baseball — your one-stop shop for bats, gloves, and gear.

BONUS: Tune into this new episode to receive an exclusive offer from Charlie Rose available only to Dear San Diego listeners!

⚾ Resources & Recommendations for Baseball Parents

Podcasts & Websites

Leading voices helping parents and players navigate the youth baseball journey.

• The Most Valuable Agent Podcast by Matt Hannaford (@mfhannaford)

• Talkin’ Shop with Coach Ballgame

• Healthy Sports Parents by Jonathan Carone @jonathan_carone

• Inside the Dugout

• Youth Inc. with Greg Olson

• I Love to Watch You Play

Hitting & Fielding

Elite local and online coaches focused on mechanics, approach, and development.

SD CAP in El Cajon, CA

• Coach Jay (hitting) – SD CAP @sdcaphitting

• Coach Chad (pitching & hitting) @ca_coachtbtbaseball @thebaseballblueprint

• Coach Jalen (fielding & hitting) @jalenfejeran

OTHERS

• Coach Mateo (fielding) @_mateomedina_

• Pryor Development (fielding) @pryordevelopment

• f.a.s.t_developmentsd (fielding) @f.a.s.t_developmentsd

Pitching

Resources to improve command, velocity, and arm health.

• Coach Mark @mvp_san_diego

• Top Velocity

• Coach Anthony @santiagosoldiers

Strength & Conditioning

Trainers who understand the demands of baseball and youth athlete development.

• Coach Joe @1kru_sd

• Bobby Congalton @bobbycongalton_1rmperformance

• Eric Cressey @ericcressey

Mental Side of the Game

Experts in confidence, mindset, and resilience on and off the field.

• Lauren Johnson & Co. @laurennicolejohnson

• Danielle Martin’s True Mindsets @truemindsets

Miscellaneous & Gear

Great pages, tools, and others worth a follow. Some of them will make you laugh.

• @chipsperformance

• @coach.rac

• @michiganskip13

• Baseball Bat Bros

• DIG IT Youth Baseball Gloves

• @esim3400

• @baseballperformancecenter_

“If the training’s tough, push through — because there’s going to be good results at the end.” — Alex Manolatos, 12

Youth Baseball: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

“Find your joy,” Elizabeth says to her 12-year-old son Alex before every practice and game.

As a former Division I athlete and CEO of a large nonprofit, Elizabeth knows athletes at every level perform best when they’re loose, happy, and confident.

In this new episode of Dear San Diego, Tony and Elizabeth sit down with their twins Alex and Nicky, who are 12, to talk about baseball — not just the stats and scores, but the lessons the game teaches.

The family opens up about the highs and lows of Little League and travel baseball: the thrill of big hits and close games, the car rides home, the friendships, the politics, and the small victories that boost confidence.

Alex shares how he’s learned to stay calm under pressure — to trust the process and the work he’s put in, and to bounce back quickly after mistakes. Nicky offers a different perspective: he hung up his cleats after a tough season, but has stayed involved in the game.

Youth baseball, like parenting, is a mix of joy, growth, and grit. At its best, Little League builds confidence, character, community, resilience, and life skills. There’s a lot of goodness to the game.

But there’s also a darker side — from overzealous parents to uneven coaching to unprincipled, ego-driven politics. What spoils the experience for some players and their families are the whisper campaigns and backroom deals that tend to take root on volunteer boards with little to no oversight — often controlled by parents who see their kids as future D1 stars or big leaguers and who operate a lot like the kids in that high school clique you never liked.

When adults lose sight of what really matters — the kids’ experience — the game starts to lose its magic. And too often, it loses many of its young ballplayers right along with it

Elizabeth points out that the lack of leadership training for volunteer coaches is a missed opportunity: “Motivating kids isn’t about yelling,” she says. “It’s about empowering them and building their confidence.”

Travel baseball generally brings a higher level of play and a more structured environment, but it’s not without its pressures. Finding the right program for your player — whether that’s a neighborhood team or an established organization focused on development with a strong track record of helping kids advance to the next level — is important. The financial and time commitments are real, and the competition can create both incredible growth and some tough moments.

Still, the Manolatos family agrees: the right program, the right coaches, and the right mindset don’t just build better players — they build stronger, more confident kids.

They talk candidly about learning to balance family time with tournament weekends, the resilience built through tough losses, and the shared joy that comes from a well-executed play, a clutch hit, or a pretty pitch.

“Baseball teaches you so much more than how to play a game,” Tony says.

Share

👉🏻 Tony Manolatos, show host: @tonymanolatos, Baseball Dad & PR Guy

👉🏻 Elizabeth Wilberg, guest: @birdiewilberg, Corner Office to the Kitchen Table

🎧 Check out our other baseball episode: “Youth Baseball Parents: Stop Talking!”

About Baseball Dad & PR Guy

Baseball insights. PR perspective. And a few curveballs along the way.

Baseball Dad & PR Guy is a weekly newsletter about youth sports culture and the environments parents create for young athletes.

After years of sitting at youth baseball fields, I started noticing something a lot of parents miss. I think of them as five moments that shape young ballplayers and youth sports culture:

The nerves before a game.
The tough inning.
The sideline coach.
The car ride home.
The comparison trap.

From the stands, I write about those moments and how adults shape the experience for young athletes.

I also occasionally write about public relations, sharing lessons for young professionals navigating high-pressure moments in their careers.

If any of that resonates, you’re in the right place.

⚾️ Join our growing community of parents helping parents: Travel Baseball Moms & Dads on Facebook. More at tonymanolatos.com or via Linktree. 🔗

It’s everything behind it: the garage workouts, the long practices, the bu…

Read more