Most people lose the game before it starts.
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 were very real.
Our development team was walking into a hearing, trying to persuade decision-makers on the dais to select our proposals over competing ones and approve two new communities in San Diego.
Our presenter — the team’s project lead — was stressed. I could see it on his face and hear it in his voice. It reminded me of something I’ve learned the hard way — as both a baseball dad and a PR guy:
Over-coaching kills confidence.
And it doesn’t stop on the ball field, or with our kids.
There was a moment before we entered the meeting room. Standing in the hallway, I pulled my client aside.
“Just play your game,” I told him. “You know our strengths. You know the points to hit. Let everything else go. Block out the noise.”
He nodded. Then he smiled, just a little. The tension was fading.
“Did you play sports?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “but I know what you’re about to say.”
“We would never walk up to our starting pitcher 20 minutes before a big game and tell him to change his delivery,” I said. “And we wouldn’t crowd him with a bunch of last-minute details. We’d tell him: You’ve got this. Be a dog. Play your game and get after it. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
A few hours later, we walked out victorious.
We won one of the two competitions, and the real work was just beginning. But here’s the part that’s easy to miss: we didn’t win because of anything we added that day.
In fact, we might have lost because we tried to add too much in those final hours before the hearing.
That’s when we started to press. We stopped playing our game after hearing another team had the inside track. We brainstormed tweaks, angles, and last-minute ideas — anything to try and gain an edge.
It was a mistake.
Instead of trusting our preparation, we were overloading our presenter — our starting pitcher — when what he needed most was clarity and confidence.
There was too much noise during our final prep meeting. Moments after it ended, my phone rang. One of the leaders on our team didn’t waste time.
“I need you — Mr. PR Guy and Mr. Baseball Dad — to talk to him alone before the meeting,” she said. “Tell him he’s got this. Tell him to block out the noise, play our game, and stop worrying about our opponents.”
Message received.
I once heard a coach tell his players before a big game:
“There’s nothing you can do now to change your mechanics. Your prep work is done. You’ve trained for this moment. You’ve got this! So go out there and have fun and play hard, play your game! Trust your training. Be athletic and let everything else go.”
That advice applies far beyond sports.
It’s the advice we forget most often as parents, coaches, leaders, and teammates — especially before big moments. That’s when anxiety creeps in. That’s when we talk more, coach more, and correct more.
And that’s exactly when we should be doing less.
Young ballplayers — and adults, too — pick up whatever it is we’re broadcasting. If we’re tense, they’ll feel it. If we’re frantic, they’ll assume failure isn’t an option.
And when people feel like there’s no room to fail, they usually do.
What they need to know is simple:
You believe in them.
They’re prepared.
There’s room to fail — and learn — and move on.
Don’t arm them with anything more than love, support…and maybe one or two quick reminders.
Nothing new.
And if you’re like my son Alex and me, you get those reminders out of the way early. I wrote in an earlier piece — “Turning Fear into Fuel” — that Alex and I have a golden rule that serves us well:
No coaching once we leave the driveway.
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About Baseball Dad & PR Guy
Baseball insights. PR perspective. And a few curveballs along the way.
I started Baseball Dad & PR Guy to share what I’ve learned from two worlds that have more in common than you’d think: youth baseball and public relations.
Both teach preparation, communication, leadership, patience — and how to handle the spotlight and life’s curveballs.
Through my 12-year-old son Alex, his teammates, and his coaches, I’ve come to love baseball — its beauty and its challenges. My goal is to help baseball parents avoid common mistakes and better support the journey their son or daughter is on.
On the PR side, my goal is to help young public relations professionals reach their potential and perform with confidence when it matters most.
If any of that resonates, you’re in the right place.
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