You’ve got your lineup card filled out.
You’ve gone over the scouting report. You’ve got your starter warm, your bullpen mapped, and your infield healthy. You’ve done the work.
And then you walk into the dugout or the locker room two hours before first pitch — and you can instantly feel it.
Tension. Tightness. Or worse—apathy. Your pitching coach is in the corner on his phone. Your outfielder who’s been slumping for three weeks is staring at the floor with that vacant look. Two of your guys are horsing around like it’s a casual Thursday batting practice session, and the ones who actually care are quietly watching them do it.
Nobody has said a single word yet. But the game has already started — and you’re already behind.
The LakePoint Trap: March 4, 2021
I learned this lesson the hard way on a day that became an absolute marching order for our program: March 4, 2021.
We had a phenomenal squad that year. In fact, we had played this exact same opponent the night before and completely handled them. We won easily, 12-4, and it was 11-0 before we casually gave up a run-rule opportunity in the bottom of the fifth.
But heavy rain rolled into town the next morning. Back then, before we were finally able to install turf at Winchester in 2023, heavy rain meant we had to head up to LakePoint Sports—what I lovingly used to call our auxiliary campus because we played there so much. Because it was a last-minute weather request, we got stuck with a late-night slot.
On paper, I wasn’t worried. I was just excited to get the game in. What I completely failed to anticipate, however, was the massive disruption in our timing and our players’ mindset.
We went from an expected 4:00 PM first pitch to burning an additional three hours before the game actually started. Sure, we had a 40-minute bus ride to kill some time, but that was followed by an extended hangout session at the Jesus Chicken (Chick-fil-A) and sitting around a traditional travel-ball site. Our guys were unfortunately used to doing exactly that at LakePoint—sitting around on weekend afternoons waiting for games that didn’t matter as much.
By the time game time finally rolled around, you could feel it. We walked onto the field with a ton of fake bravado.
We started a guy on the mound who wasn’t necessarily a pitcher by trade, but he was highly efficient and threw a ton of strikes. He started the game 2-0. Then, the lead-off hitter snuck a bleeder through the 3-4 hole. The next batter hit a routine, double-play ground ball—but we threw it directly into center field.
It was on.
A highly talented kid who went on to play high-level Division I baseball smoked a single, and before we could even blink, we were down 5-0 in the first inning. We answered back with a two-spot in the bottom half, but between the dugout infighting and the guys being a little bit past their bedtimes, we never figured it out.
We looked absolutely nothing like the team we were supposed to be. Our first baseman ended up being ejected for arguing, and we lost 8-3. When you put those last three sluggish innings from the night before together with those seven ugly innings at LakePoint, we had played ten straight innings of completely undisciplined baseball because we assumed our talent would just show up.
The 3.4.21 Standard
Coaches make this mistake all the time: we build a cultural fire in January and just assume somebody else is tending it in May. We let scheduling minefields dictate our energy.
That loss snapped us into reality. We had a sign made that simply read “3.4.21” painted in the exact team colors of the opponent who exposed us, and we hung it directly in our dugout and locker room. Every single time we experienced a slip in the standard, “3.4” was our reminder.
That single, painful lesson propelled those guys to the remainder of a historic season. It led to the first Region Championship in school history. It led to the first Final Four appearance in school history. It took a group that darn near got upset in the first round of the playoffs, rallied them to sweep the second and third rounds, and took us all the way to a walk-off loss in the Final Four against a future MLB draft pick.
It also completely revolutionized how I coach. It forced us to make major changes to our pre-game protocol as we looked for ways to ramp up our energy and effort early, ensuring we never sleepwalk into big games regardless of delays, weather, or schedule changes.
The Psychology of the Window
The pre-game window is where games are won and lost long before the umpire calls for the lineups.
Your players walk into your facility already carrying an invisible inventory. A bad test grade. A fight with their parents. The at-bat they’ve been replaying since Tuesday. They do not arrive at zero. Your job in those two hours is to intentionally get them to the right number before the first pitch.
That means the pre-game window isn’t logistical—it’s psychological. And it starts with your staff.
If your assistant coaches are anxious, rushed, or carrying tension from their day jobs, your players will absorb it before you ever open your mouth. Anxiety is highly contagious. But fortunately, so is composure.
To protect your culture, your pre-game window has to execute three specific jobs:
1. Physical Activation: Your guys need to be genuinely, metabolically warm—not just checking a box. The physical difference between a player who is locked in during warm-ups and one who is just going through the motions is entirely dictated by the intensity your staff demands.
2. Mental Reset: You need a predictable routine that resets the clock and clears the mental clutter. Routine is what gives a player’s brain permission to let go of outside noise and just compete. Predictable feels safe. Safe feels free. And free plays loose.
3. Emotional Calibration: This one is entirely on you, Coach. They are reading your body language. Are you green, yellow, or red right now? Because wherever your energy is, your dugout is going to match it.
In Heads-Up Baseball 2.0, Ken Ravizza talks extensively about the skill of catching a “yellow light” before it completely turns red. That doesn’t just apply to your hitter in a 3-2 count. It applies to you standing outside the dugout at 4:45 PM, deciding exactly what kind of attitude you are about to carry into the environment.
Your Playbook for This Week
Before your next competition, build a strict pre-game protocol. Write down exactly what the two hours before the first pitch look like—minute by minute, coach by coach, responsibility by responsibility.
Don’t do it to micromanage your players. Do it to clear a predictable path for them.
A team that walks onto the field loose, locked-in, and structurally unified—backed by a coaching staff that embodies the exact same composure—already has a massive competitive edge over a team that just rolled off a bus and expected their talent to carry them.
The names on your lineup card matter, but they matter a whole lot less than the standard of execution in the room before you ever hand that card to the umpire.
Build the window. Protect it. Fill it with the right stuff.
Let’s get to work.
— Coach O
📩 Enjoyed this playbook? Post in the comments below how you manage pre-game energy during weather delays, and make sure to subscribe to the Weekly Standard at CoachShawnOliverLeadership.com to get these briefings directly in your inbox every Sunday.
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