I trained 11 conference players of the year this season. (2 more texted me yesterday, I posted 9!)

6 remote, 5 in person.

Different states, different levels, different swings, different needs.

But they did it.

And the number one thing they all had in common had nothing to do with their swing.

It was a switch.

Most hitters live on one side of it. They're either too hard on themselves to ever trust what they've built, or too comfortable to keep earning it.

One side beats himself up before the pitcher ever does. He walks up already negotiating with the at-bat. Already explaining why if he gets out, it makes sense. He's seen the film. He knows his swing. But the second he gets in the box his brain is louder than his hands.

The other side is the opposite. He coasted in on what worked in March and is wondering where it went in May. He stopped earning it the second it showed up. He confused getting hot with being good. And the league caught up while he was still talking about that 4-for-5 from three weeks ago.

You already know which one you are.

That's the problem.

If you knew and it didn't bother you, fine. But it bothers you. That's why you're reading this. The good ones aren't stuck on either side. They can flip it.

Here's what I mean.

The kid who takes 200 swings a day and still doesn't trust himself at 0 for 2 — that's not a swing problem. He's got more reps than half the lineup. He's done more work than the guys hitting in front of him and behind him. He just never learned to flip the switch when it counts. All that work, and the second the count gets tight, he shrinks. He's hoping. He's not hunting.

And then there's the kid who hasn't taken a real swing off the tee in three weeks because he's hitting .380 and figures he doesn't need it. He's already flipped — but he flipped the wrong way. He's living in the box on Saturday and dead in the cage on Tuesday. That works until it stops working. And it always stops working.

One of the 9 was different. Down 0-2 in a game that mattered, and he walked up to the box like he owned it. Same body language as 0-0. Same breath. Same eyes. I asked him about it after. He didn't say anything about his hands or his load. He just shrugged and said "nobody's better. I'm that dude."

That's the switch.

Not arrogance. Not hype. He wasn't yelling it out loud or posting it on Insta.
​
The way you'd say what time practice starts. And the wild part is — that's the same kid who came in the next morning before anyone else and got on the tee. Total certainty in the box. Total work outside of it. He earned the right to feel that way at 0-2 because of what nobody saw on Tuesday.

That's the move most hitters miss.

They think the confident at-bat is the thing. They want the swagger without the deposit. But that switch only works because of what's behind it. You can't flip it on if there's nothing to flip on to.

And here's the part nobody tells you — those same 11 played like they hadn't won anything yet. They'd hit a bomb and want to know how to make the next one better. Never satisfied. Ever.
​
Player of the year award gets handed to them and they're already asking what they need to fix for summer ball.

That's the whole thing.

Total belief in the box. Total hunger out of it.

Most guys get those backwards. They doubt themselves when they step in and then get comfortable the second something goes right. They flip the wrong switch at the wrong time.
​
They want to feel good in the cage and grind in the box. It's supposed to be the other way around.

The cage is where you earn it. The box is where you trust it.

If you don't trust it in there, all the work means nothing. And if you don't keep earning it out here, the trust runs out.

Flip the switch. Train how to turn the brain off and the belief up.

— Trey

​
Coaches, parents, players: Reply to this is if I can help with anything.