8+ Years Between Pitches: A Curveball I Didn’t See Coming

Eight years. That’s how long it’s been since I last threw a pitch in a professional baseball game.

My final pitch before this past week came in July of 2017—for the Samsung Lions in Korea—before a line drive shattered my hand and, I thought, ended my career.

Seven screws, a metal plate, and a whole lot of mental fog followed.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that the thing I may have feared most was still going to be in front of me if I ever wanted to play ball again: the idea of playing independent league, aka non-affiliated baseball.

As a first-rounder (sandwich pick for those who want to be haters haha), I used to look down on this level. I’ll admit that honestly now. To me, independent baseball was the land of "career over," or guys trying to hang on when everyone else had let go.

It was the place I feared I'd fall to if things went wrong. And in many ways, I thought that fear was a finish line I’d never cross.

But here I am—eight years older, technically eight years removed—and finding an unexpected joy in the very place I was once “afraid of.”

A New Lens on the Game

This past week with the Chicago Dogs has been a curveball I didn’t see coming.

It’s been humbling. It's been energizing. It’s been clarifying.

The average age of the league is nearly eight years younger than me, but the age gap has become a bridge, not a barrier. I’ve felt purpose in the role of “the older guy,”  teammate, and maybe even friend—something I forgot I missed this much.

I used to be scared of being the guy who had to “start over” in indy ball. Now I realize I’m not starting over—I’m reengaging with a game I love, from a healthier, more whole place.

I’m showing up as a better version of myself: emotionally grounded, more open to learning, and far more grateful for every rep, every conversation, and every moment in the dugout.

Rust, Rules, and Reps

There’s no sugarcoating it—I’ve got rust.

The game has changed. Pitch clocks, disengagement rules, challenge systems—half the time I feel like I’m in a brand new sport. These guys have lived and learned the new rules together. I’m learning them in real-time, in front of crowds, with runners on base and adrenaline pumping.

But there’s something kind of beautiful about that.

Being uncomfortable is growth. And every inning, every bullpen, every pregame conversation in the clubhouse or out in the outfield is making me sharper again—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

The Teammates, the Mission, the Moments

I’ve been surrounded by a group of dudes that remind me why baseball is special.

From big-leaguers like Chance Sisco and TJ Hopkins, to gritty grinders like Brantley and Brock Bell (sons of a 20-year MLB vet), guys like Jacob Teter, stars in this league after “smaller-school” college careers, and Keoni Cavaca, who was picked 7th overall as an infielder, was released and is now reinventing his career as a pitcher (who I think can pitch in the big leagues one day)—I’ve felt the camaraderie I’ve missed for years.

These guys have welcomed me in with open arms (minus the old man jokes that I absolutely eat up), and I’ve loved being able to share my story, my gear, my connections—anything that might help them along their path. They’ve taught me too. About what matters now. About what they’re chasing. About the new age of baseball and what it means to stay competitive today.

A big reason of why I signed here was the chase for a ring. We were one game out (had a tough homestead this past week) when I signed, and sometimes I think I became too robotic by being in affiliated ball— pitch counts, throwing a specific percentage of change-ups per start, the structure, etc.

It was always about development, and at times I think the minor league guys in the “system” forgot about the simplicity of going out and  just winning.

And that’s what “indy ball” really is.

The Dogs' coaching staff led by manager Matt Passarelle, a NJ guy that I knew when I was a kid and runs an incredible ship, our pitching coach Stu Cliburn who pitched in the big leagues for years with the California Angels, the front office, and support crew have made this transition smoother than I could’ve ever expected.

From the field crew and clubhouse managers to the broadcast team, the mental skills coach (yes, how sick is that?!) there’s a culture of care here—and that’s rare, and definitely something I took for granted in a past life.

Rewriting the Narrative

If you told me in 2017 that I'd step back onto a professional mound in 2025, in independent ball, at age 35, I probably would’ve laughed—and maybe even cried a little inside. I think I was scared of what that would mean about my story.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Thoughts can create fear.

Fear lies to you. Fear tells you your story has to look a certain way to be worth telling.

I’m learning that real joy comes not from the level you’re playing at—but the energy you bring to it. I’m not chasing Major League Baseball anymore. I’m chasing meaning, connection, and growth.

And if affiliated ball calls — sure, I’ll pick up. But if not, this chapter already feels like a win.

This past week has reminded me how much I love this game. Not the status. Not the paycheck. Not the clout. The game. The grind. The guys. The gratitude.

Independent ball gave me something I didn’t know I still needed.

And I’m thankful I was brave enough to walk into something I used to be terrified of—because on the other side of that fear was one of the best weeks I’ve had in a long, long time.

Here’s to when life throws you the nasty curveball. Here’s to starting over. And here’s to rediscovering joy in the places you used to avoid.

Let’s go, Dogs.