The Lovable Reunion - Cubs NUDE batting practice, EXPERT hitting tips & WS Game 7 | John Mallee, Eric Hinske, Ross & Rizzo

Welcome back to the Loveable Reunion Podcast. I’m here with David Ross and the best hitting-coach duo we ever had in 2016, John Mallee and Eric Hinske.

This is the cage crew. Hitting coaches are basically therapists, and these two did it every day without flinching.

We outscored teams by a ton that year, and this was before daily hitter meetings. You two worked old school and new school at the same time—how did that click so fast?

Our strengths meshed. Eric lived in the box and brought that heartbeat; I had years of coaching and could simplify the why. He delivered truth players respected, and I filled in with sequencing and adjustments.

We met, loved the grind, loved the cage, and yeah, we could hang after hours. I’m five years sober now, but back then the bond was real and it showed up at work.

You two posted every day and set the tone. That consistency is what a long season demands.

Before daily meetings, I’d walk in and ask, what do we got? You had a plan for each pitcher, each at-bat. Those routines made me a better big leaguer.

With Ross, timing how to talk mattered. He’d come straight from catching fires and want the plan in two breaths. With Rizz, I’d preach stop swinging at the up-and-in heater; he’d crush one and say, see, but the odds told the truth. Our job was to pull guys back physically and mentally.

Ski’s got three rings, two as a player and one as a coach. His approach tips were gold, like start earlier, keep it simple.

In 2014, Ski changed my lens. We’d run through situations, and he told me to crowd the plate so that inside chase turned into either a take or a bruise. That move unlocked lefties for me.

We used the shift against them. Get on the dish, turn outside into middle, and stay through it. I related because I was that big lefty too, and it worked—even if it meant a lot of hit-by-pitches.

In the playoffs I begged him to back off the plate to avoid a hit that would sideline him. He said, I beat cancer, I’m not scared of a fastball. That stuck with me.

When I was offered a day off against a lefty, Ski barked post up. I played. That mindset mattered to me and the room.

Everyday guys earn respect. Lefties ate me alive at times, so I admired how you stayed behind the ball and beat both gaps. That’s championship stuff.

People forget how isolated hitting coaches can be. The front office rides you, and players lean on you. The best I had were you two and James Rousen—real ones who lost sleep with us.

Theo asked if I had an assistant in mind; we met Ski, talked life more than swings, and I knew he was my guy. Trust first. We’d be wrong together or right together, but we’d be together.

Everything I know about running the room and the biomech basics, I learned with Mallee. I’m better riding shotgun with him than leading without him.

When I was off, you two shielded the noise, translated the data, and gave me one clear cue. That’s what you want when you step in the box—your coaches right there with you.

We lived every at-bat with you. I’d even joke, imagine going up there with my swing, just to loosen you up.

Ski passed down the one-oh auto take from Delgado. For nearly a decade, I’d take one-oh to see another look and control counts. It wasn’t trendy, but it kept me on plan.

That came from my scars. I rolled over too many changeups thinking sinker, so I told Rizz: buy the extra pitch and let the count work for you.

It became my identity. Opponents knew it, so I’d play cat-and-mouse, but the confidence was real.

Your two-strike game was elite. If you survive to three-two, you’re back on offense. Not many can live there; you did.

I hated striking out. With two strikes I’d expand just enough to spoil that nasty one, then hunt the next pitch to do damage.

How’d we know 2016 was special? You came out 21 and six in the cold. It was obvious.

The lineup was relentless. We pulled the ball in the air and walked, and you could hit with two strikes. That combination breaks teams.

Joe Maddon's magic was freedom. Be yourself, zero extra stress off the lines, then it’s all business when the game starts.

He ditched the old stiffness. If you felt good in what you wore, wear it. He even had toenail-paint trips. It sounds silly, but it kept the room loose for the fight that mattered.

We both coached Ohtani. He had a huge leg kick and was late on heaters, so I told him, get grounded sooner. He tried it in BP, started hammering, and committed. Simple can be powerful.

What separates great hitters for teaching kids?

Time. They’re almost never late, and when they are, their move lets them ride it and keep the barrel in the zone forever.

The best adjust fast and want the why. As a coach you must explain what’s happening, why it’s happening, and how to feel the fix. Data helps now; with Bryce we used overhead views to show his contact point drift. Once he saw it, the adjustment made sense.

When did you feel we were truly loaded?

From the jump in 16, and the end of 15 told us. When Dexter surprised us in spring saying he was back, it felt like, alright, let’s roll.

At the deadline we were already way over five hundred and then added Chapman. That’s when I thought, we’re winning it all.

True story break: my naked cage drill. I’d drop the shorts to free up my stride work off the tee. Weird, yes. Effective, absolutely.

I’d feed the tee, he’d make his move, and we’d crack up. It worked, and the laughter kept him loose.

We celebrated hard in the dugout and stayed in our lane. Other teams hated it, but it was our family vibe.

Joe’s 20-minute rule after losses and the music in his room said, flush it. That steadiness is leadership.

Experience plus information is the real edge. You two balanced both and related to different mindsets in the room.

Peers help too. In the cage we traded ideas constantly. Routine mattered, and small timing cues mattered even more.

I made Mallee flip outside the L-screen so I could see the arm and sync my leg kick. Sorry about your knees, coach.

I learned to always be in the cage so guys never had to hunt for us. Routine is trust.

Best road nights came with accountability. You go out, you still post, and sometimes you rake because your mind’s quiet.

Time away helps clarity. After injuries or a reset, guys often stop overthinking and just compete.

Game seven in Cleveland, that long walk to the cage, and seeing you two calm and ready—that settled me. I did my routine, got a nod, and felt, let’s go.

Right before first pitch, Mallee pulled me aside and spoke from the heart. I’ll never forget that.

No joke, without you two I’m not that player and maybe we don’t win. You believed, you tweaked the right things, and you had our backs.

We chirped hard from the dugout because we cared. If a pitcher glanced our way, we let him hear it. Dex’s leadoff homer had us telling Kluber we’d be there all night, and we meant it.

We’ve asked everyone about the rain delay. We were on the ropes, then came out different. What did you feel on your side? I poured a drink and got ready.

The place was deafening, momentum vanished, and then that weight-room huddle snapped us back. It’s a haze now, but the feeling was simple: we’re not going home without it.

That’s how locked in we were, and we appreciate you two being here. Quick one: what was your favorite moment from 2016?

I keep thinking about the Giants series and Javy owning that swing; does anything beat that?

That’s the one for me—Javy set the vibe, then Willson shot one up the middle, and our dugout lost it. The flight home was ice packs and pure joy.

We closed it out in San Francisco and avoided a winner-take-all against peak Johnny Cueto after edging him one to nothing in game one, and we’d been down late with their bullpen wobbling and all that even-year chatter. That win pulled us tighter, and every playoff W after that welded the group; a decade later, that bond still feels brand new.

Love you guys; it truly feels like we’re back in that happy, grinding bubble.

And now we’re somehow sober—how did that happen?

Thanks for coming on—we love you, and we’re celebrating tonight.