Two ballplayers of widely disparate hitting abilities recently found themselves at the batting cages together. Player one—we’ll call him Dan—had gotten his season off to an outstanding start. He’d spent the off-season in a rigorous conditioning program, lifting weights and stretching, hitting off a tee in his garage, studying tapes, and fine-tuning his mental approach. Subsequently, when springtime rolled around, he came out hot. His early season average soared a full one hundred points above that of his lifetime. He was hitting the ball hard, consistently, even homering at an alarming rate. Finally he’d become the player he’d always wanted to be.

Player two—we’ll call him Bobby—did none of the above. As natural a softball hitter as there ever was, Bobby did nothing more or less than he always does to keep his game sharp. Tournament ball from early spring to late fall, a few month break from the game, then a few preseason BP sessions, and he was ready to go again. (Bobby hits homers with a near-Major Player frequency.) He came to the cages to work a few kinks out of his swing, but otherwise, he was—or soon would be—all right, as a lifetime of consistency would attest.

By appearances that day, Dan was clearly the better hitter. His cuts were crisp; the balls were rocketing off his bat. Even Bobby seemed impressed with the vast improvement Dan had made. Bobby, on the other hand, just plain stunk. There was none of his old form present in the cages. His bat speed was down, his timing was off, and he was topping the ball to the point where he looked like a very weak hitter indeed. Finally, it seemed, Dan belonged on the same field as Bobby.

Immediately thereafter, Dan went into a tailspin. In a month’s time, his average dropped precipitously, and his home run frequency—previously an unimportant statistic in Dan’s case—assumed more human proportions.

So what happened?

Simply put, along with the revelation that he was good enough to compete with the likes of Bobby, there was a subtle, nagging suspicion that he was not. Never verbalized, seldom given even a fleeting conscious consideration, it was nevertheless there, lurking just beneath the surface. Years of experience and observation, however incorrect now, were allowed to play havok in his subconscious mind. Left unchecked, they were able to undo virtually everything that had been done in the last several months.

Dan’s inner demon caused several things—all of them bad--to happen. First, the voice tempted him to try to prove he had indeed risen to Bobby’s level. Rather than taking the gains in stride, he began pressing, trying too hard to maintain his exceptional performance. Then the tension started to mount, and with it, he lost all sense of that easy, free-flowing zone experience. Next, the doubts started to creep into his consciousness. He didn’t belong on the same field as Bobby…or did he? He didn’t know. He became dual-minded, without focus, without a clear understanding of what it was he was doing in the batter’s box. Soon it was as if none of the off-season efforts had had any effect at all. Unable to relax, his hitting woes began to feed off themselves. Each mishit, each pop-up, each miserable grounder, became further evidence in the case against him. Even the occasional bomb came to be viewed as a fluke. The point is, Dan began to think too much, giving too much heed to the voices within. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the game, he wrestled with his demons…and lost.

The cure, then, was simple: he had to change his pattern of thinking. Rather, he had to stop thinking. Like the pitcher who starts aiming the ball instead of throwing it, he needed to let go. And only when he realized this was he able to right himself. Instead of focusing on the process of hitting,, or even on the process of relaxing, he needed to focus on the ball again.

Along these lines, he finally recalled an old trick for tightening his focus. And quieting his mind. He picked a spot on the ball where he wanted to make contact, and imagined a little black x there. Then he tracked the little black x with his full attention. Nothing was allowed to intrude on his focus. And when he was able to do that, the voices were suddenly silent. He was on auto pilot, with no devils to distract him, and he was free to hit again…

Silence the demons within, and you will hit like never before.