Inside the Phillies: Kendrick learns his lesson

CLEARWATER, Fla. - Riding on a late-night bus from Rochester or Scranton or some other International League town last summer, Kyle Kendrick finally began to understand what Jamie Moyer, Rich Dubee, and others had been telling him for two years.

When success rushes toward you at age 22, and older people caution against thinking it will always be that easy, you hear without listening. It takes failure to feel it.

Kendrick was sent to the minor leagues last March, on a day that threatened to signal the downswing of a brief career. To continue in baseball, Kendrick needed to add pitches, but far more important and far more difficult, he would need to grow up, fast.

Remarkably and to his everlasting credit, he has. Spring- training stories about optimism and catharsis should always be regarded with skepticism, but for Kendrick, the change is real.

His gait in the clubhouse, his temperament during games, and his ability to tune out distractions are all new, and all grew out of struggle in 2009. The sharp turnaround came just in time to save the 25-year-old's chances of succeeding again for the Phillies.

Kendrick's unexpected whiff of success became the root of later problems. Because of injuries to the big- league rotation, the Phils summoned the 22-year-old Kendrick from all the way down in double A in June 2007.

Young and undeveloped, Kendrick brought one polished pitch to the majors, a sinker. That fooled the league for much of the summer, and Kendrick surprised everyone by going 13-4 with a 3.87 earned run average, and even started a playoff game.

While Moyer, Dubee (the team's pitching coach), and other experts saw a pitcher who would eventually struggle without a change-up, cutter, and more knowledge about pitching, Kendrick developed a self-confidence that crossed into swagger.

"I wish I had gone about my business differently," the pitcher said last week. "Obviously, I didn't think I was going anywhere."

According to Kendrick and teammates, the rookie became too comfortable in his new environment. He violated the archaic baseball tradition that youngsters should keep silent. He read every newspaper story about how well he was pitching, and his ego swelled.

A severe comedown began in spring training the following year, when pitcher Brett Myers and others executed an elaborate prank on Kendrick.

As anyone with an Internet connection knows, Myers, then-assistant general manager Ruben Amaro Jr., and manager Charlie Manuel told Kendrick he had been traded to a Japanese team. A visibly shaken Kendrick, in his first big-league camp, was forced to address reporters before learning of the joke.

"I wasn't like 'That was cool' at all," said Kendrick, who had never even met Amaro before that day. "I was pretty upset."

He was more upset about his performance that season. Hitters figured out the sinker, and a stunned Kendrick saw his earned run average approach 6.00. By the time the Phils were in the World Series, Kendrick had been reduced to working out in Clearwater, ready to join the postseason roster in case someone was injured.

The hasty arrogance Kendrick developed in 2007 left him disoriented one year later, incapable of processing failure. In that state, he reported to spring training in 2009 and hoped to win the final spot in the rotation, over J.A. Happ and Chan Ho Park.

An outburst of "Why me?" body language during an early March game led to a quick exit from that competition. Kendrick was demoted to the minor-league camp and told that if he ever wanted to return, he would have to improve his change-up and attitude.

It took about six weeks for the self-pity to become resolve. That is where the impossible-to-explain, deep, and essential transformation occurred. Somewhere during a minor-league life filled with bus rides, a thought crystallized in Kendrick's mind: He was not entitled to a job in the major leagues. He needed to earn it.

Around the same time, his change-up started to feel better. He decided it was time for a more settled personal life, and proposed to his girlfriend (she accepted). Everything was in place again, except it was better, and Kendrick brought that wisdom to Florida with him this winter.

The change-up and cutter are much improved, but something else equally important has changed.

As Kendrick tells it, he was unable for much of the last two years to narrow his focus during competition.

It is crucial for pitchers to ignore distractions, and care about only what they can control. But when Kendrick was on the mound, he would hear the crowd, and wonder what Manuel and Dubee were thinking about him, and what the people in the press box were writing. He overthought pitch selection, shaking off his catchers too often.

"Now, the focus is just me and the hitter and the catcher. That's it," he said, before excusing himself from a conversation in front of his locker. It was early afternoon at Bright House Field, and Moyer was waiting in the lobby.

The two pitchers - ostensibly competing for the fifth starter's job, though Moyer will likely win that role, sending Kendrick to the bullpen for a while - planned to have lunch. They have dined together several times this year, talking about how to grow and survive as a pitcher.

"He told me that two years ago, not to take anything for granted," Kendrick said, pulling on a hooded sweatshirt and walking away. "Should have listened. Now, it has clicked."