As Mets' rookie Brett Baty searches for answers, his Texas roots offer clues (2024)

AUSTIN, Texas — From behind the wheel of a black F-150 at a quiet intersection, Clint Baty gazed into a clear Texas night and recalled words from his son that made him proud.

Brett Baty uttered them over the phone from Rookie Ball four years ago, having finally busted out of a long slump to start his professional career.

“I’m glad it happened to me now,’’ the 19-year-old told his father that night, “because now I know how to deal with it.”

Clint Baty recounted this story in June, not knowing just how urgent that lesson looks now. He couldn’t have known then that by the second week of August, his son would struggle so much that he’d be demoted to Triple A for a “reset.”

On this night, Dad just shared the story because it made him smile. From the driver’s seat of his truck during a trek through where his son grew up, Clint Baty said, “That was great to hear from him, from a maturity standpoint.”

As current circ*mstances again test Baty’s character, stories like that are worth listening to. There are plenty from around these parts.

A list of adjectives family and friends use most often to describe Baty: quiet, chill, calm, smart, loyal, serious, dependable, hard-working, confident. Leslie Baty, Brett’s mother, likes to joke that her son isn’t well-rounded but one-dimensional; as a kid, he had no use for toys because he was all about ball, all the time. “He’s like this,” Leslie said, moving her hand across her body horizontally as if smoothing out a surface, “he’s always been so calm.”

From the backseat of Clint Baty’s truck during a drive through Marble Falls, Texas, Leslie Baty, offered another trait: adaptable. Baty spent the early years of his childhood in Marble Falls, which has a population of about 7,000. It’s the kind of quaint place where one of the best-known eateries, Blue Bonnet Cafe — “good ol’ down-home cooking right there,” Clint Baty says — has attracted a noontime line outside the door for nearly 100 years. Think: few stoplights, many family-owned businesses. As Clint Baty put it, “We don’t have any places with New York traffic.”

But it’s a different world now. And rush hour is the least of the rookie’s concerns.

On Aug. 7, the New York Mets demoted Baty — their everyday third baseman since his call-up in mid-April — amid a brutal slump. The Mets’ brass deliberated on the decision for a couple of weeks. In 311 plate appearances, the 23-year-old slashed just .216/.289/.331. He had gone hitless since Aug. 1, striking out eight times in the six games after the Mets officially became sellers at the trade deadline. All the while, poor defense metrics confirmed Baty’s suspect glove; his pop-up blunder in mid-July served as a microcosm for a team’s season gone awry. Mets manager Buck Showalter called the move to option Baty a “little timeout” to “take a breath,” adding, “mental, emotional, just kind of let him work on some things without the day-to-day.”

No one in the Mets’ brain trust has ruled out a quick return for Baty. In six games since rejoining Triple-A Syracuse, Baty has three home runs.

Clearly, Baty needs to make adjustments at the plate and improve defensively in order to stick in the major leagues. But the ability to navigate the mental and emotional side of the game also lingers as an important obstacle — especially in New York City. For top prospects in New York like Baty, success partially depends on an ability to handle intense scrutiny.

A former major-league catcher, Rob Johnson has served as a mentor to Baty in Texas for the past 10 years. Johnson played for the Mets in 2012 and understands the challenge that comes with New York. “It’s just the amount of distractions. It’s just more,” he said. “So it’s being able to deal with the more, limiting yourself and staying grounded on what makes you, you. Brett has those qualities and he’s grounded enough as a guy to handle those pressures.”

Those who know Baty best point to Baty’s parents as the source of that foundation. Clint Baty, who comes across as kind, generous and laid-back upon a first impression, retired last year after a successful career spanning more than two decades as a high school baseball coach. He coached his son at Lake Travis High School. Leslie Baty, whose outgoing personality and curiosity jump out in conversation, worked for 25 years in education in a variety of roles, including teacher, administrator and principal. She was the principal of Spicewood Elementary, a school that Baty once attended, that sits alone atop a hill in quintessential small-town fashion.

On draft day in 2019 at MLB Network’s studio in Secaucus, New Jersey, Baty’s parents watched him don a Mets cap and jersey — then they didn’t see him for a while. Dozens of reporters soon formed an enduring scrum around him. With a laugh, Clint Baty says thought to himself at the time, “Oh, boy. What did you get yourself into here?”

As for that word she uses to describe her son — adaptable — allow Leslie Baty to explain: “I know what you’re saying. Going from this environment to New York City. It’s a big change. But he’s very adaptable. He’s probably a small-town guy at heart. He likes the quiet this provides. But he’s also had a good time in New York. He has never mentioned to us being worried about anything. I don’t think it bothers him. He’s just an adaptable person.”

In his profession, Clint Baty is supposed to know what impressive hand-eye coordination looks like. He said he saw it in his son at an early age. In tee ball, Baty fielded a grounder from the left side of the infield, co*cked back to make a strong throw, but relented upon seeing a kid playing first base who looked uncomfortable making a catch so instead lobbed the ball over. After the game, Clint Baty said in the car, “We’re moving.” Leslie Baty responded, “Wait, what?” They didn’t end up moving immediately. But after a couple of years they did leave. The parents wanted their son to face pressure situations and consistently play against tough, older and more advanced competition.

As a young coach with a young family, Clint Baty said he learned from more experienced parents and instructors. One thing that got passed down: how to develop strength while learning manners. Brett Baty and his older sister Lauren would perform pushups for saying “yeah” and “uh-huh” instead of “yes, ma’am” and “thank you.” Their old house in Marble Falls still inspires rave reviews about the backyard from Brett Baty. The area included a concrete slab back there with a basketball hoop, swimming pool, trampoline and covered porch. “We made it into a playground because we had young kids,” Clint Baty said with a laugh. It was a good life. Blocks consist only of large houses. The middle school sat within walking distance. On a random day in June at a field where Baty honed his skills after outgrowing other areas, a deer casually ran just beyond the outfield wall.

Eventually, the family relocated about 40 miles east toward Austin, where Baty starred as a multi-sport (baseball/football/basketball) athlete at Lake Travis High School. The Cavaliers play in 6-A, the largest classification in Texas. They more than hold their own, and it shows. Open the door to get inside the clubhouse and framed banners celebrating Baty as the state’s player of the year in 2018 greet visitors from the walls. The hallway toward the coaches’ office is decorated with a custom-designed entrance featuring action shots of former Lake Travis players who reached Major League Baseball. It may receive some updates over the next few years; the Cavaliers remain a perennial playoff contender.

In one playoff series a few years ago, Lake Travis won the first game at night and had a game the next day. At 6 a.m. on the morning of the second game, Baty went to the batting cage to work on something.

“Coach, the wind is blowing out to left field,” Baty told manager Mike Rogers. “I think I can hit one out to left field.”

“Sure enough,” Rogers said recently, “he hit an opposite-field home run.”

With Baker Mayfield and Garrett Wilson among the notable football alums, Lake Travis’ football facilities also look impressive with an indoor space and weight room featuring a seemingly endless supply of squat racks. Really, the basketball court with its older bleachers stands out as the remnant of what once started as a small school in the early 1980s. The venue was standing-room only when a couple of MLB scouts watched a game in which the 6-foot-3 Baty deftly defended 7-footer Will Baker, who eventually played Division I basketball, in a rivalry game. Scouts remember it fondly because it showcased Baty’s athleticism — and grit.

At one point in the game, Clint Baty called a timeout. His son walked over to the huddle. The father asked, “Are you OK?”

Son: “Yeah, why?”

Father: “You have a big knot in the middle of your forehead.”

Son: “Oh, I do? He elbowed me there. But I am good.”

At that point, Clint Baty said he thought to himself, “OK, this boy is locked in.”

As a sophom*ore in high school, Baty asked Johnson if the former big-leaguer turned baseball instructor could do him a favor. “It’s my last six games of at-bats,” Baty told Johnson. “Could you sit down with me and go over each one?” Johnson easily obliged the request and asked some questions. He opened Baty’s eyes about how teams weren’t challenging him with inside fastballs and how he can eliminate the pitch. Baty said that teams were throwing only curveballs to him. Johnson told him, “Well, sit on them.”

“The next night, he ended up sitting on a curveball and sending it about 440 feet,” Johnson said. “The fact that a kid that age would even ask to do stuff like that …”

A few days ago, Johnson and Baty spoke on the phone for about one hour. Johnson ended the call impressed with how Baty had understood his circ*mstances, acknowledged the areas where he needed to grow and recognized the amount of work it required.

“Anybody getting sent down, especially a highly regarded player, can hurt the ego, hurt the confidence, make you question a lot of things about yourself as a player and as a human,” Johnson said. “And I really think that he actually instantaneously kind of grew and took the other path.”

Like Johnson, Clint Baty also said that his son was handling the demotion well, and people around the Mets echo those sentiments. That helps. But it remains to be seen what kind of player Baty will be at the major-league level. He’s been accountable for his struggles — on the pop-up miscue last month, for instance, he referred to it as unacceptable — and has earned respect from veteran teammates for his preparation. Still, he needs results to follow. You know, like when he hit a home run in his first at-bat in the major leagues last season. It turns out that things aren’t that easy.

As Baty searches for answers, his father takes heart in that conversation from a low point in 2019. The Mets had just drafted him with the 12th pick and sent him to the Gulf Coast League, where he proved he had no business staying after just five days. Rookie-league Kingsport was different. For the first time, Baty, a left-handed batter, consistently saw high velocity from lefties who made up for poor command with raw, nasty stuff. Welcome to pro ball. After a couple of weeks of frustration and doubt, Baty busted out of a slump. That was the night he phoned his father.

“I think he’s pulling from that experience,” Clint Baty said recently, “to get through this one.”

(Top photo of Brett Baty from draft night in 2019: Julio Cortez / Associated Press)

Will Sammon is a staff writer for The Athletic, covering the New York Mets. A native of Queens, New York, Will previously covered the Milwaukee Brewers and Florida Gators football for The Athletic, starting in 2018. Before that, he covered Mississippi State for The Clarion-Ledger, Mississippi’s largest newspaper. Follow Will on Twitter @WillSammon