COLLEYVILLE, Texas — Bobby Witt Jr. is standing at home plate with a wide smile. He wears his black baseball cap backward. His white Under Armour cleats glisten with hints of blue, red and green. In his right hand is a blonde wooden fungo bat. In his left hand is a baseball.
It’s a chilly Monday afternoon in early February at Colleyville Heritage High, which sits smack dab between Dallas and Fort Worth. While the high school kids sit at desks inside the building, eyes focused on their teacher, a graduate of the school is standing on the baseball field, trying to hit a ball toward State Highway 121 beyond the right-field fence.
Advertisement
But for the hum of the cars on the interstate, it’s quiet. The only two spectators are Evan Mistich, who owns the fungo bat, and Jax Biggers, a Texas Rangers prospect who is working out with Witt. They have just finished fielding hundreds of grounders. Now, while passing cars provide a collective murmur that almost sounds like white noise, Witt tosses up the ball, coils his body and unleashes a right-handed swing aimed toward the opposite field.
Thwack.
The baseball climbs into the blue sky and hangs up in the clouds. You can tell it does not have the juice. Seconds later, the ball craters like a meteor toward the grass in right field. Witt does not waste time. He grabs another ball and tries again.
Thwack.
The result is the same. The ball plops down before it reaches the fence. The smile is no longer. His tongue is now creeping out of his mouth a la Michael Jordan slashing toward the basket. Here is one of baseball’s best future talents, a legitimate five-tool shortstop who — as one scout told The Athletic’s Andy McCullough — was “the highest-rated prospect I ever put in.” But right now, Witt is not thinking about his .936 OPS season in 2021 with 35 doubles, 33 home runs, 97 RBIs and 29 stolen bases. He’s also not thinking about leaving for Surprise, Ariz., in a few days for what will likely be his last spring training as a minor leaguer. Instead, he’s motivated as hell to take this fungo bat and wallop a baseball over a fence in front of a crowd of nobody.
Hitting an opposite-field homer with a lightweight practice bat isn’t easy, but Witt’s inability to do so now seems to gnaw at him. Anything less than excellence usually does, which evokes some philosophical questions: How does a 21-year-old become so fixated on excellence? Can Witt maintain that focus as the forces around him change? What pressurized universe awaits when he reports for Royals minor-league spring training Wednesday with a chance to earn a roster spot for Opening Day, whenever that might be?
Advertisement
Witt tosses up another ball and swings. The bat’s path is elegantly violent.
THWACK!
This time, the ball leaps as if it has bounced off a trampoline. It keeps rising. Continues to soar. For a second, it’s fair to wonder if the ball is headed toward the highway. It clears the fence by 50 feet. Witt does not celebrate. Rather, he steps aside, allows Biggers to try and roots him on with each swing.
The goal this offseason was to get Bobby Witt Jr.’s weight above 200 pounds and improve his mobility. (Kelcee Harwood / Harwood Photography)Witt’s typical offseason workout day, like this one, begins at 8:15 a.m. in Fort Worth.
Here he is, hopping back and forth on the green turf inside the Athlete Performance Enhancement Center (APEC), preparing his body for a grueling session. A remix of Alessia Cara’s “Here” blasts throughout the facility. If you close your eyes and simply listen, you’d think you were at a nightclub.
On the wall, painted quotes offer encouragement. “Never say never, because limits, like fears, are often just an illusion.” Above Witt, who is warming up for a two-hour speed, strength and mobility workout, is a huge photo of two men who are familiar faces here. On the left is Patrick Mahomes, the Kansas City Chiefs’ superstar quarterback, who works out in this same facility. On the right is Mahomes’ trainer, Bobby Stroupe, who founded the facility and is integral to why Witt spends his offseason mornings here.
The backstory: In 1991, when Stroupe was 10 years old, he rooted for the Texas Rangers. His favorite baseball club had a flamethrowing right-hander named Bobby Witt. Stroupe once drove to a Sheraton Hotel in Sherman, Texas, to meet Witt at an autograph signing. Witt was generous and welcoming that day.
Stroupe could hardly have envisioned then how the pitcher’s past and his own future would someday be intertwined.
Bobby Witt Sr. grew up in Canton, Mass., in the 1960s. His father was a firefighter who worked multiple jobs. He painted. He plumbed. He preached to his son about virtues and respect.
Advertisement
One of Bobby Sr.’s neighbors was Haywood Sullivan, who was a top executive for the Boston Red Sox at the time. Bobby Sr. liked to play Wiffle ball at the Sullivan house. He revered Red Sox shortstop Rick Burleson. He also played shortstop as he aged. One day, he even told his dad, “I’m going to take that guy’s job one day.”
That dream was put to rest when he began pitching. His natural ability on the mound caught the attention of scouts such as the late Lennie Merullo, who relayed Witt’s potential to the then-pitching coach at Oklahoma, Stan Meek. Without ever seeing Witt in person, Oklahoma offered the right-hander a spot on its team in 1983. But there was work to do. Witt’s pitching delivery early on “was a complete wreck,” Meek, now 69, said by phone a few weeks ago. Witt did, however, possess a well-cut body and what Meek says was “one of the heaviest arms I had ever seen.”
You also knew he loved the game. In 1985, legendary sportswriter Jackie MacMullan profiled Witt and wrote: “Pitchers are supposed to shag fly balls, but most merely let the ball drop, shuffle after it and toss it home. Not Witt. He attacks the drill with the zeal of a 9-year-old on his first day of Little League.”
By his junior year, he’d progressed into one of the best pitching prospects in the country. One weekday night in Oklahoma City against Texas, Brian Bosworth, then a vaunted college linebacker, stood behind the Longhorns’ dugout and yelled in support as Witt, who touched 96 mph with his fastball and 90 mph with his slider, struck out 17 hitters. “It was vicious,” Meek, who would become the Miami Marlins’ scouting director, said. “About (Justin) Verlander stuff when he was the top of the top.”
Off the field, at a party one night, Witt met Laurie Capps, from Bartlesville, Okla. Laurie knew sports. Growing up, not only had she been the batgirl for the city’s American Legion baseball program and the head cheerleader for her high school’s cheer squad, but her family had also traveled to Kansas City to watch George Brett. Her father even pitched at the University of Iowa, was invited to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers and, as one story goes, passed a pair of pants down to Pee Wee Reese before heading to the Army.
The Rangers selected Witt with the No. 3 pick in 1985, just ahead of Barry Larkin (No. 4) and Barry Bonds (No. 6). In Witt’s first couple of years, he faced Burleson. Overall, he had a solid career, going 142-156 with a 4.83 ERA over 16 seasons. Inconsistent control was his bugaboo, but it wasn’t for a lack of aptitude. “People talk about retention and muscle memory and neural pathway programming,” former Rangers pitching coach Tom House said by phone. “Bobby was a brand-new slate every day.”
Bobby Sr. married Laurie in 1987, and throughout his career, he began to see firsthand the challenges facing an athlete: the passion it requires, the mental approach it takes to navigate failure, the work you have to put in to stack up among the best. As parents, Bobby and Laurie shared these experiences with their daughters, Nicole, Kianna and Shaley. Nicole and Kianna cheered competitively in high school and at Oklahoma. Shaley played soccer. Their lessons learned proved useful in their relationships with baseball players — Kianna is married to former big leaguer Zach Neal, Nicole is married to former big leaguer James Russell, and Shaley is engaged to potential big leaguer Cody Thomas — and with their little brother, Bobby Jr.
Advertisement
When Bobby Jr. was a young boy, he’d ask his sisters’ friends to play against him in their backyard in Colleyville. He’d also plead with Bobby Sr. to hit him more grounders in the yard from a young age.
“I’m like, ‘OK, that’s good, man,'” Bobby Sr. says. “He’s like: ‘No, no. I want to try something else.’ That told me right then that this kid really enjoys what he’s doing.”
As Bobby Jr. progressed, Bobby Sr. offered a comment that still resonates.
“You might be better in Dallas and Fort Worth,” Bobby Sr. told his son. “But there’s kids in Houston. There’s kids in San Antonio. Where do you stack up against the kids in Texas? Where do you stack up against the kids in Florida and California? What does your game look like when you match up against these guys?”
Years later, as Stroupe’s APEC was becoming one of the premier training destinations for professional athletes, he found himself on the phone with Bobby Sr., who was searching for the optimal workout environment for his son. That search led to a meeting between Stroupe and Bobby Jr. in 2020, inside the lobby of the Loews Hotel in Kansas City. They discussed training methods. Stroupe told Bobby Jr. about meeting Bobby Sr. years ago at the autograph signing. Bobby Jr. explained to Stroupe that he was committed to developing his genetic gifts.
Impressed by what he heard, Bobby Jr. joined forces with Stroupe and worked hard last offseason at APEC. It paid off, as he headed to Arizona in 2021 weighing nearly 198 pounds with a 43-inch vertical leap. (Zach LaVine, one of the bounciest players in the NBA, recorded a 41 1/2-inch leap at the NBA combine in 2014.)
Taylor Nelson-Cook, a performance coach at APEC in Fort Worth, said even after a demanding 2021 season taxed Witt’s body, he was jumping 40 inches. His weight dipped to 190 pounds, so the goal this offseason was to get it above 200 pounds while also improving the infielder’s mobility. With APEC workouts, Mondays and Thursdays focus on movement. Tuesdays and Fridays center on power and strength.
Advertisement
Today is movement day. Witt’s shaggy hair flows over a gray headband, and he winces while pushing a sled at a full sprint. He exerts himself alongside other professional baseball players, including Trent Grisham and Matt Carpenter. They toss a medicine ball to activate their hips as a remix of Fetty Wap’s “679” blares.
Next up is a 10-yard sprint across the green turf lined with white paint as if it’s a track. Two silver, tripod-looking objects are stationed at the start and finish lines. As athletes run past them, lasers measure their speed. Witt, as is often the case, competes against Grisham. After the 205-pound Witt breezes past the distance, he looks back, curious about his time. The 10-yard split: 1.43 seconds. For reference, Kansas City Chiefs wide receiver Tyreek Hill ran a 1.50 at his pro day. But nobody here drops their jaws after Witt’s run. They’ve seen this day after day.
Bobby Witt Jr. pushes himself relentlessly during workouts, a trait his big-league father saw even when Bobby was a youth player. (Kelcee Harwood / Harwood Photography)The three-hour workout is over, and now Witt is driving east on Interstate 820. The soothing jazz/pop/hip-hop/reggae music of the Texas-based band Surfaces plays through the truck’s speakers. Witt’s eyes are on the road. He listens to a story about him from the summer of 2020.
One night, as the Kansas City Royals were playing on the road, youngsters at the alternate site, including Witt, had the opportunity to play a scrimmage under the lights at Kauffman Stadium.
Royals general manager J.J. Picollo would sometimes stand behind second base for such workouts. There were no outfielders. When hitters popped up, the ball usually fell onto the grass. On this night, though, Witt, playing shortstop, seemed bound to protect the earth when a hitter lofted a flyball toward shallow left field.
Witt tracked the ball. He accelerated. One voice inside Picollo’s head told him to watch it play out. The other suggested he should scream: No, don’t!
But it wouldn’t have mattered if Picollo had listened to voice No. 2. No shouting would have stopped Witt, who was in single-minded pursuit. Galloping and gliding, he lunged as if it were Game 7 of the World Series instead of a minor-league practice.
Advertisement
“Bobby,” Picollo said as Witt stepped back onto the dirt, “you don’t need to do that.”
Witt, upon hearing the story recounted, smiles wryly.
“I remember it all,” he says.
Then he pauses, before speaking softly and almost bashfully.
“I should have caught it.”
Witt is now pulling up at Firehouse Subs, the sandwich chain that features items with names like the Hook & Ladder and Engineer.
“It’s just so consistent,” he says, laughing.
He steps inside. Nobody notices him, or if they do, they don’t let on. Televisions crackle with chatter about the upcoming Super Bowl LVI. Witt looks up, curious about what they’re saying about Joe Burrow, whose ability impresses him, even if he relishes watching Mahomes.
He then heads for the line. But, tellingly, he waits for the people he is with to order first, a custom that evokes his early days with the Royals.
The club selected Witt with the No. 2 pick in the 2019 MLB Draft, and later that fall, Royals senior director of player development and hitting performance Alec Zumwalt flew to watch Witt in the Arizona Rookie League. He was curious about how Witt was handling the level and the circumstance. Witt wasn’t playing that night, yet Zumwalt noted the lofty draft pick was not only present and attentive on the rail but also throwing with the team’s right fielder between each inning.
The next day, after some early batting practice, the players converged in the cafeteria for lunch. Zumwalt watched as Witt stood and waited for each of his teammates to get their plates before he did.
“He’s the last one,” Zumwalt says. “I’m sitting there watching, and I said: ‘What is Bobby doing? He’s just standing there.’ The other staffers I was with were like, ‘Oh, this is what he does.’ I’m like, ‘OK, what’s he doing?’ They’re like, ‘Just watch.’ And he waited until all of them got their food.”
Advertisement
More than two years later, after he’s earned more press than most baseball prospects have, Witt is still operating the same way inside Firehouse Subs. He glances again at the television. They’re now talking about his favorite athlete, Tom Brady, whose consistent attitude even after reaching the pinnacle seemed to coax the most out of his teammates for two decades.
The person in front of Witt has swiped their credit card. It’s time for him to order his sandwich and some Cool Ranch Doritos.
Witt’s workout will resume with defensive drills soon, so he is driving slowly back toward Colleyville Heritage High. As he reaches the school, he points out the particular parking lots.
“The juniors parked there,” he says, gesturing to the right. “And the seniors were over here.”
He smiles as he weaves his truck to an open spot. Witt motions with his head toward the football field.
“That’s where I kicked that field goal,” he says.
He’s talking about a recent viral video on Twitter. A few weeks back, the public relations director for his agency, Octagon, suggested he grow his TikTok following. Accordingly, he posted a video of himself booting a lengthy field goal … in tennis shoes. He posted the clip to his modest following, and it took off when it caught the attention of baseball Twitter.
Asked about the 40-yarder now, Witt said, “I did kick in middle school” — as if doing so is a precursor for Harrison Butker-type ability.
A few seconds passed after that question.
He continued to drive.
He then spoke softly: “It was actually a 50-yarder.” You could tell he felt bad about having to correct someone who misread the yardage.
Your attention please:@BwittJr hits 💣s & kicks 🚀s pic.twitter.com/ciygogh2g6
— Jake Eisenberg (@JakeEisenberg_) February 4, 2022
During the fielding workout, Mistich, a local coach, uses a fungo bat to crush a ball toward the hole. Witt’s fielding prowess owes a debt to his sessions with longtime Rangers big leaguer Rusty Greer, who passed down what he’d learned about arm angles and ball transfers from legendary infield coach Perry Hill. On this day, Witt ranges to his right, and the ball finds his glove as if the leather has vacuuming powers. Once he hauls it in, he pirouettes as if he’s going to fire out a galloping Mike Trout. There is no base runner, so he tosses the ball toward Mistich.
Advertisement
Biggers fields a rep. They continue to switch off. Once Witt feels he’s put enough time in at shortstop, he moves over to third, where he’s enjoyed attempting to master a new position that isn’t based as much on his sheer athleticism. A ball ricochets off his glove. Mistich, keying on Witt’s movements, suggests a hop to time up his rhythm. Witt nods. He likes the idea. Then he prepares to field another. Each time Witt fails to field a ball cleanly, he asks for another rep. He wants to right the wrong.
When he finishes the session, he walks to the dugout, sits on the metal bench and scans the stadium.
What’s his favorite moment here?
“The home runs were cool,” he says.
In 42 games his senior year, Witt batted .482, hit 14 doubles, nine triples and 15 home runs and drove in 55 runs.
“But I always loved the games against Grapevine,” he adds.
He’s imagining now the high school games against Colleyville’s rival. Imagining times when the school would add extra bleachers for all the fans who wanted to come. Imagining the fans who would bring ladders to see over the field. And about the Colleyville victories that were capped by a dogpile celebration with Witt lying on his side.
As he sits here now, looking around, it’s easy to forget he’s no longer a high school shortstop. It’s easy to forget he’s at the precipice of the highest level of the sport.
A scout once called Bobby Witt Jr. “the highest-rated prospect” he’d ever filed a report on. Now, the shortstop is on the precipice of the majors. (Kelcee Harwood / Harwood Photography)Hitting is the final act of Witt’s workday. Inside the warehouse-like building that is Top Prospects Academy in Grapevine, which is a 10-minute drive from his high school, he feeds white balls into a high-end pitching machine.
These aren’t baseballs. They have the texture of a lacrosse ball but are much lighter and spin more than a baseball, which makes them harder to hit. Because why not make the hardest skill in sports even harder?
Advertisement
Witt is trying to calibrate the machine. The balls are not diving the way he wants them to. Mistich, who stands inside the cage, watches Witt fiddling with the equipment and laughs.
“Worst tool,” he says, “feeding balls into a machine.”
Minutes later, Biggers, the Rangers prospect, is sitting on a metal bleacher. He’s watching Witt connect his 33 1/2-inch, 31 1/2-ounce Homewood Bat with what are the equivalent of 90 mph curveballs with an exorbitant amount of spin. Witt times up the pitch and uncorks one of his elegantly violent swings that almost resembles a knife slicing open a watermelon in the video game Fruit Ninja.
“He makes you feel like you’re behind,” he says.
Witt’s hitting ability is the result of sessions with Bobby Sr. on Monday and Thursday nights in high school. “He was always like, ‘Two more,'” Bobby Sr. says. “It started to become this ongoing joke. Witt would get in there. I’d say, ‘Last round, but I’ll throw you two more.'” Yet there’s also the genetic element. It’s easy to remember House’s quote about the “neural pathway programming” of young Bobby Witt Sr.
“The best way I can sum it up,” Zumwalt says, “is that Bobby (Jr.) can slow down so many things that speed most hitters up. I have never seen a hitter who can slow the things down that he does.”
As spring training dawns, along with what may soon be Witt’s MLB debut, evaluators have not questioned his athleticism, glovework or makeup. If there’s one knock, it’s what The Athletic’s Keith Law wrote recently: “Witt has some swing-and-miss in his game, with a tendency to get too long and over-rotate just a little — something he may very well improve once he has a few hundred at-bats in the majors under his belt.”
One of the recently drafted high schoolers who had been working out adjacent to Witt’s cage walks by and stops to watch. He shakes his head and mutters, “Man, is that a pretty swing.” The young boy doesn’t ask for an autograph after the session. He sees the tongue hanging out. He knows Witt means business. He knows Witt has his eyes on the next challenge.
Advertisement
After one round of thwacks that would make you think someone was chopping down a tree, Witt steps out of the cage, places his bat down and says, “I could do this all day.”
You think it’s hyperbole, but during another round, he calls out to Mistich: “Two more.” He swings at three but doesn’t stop. He’s crushed more than a hundred at this point, but the last few haven’t been the way he’s wanted to. He feels as if he should right that wrong. Not for Mistich or Biggers or the others watching. But because there are no limits to what he expects of himself.
(Top photo of Bobby Witt Jr.: Kelcee Harwood / Harwood Photography)
ncG1vNJzZmismJqutbTLnquim16YvK57kmppcnFlaXxzfJFrZmlqX2aCcMDHnmSloZaaubC6xmanq52glr%2BiwMiopWanlmKvsK7BsmSwoaSpequ%2BjKKlrKGUmnq1tMRmrqiqm6TCtb%2BMqJ1mrJiaerO72JqjrGWemsW1ecGinmasmJ67qHs%3D