Have you ever watched a practice and wondered if all that time is actually building anything? You see the buckets of balls, the coaches hitting fungos, the kids running drills. But does it really translate to that Friday night when the lights are bright and the bases are loaded? What’s the missing piece between a team that looks great in practice and one that performs when it counts?
The gap, it turns out, isn’t always about talent. It’s about the environment you build during the week. The best teams I’ve seen—and the ones that consistently find a way to win—don’t just practice their skills. They practice the feeling of the game. They get comfortable being uncomfortable.
Let’s be honest. Most practice sessions are predictable. A player knows they’ll get another swing if they miss this one. An outfielder knows there’s a whole bucket of balls left, so dropping one fly ball isn’t a big deal. There are no real stakes. Then game day arrives, and suddenly every single pitch feels massive. The error in the third inning looms for the rest of the game. The pressure feels new and overwhelming.
This is where a clever idea comes into play. One college program, as detailed on Coaches Insider, made a simple but brutal change. They introduced a drill called “Top 25 Defense.” The concept is beautifully straightforward: the entire defensive unit has to field 25 balls in a row perfectly. One mistake, one bobbled grounder, one dropped pop-up, and the counter resets to zero. Think about that for a second. It’s no longer about one kid’s error. That error now wipes out the collective effort of the entire team.
Suddenly, practice isn’t just about you. There’s a shared accountability that simply doesn’t exist in a standard drill. When a player boots a ball, they’re not just letting themselves down; they’re letting everyone down. And the team has to pick them up, encourage them, and get right back to work to start the count all over again. That’s not just practicing fielding. That’s practicing resilience. That same team saw their national defensive ranking climb into the top 20, not by accident, but because they learned to perform under a self-imposed strain. They made pressure their teammate.
Running a standard scrimmage is one thing. But how often in a real game are the situations standard? The magic happens—or the meltdowns occur—in the weird, specific moments. The bases-loaded, nobody-out jam. The runner on third with less than two outs. The tie game in the final inning with your number nine hitter at the plate.
This is where you can get truly inventive with limited time and space. Instead of just playing innings, you script the chaos. A guide from GoRout suggests drills like the “21 Out Drill,” where the defense has to record 21 consecutive outs without a mental mistake. Or “Situation Scrimmages,” where every single batter comes up to the plate with a pre-set scenario. The coach announces it to everyone: “Okay, bottom of the sixth, we’re down by one, runner on second.” The defense has to huddle and decide where they’re playing, who’s covering what base, and what they’re doing if the ball is hit to them. The offense has to understand their job—move the runner over, get a fly ball, whatever it takes.
This does two things brilliantly. First, it makes thinking the game a reflex. Players stop being surprised by the unusual and start expecting it. Second, it exposes who can handle the cognitive load of the game. You’ll quickly see which players are locked in and which ones are just waiting to be told what to do. You’re building a team of problem-solvers, not just athletes waiting for a command.
We’ve talked about drills that build pressure and situational awareness. But what about when things go wrong? And they will go wrong. A pitcher hangs a curveball. A sure out gets thrown away. How a team responds to failure is what separates a good season from a great one.
This is the part that goes beyond the white lines. A case study of a community college team, found on CBT SoCal, is a masterclass in this. This was a group that, on paper, had every reason to fold. They lost a huge number of players before the season even started. They were dealing with personal tragedies and academic stress. They were losing game after game. But they stuck together, and they won their final game. How?
They focused on the stuff that doesn’t show up in a box score. They worked on managing the inner voice after a strikeout. They practiced how to reset after a bad call. They created a culture where it was okay to not be okay, but it wasn’t okay to quit on your teammates. They had support to help them work through the stuff that was happening off the field, because that stuff always comes onto the field with you. You can’t just tell a kid to “toughen up” when they’re dealing with real life. You have to give them the tools to compartmentalize and to bounce back. That final win wasn’t a fluke. It was the result of a hundred small moments where they chose to fight back instead of giving in.
So, what can you do with all this? Your job isn’t to replicate a college-level practice. It’s to borrow the spirit of it.
Turning practice obstacles into championship moments isn’t about a secret drill or a magic formula. It’s about intentionally designing your practices to be difficult, unpredictable, and psychologically demanding. You’re building more than a team. You’re building a unit that knows how to handle the heat because they’ve felt it every single week. And that’s a group that’s tough to beat.