Real quick — before we get into it.

I want you to know what this is.

This isn't a marketing email.

This isn't a highlight reel.

👉 This is me — holding myself accountable — every week.

I've spent 25+ years in this game.

Five continents.

Countless locker rooms.

And here's the honest truth:

The more time I spend in baseball —

👉 The more I realize how much I still don't know.

That used to bother me.

Now it drives me.

Because I'd rather be a coach who's still hungry than a coach who thinks he's arrived.

So every week — or every other week — I sit down and I answer four questions:

What am I reading? What am I watching? What am I learning? What am I writing?

And I share it with you. Free.

No complaints. No excuses.

Because I don't believe change comes TO me.

👉 I believe it comes FROM me.

My goal is simple and I'll say it out loud so you can hold me to it:

👉 This is going to be the best free newsletter in international baseball.

Alright.

Let's get into this week.

Two things hit me hard this week.

👉 Hard enough that I'm still thinking about them.

THE DISEASE OF ME

Holiday names something that every coach has seen in every locker room they've ever walked into.

He calls it the Disease of Me.

It's not arrogance.

It's not selfishness.

👉 It's identity that turned inward — when it should have been pointing outward.

And here's what makes it a disease.

It spreads.

One person in a locker room infected with the Disease of Me —

And suddenly everyone is protecting their own turf.

Guarding their stats.

Managing their narrative.

👉 Instead of building something together.

The philosopher Hillel asked the question that stops me cold every time I read it:

"If I am not for myself — who will be for me?

If I am only for myself — who am I?"

👉 That tension — right there — is the most important identity question every athlete needs to answer before the season starts.

You have to know who you are.

But if who you are — is only about you —

👉 Then who are you really?

CHAOS CAN'T BE FIXED WITH PUBLIC RELATIONS

The second thing that hit me.

Holiday writes that ego loves optics.

It loves the appearance of having it together.

But here's the truth he lays out:

👉 Chaos that gets good PR is still chaos.

You can look composed on the outside.

You can say the right things.

You can post the right content.

But if the foundation is shaky —

If the identity isn't built —

👉 The chaos is still there.

Waiting.

And it will surface.

Every single time the pressure comes.

The only thing that fixes chaos is not a better press conference.

👉 It's identity. Standards. A clear direction of travel.

Every day. Whether anyone is watching or not.

San Francisco Giants. My hometown team.

5 wins. 8 losses. Through 13 games.

Swept by the Yankees. Swept by the Mets.

And the baseball world immediately did what the baseball world always does.

👉 Started performing public relations.

Was hiring a college coach a mistake?

Is the lineup wrong?

Can this team even compete?

Special adviser to the Giants now.

And he said something that cut through all of it.

"Don't look at the past. You can't change what happened.

Just get back to .500 — and then you can take a deep breath and go from there."

👉 That's not a motivational speech.

That's not public relations.

That's The North Star applied to a 162-game season.

Don't manage the narrative.

Don't fix the optics.

👉 Just get back to even. One game at a time.

And here's what I keep thinking about as I watch this unfold.

Tony Vitello has never managed a Major League game before this season.

He walked into one of baseball's most storied franchises.

His first four series — all against 2025 playoff teams.

The baseball world questioned him immediately.

👉 That's the Disease of Me operating at the organizational level.

Everyone worried about what the start LOOKS like.

Nobody focused on what actually needs to HAPPEN.

Dusty Baker didn't talk about optics.

👉 He talked about the standard.

Get back to .500.

Do the work.

That's identity under pressure.

And something happened in that room that I wasn't expecting.

I forgot how different it is to coach female athletes.

I've spent most of my career coaching men.

And with men —

👉 You have to get past the testosterone and the ego before the learning can even start.

You have to earn the right to be heard before the information lands.

But in that room this week?

The women were open from the first minute.

Curious.

Hungry.

Ready to examine information without the ego barrier getting in the way.

And I kept thinking about that Hillel quote.

"If I am only for myself — who am I?"

The Disease of Me wasn't in that room.

And because it wasn't there —

👉 The learning accelerated.

The culture shifted.

Every arrow pointed the same direction.

That's what happens when a room full of people decide that becoming is more important than protecting.

And I've been thinking about why that room felt so different.

I think Solomon figured it out a long time ago.

Proverbs 11:2:

"When pride comes — then comes disgrace.

But with humility comes wisdom."

The women in that room walked in with humility already.

👉 And wisdom followed immediately.

The mental performance system I've been building for athletes, coaches, and parents —

The very first tool is called The North Star.

Here's what it is.

Your North Star is not a goal.

Goals change. Goals expire. Goals depend on outcomes you can't always control.

👉 Your North Star is the athlete and person you are committed to becoming.

No matter what.

Win or lose. Good season or bad. Starting lineup or bench.

It's one sentence.

That's it.

You finish this:

👉 The athlete and person I am becoming is someone who...

Write it down.

Because until it's written — it's just a wish.

Once it's written — it's a direction of travel.

That's your North Star.

And this week — after reading Holiday and standing in that room —

One question keeps coming back to me about it.

👉 Is your North Star pointed at something worth going toward?

Or is it just pointed at you?

Because that's the Disease of Me at the identity level.

A North Star that only serves your own glory —

Your stats. Your reputation. Your narrative —

Is not a North Star.

👉 It's a mirror.

And a mirror doesn't lead anywhere.

So here's your exercise this week.

Look at your North Star sentence.

Now ask yourself one honest question:

👉 If I achieve this — who else benefits besides me?

If you can't answer that —

Your North Star needs work.

Because the best identities in sport —

The ones that last —

Always point somewhere bigger than the person carrying them.

That's what we're building in the War Room.

One weapon at a time.

Ryan Holiday named it perfectly.

The Disease of Me.

The Giants are 5-8.

The baseball world is managing the narrative.

Dusty Baker said — stop.

Get back to .500.

Do the work.

👉 The women in that workshop walked in this week with no Disease of Me in sight.

And in 60 minutes — they built something no scoreboard can take from them.

Hillel asked the question 2,000 years ago.

Holiday answered it this week in my Kindle.

Dusty Baker said it on a baseball field in San Francisco.

Solomon wrote it in Proverbs.

👉 Stop performing. Start becoming.

Because chaos is still chaos —

No matter how good your public relations are.

Stay with it. ⚾