If You Don't Like It, Play Better
“When people ask me ‘How do you make it in show business?’ And what I always tell them—I’ve said it for many years, and nobody ever takes note of it because it’s not the answer they want to hear. What they want to hear is, ‘Here’s how you get an agent,’ or ‘Here’s how to write a script.’ But I always say, ‘Be so good they can’t ignore you.’ If somebody is thinking, ‘How can I be really good?’ people are going to come to you. It’s much easier doing it that way than going to cocktail parties.”
- Steve Martin, comedian, actor, and writer
There was a time when playing minor league baseball meant accepting a level of hardship few professions demanded. Cramped fourteen-hour bus rides. Barely edible pregame spreads. Ill-fitting uniforms. Dilapidated facilities. A schedule of 144 games in 160 days. A 10:00 a.m. start time after an extra-inning game the night before. Five teammates living in a three-bedroom apartment. All while earning less than minimum wage.
Griping about these conditions became a pastime of its own among the minor leaguers. Deep down, I don’t think anyone believed that complaining would change much. That certainly didn't stop us. And as cathartic as the complaining could feel, a coach knew exactly how to put an end to it:
“If you don’t like it, play better.”
I heard that expression so many times throughout my career that I eventually began to tune it out. It struck me as painfully obvious. Of course I wanted to play better. If I knew how to do that, then I would be doing it already. It also felt less like advice and more like an indictment: your talent, or lack thereof, was the reason you were in this spot.
Only years later, with the benefit of hindsight and some emotional distance, did I realize I had been misinterpreting that expression.
'Play better’ wasn’t a dig, it was a challenge—not simply to produce better results, but to become a better player. The surest way to do that was to focus on developing skills so valuable the organization couldn’t ignore you.
Better players got promoted. Better players gained leverage. Eventually, the very best players were able to exchange their superior skill for vastly better circumstances at the Major League level.
Looking back, ‘play better’ and Steve Martin’s ‘be so good they can't ignore you’ represent two sides of the same coin. The lesson isn't unique to baseball. In any field where skill is the primary currency, the best jobs, the highest compensation, and the most freedom belong to those who possess rare and valuable skills.
When you’re stuck in the minor leagues, complaining, playing the victim, or convincing yourself that the organization is screwing you over can be an easy trap.
But it never helps.
Any energy spent on those self-defeating behaviors was wasted. Every ounce of it would have been better invested in the only thing that could have changed my situation: continual improvement.
If I could go back and have $100 to spend on development versus exposure, every dollar would go toward development. Yet I constantly hear from amateur players or their parents asking which showcases to attend, college camps to visit, travel ball teams to play for, or what types of recruiting videos will stand out.
I understand why. There's a psychological comfort in believing you're taking control of your future by making the “right” choices in these areas. It feels like progress.
Usually, it’s not.
The fancy showcases, expensive travel ball teams, and flashy equipment are the cocktail parties of the youth baseball industry. More often, they're a distraction from the harder, less certain work of developing world-class skills.
In the end, the only thing that actually moves the needle—whether you’re a big leaguer trying to stick there, a minor leaguer working to get to the show, or an amateur player pursuing college or the professional ranks—is this:
Be so good they can’t ignore you. It’s much easier doing it that way than going to cocktail parties.