Anthony Iapoce is currently an assistant hitting coach with the Houston Astros. Photo: MLB.com.
He’s coached Hall of Famers and has worked under some of the winningest managers of all time.
But the most important day of Anthony Iapoce’s baseball life might’ve come when he was 17 years old playing in the New York City Catholic League championship on the sacred grounds of Yankee Stadium.
“We won 3-1,” Iapoce recalled. “I was 1-for-3 with a walk."
It wasn’t the box score that caught the attention of then-Lamar University Coach Jim Gilligan, though. It was the way Iapoce, who grew up about 6 miles away in Queens, comported himself.
“He said, ‘I liked your confidence running on and off the field. I watched you interact in the dugout. I loved the way you played catch. There was some intent there,’” Iapoce said.
Iapoce ultimately had a standout career at Lamar before being drafted by the Milwaukee Brewers in 1994. He’s currently an assistant hitting coach with the Houston Astros.
But he still routinely reflects on that Yankee Stadium afternoon when he speaks to college and high school teams.
“You never know who's watching, and they're not just watching your performance,” Iapoce said.
Best of 7 continued its conversation with Iapoce about early coaching lessons, the importance of organizational alignment, and real vs. fake positivity.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Coach, what did you learn in those early years playing stickball in Queens that you apply to coaching now?
There were no coaches or parents involved, so what you try to take to the players is to create that accountability for themselves, create the self-trust that they had.
When you're playing on the playground, it's on you. You're not concerned about your stats or your swing. You just want to be able to play the next game, and the only way you can do that is to win. You’re so present because you’re not concerned about the statistical information that helps players get paid.
The self-coaching is what you try to help. They're in the batter's box alone. We’re always trying to explain to them that it's probably the most selfish thing in team sports. It’s not a football play. It's not hockey, where somebody's passing you the puck. It's not an alley-oop in basketball. You're by yourself. So you try to take them back to when they were able to do that when they were confident, so dominant on the playground. The best players don't lose that.
When did coaching get on your horizon?
I was 30 years old in the Minor Leagues, and you realize you're helping other players out. In the back of your mind, you’re like, “I think I could do this, I think I could probably coach pro ball somewhere if I wanted to.”
My first job was with the Marlins part time for $12,000 as a hitting coach in Jamestown, N.Y. It was never really about climbing. I was just trying to coach players through a long season. It’s extremely difficult to go from playing high school to playing 140 games away from your family. It is rough out there.
I wasn't even concerned about hitting or throwing — How do I get them through this? They're already good players, but if I could get them mentally to survive the season, they'd be good in the end.
You’ve coached at so many levels now. How do you balance what’s best for the organization vs. what’s best for the player vs. what’s best for yourself?
Pretty much all organizations are finding ways to draft and develop players, hand them over to us, whether you're in the Minor Leagues or big leagues. I always tell the players, “We drafted you because we think you can help us win a World Series.” It’s having players keep that mind when things don't go right. It’s playing the long game with them and keeping the long-term vision of the organization to understand what's beneficial for the player.
You want the player to be successful. You want the player to help win a World Series, but you also want them to be able to perform enough to where they can take care of their family when they get done.
It becomes a tough balance in baseball, because as a hitter, you have to be selfishly unselfish, unselfishly selfish. You’ve got to do what’s best for the team, but you're also trying to provide numbers for arbitration and a good contract. But I truly believe if you take care of what's in front of you in the game, the numbers will happen.
Some good thoughts. I think that applies to coaches as well.
If you're a hitting coach, there's so much failure in it. There’s been a few moments in my career where players could tell something was wrong.
The moment you hear from them, like, “Hey, you're doing great… The boys are with you,” you're just like, “Whoa.” That gives you two months of confidence as a hitting coach.
Your everyday guys are going to struggle over the course of 500 plate appearances, and everybody thinks there's a quick fix, especially swing wise because you have all the data and the analytics. But it takes time. It takes drill work, and it also takes belief from the players. Having the alignment of the organization helps the coach help the player.
I think the fact that coaches need confidence and can struggle at points, too, can get overlooked.
I'll be blunt with the players if I'm not feeling it. There’s usually a few players that you can really talk with when you're struggling — you miss your family or you missed a game of one of your kids and you’re feeling guilty but not trying to bring that into your work.
Ian Desmond and Adrian Beltre really helped me through that, because you're dealing with your first year in the big leagues. You're dealing with being away from home. You're in Dallas.
I think sometimes it gets so player-oriented that the staff is waiting. But if the mental skills and that department help develop the staff… it can only help the players when the coaches feel good about themselves.
That’s really mature perspective. I’m curious — what’s the most meaningful failure you’ve had in your career?
I was a 33rd rounder, so you had to earn your way each year. Double A, in ’98, was my best year by far — 181 hits. I think I was second in the Minor Leagues. I got put on a 40-man roster and was excited, but I went into Major League spring training thinking, “O.K. I'm not going to make the team. I'm going to start out in Triple A. Let me just play defense and all that.”
I think that trickled into the beginning of the year in Triple A where I really struggled for the first time. I was looking at who was behind me. I really spiraled. If I look back on that, my mentality would be like, “I'm making this team,” and if I didn't make the team, I would have carried that to Triple A.
I got released and didn't play for a year. I felt like I let people down. I was really hard on myself. But I started doing lessons and doing what I’m telling kids myself — not being fake positive, being real positive, finding something good every day. That got me into coaching. I never wanted a player to go through that.
You mention fake positive and real positive. What’s the difference to you?
Being fake positive means you really don't have any strategy or confidence or belief in what's actually ahead of you. You’re just saying, “I’m going to stay positive.”
I think (being real positive is) you're understanding of what the player is going through, and you're giving a strategy. “Hey, I'm here for you. Here's some things that I think can help you get through it.” If you seek good things, you'll see good things. If you seek bad things, you're going to see bad things.
It’s going, “O.K. Here's what I can control.” Being real positive is being really honest.
What I learned…
It never occurred to me that a hitting coach could see his confidence waver with player performance — but I appreciated Iapoce’s vulnerability and larger humility around his own battles with self-belief.
“There’s so much failure in it” was an illuminating quote that I think applies far beyond the batting cage or the clubhouse.
Additionally, I loved Iapoce’s story of getting recruited to Lamar.
It’s not that the notion of “You never know who’s watching” was entirely foreign to me, but hearing him detail how the manner in which he played catch that afternoon at Yankee Stadium ultimately led him to Division I was a good reminder that the seemingly trivial stuff can be a huge differentiator.