Treehouse: Is This Sophomore's $3,500 Bet Going to Get Him the Last Laugh?
So I joined the baseball team sophomore year, right?
And it’s like… I don’t know, man. It’s weird. Because I’m there. I show up to practice, I do the drills, I’m part of the team. But it’s like nobody actually sees me. You know what I mean? Like, I’ll make a joke in the dugout and everyone laughs—everyone laughs—and then five minutes later it’s like I’m invisible again. They’ll be talking about who’s got potential, who’s gonna get scouted, who’s the future of this program, and my name never comes up. Not once.
And it’s not like I’m bad. I’m not saying I’m gonna go pro or anything, but I’m solid. I’m there. But they look right through me. Coach looks right through me. It’s like I’m this… I don’t know, this mascot or something. The guy who keeps morale up. The personality. Everyone’s always telling me I have a “great personality.” You know what that means, right? It means you’re funny, but not important. It means you’re entertaining, but not essential.
But here’s the thing—and this is what kills me—I am kind of a big deal. Like, in class? People know me. I walk down the hallway and people say what’s up. I’m not some nobody. On the team? Same thing. They love me. They quote me. I’ll say something stupid and it becomes a thing for like two weeks. But can I do anything with that? Can I leverage it? No. Because what am I gonna do, put “well-liked in the locker room” on my college applications?
I’ve been practicing stand-up in my mirror since I was like fourteen. Every night. I know my angles, I know my timing, I know what works. And I’m telling you right now—I don’t care what anybody on this team tells me, I don’t care if they think it’s stupid or whatever—I know I’m the shit. I know it. I can feel it. I just need the right platform.
So I’m starting a podcast. Yeah, a comedy podcast. Slapstick, physical humor, the whole thing. And before you say anything, yes, I know podcasts are audio. I’m doing video too. I’m going all in. I spent thirty-five hundred dollars on equipment. Microphones, interface, cameras, lights, the works. My parents think I’m insane. My mom was like, “That’s your college fund,” and I’m like, “Mom, this is my college fund.” This is my investment in myself.
Because here’s what I know that these guys don’t: after we graduate, none of these losers are ever going to see me again. They’re gonna go to state school, join a frat, peak at twenty-two, and spend the rest of their lives talking about high school baseball like it was the pinnacle of human achievement. And me? I’m gonna be out there. I’m gonna be doing my thing. I’m gonna be the guy they see on their feed one day and go, “Wait, isn’t that the guy from the team?” And yeah. Yeah, it is.