The Texarkana Bulldogs: Where the Grind Built the Player

When people talk about development in today’s game, the conversation usually starts with technology. Everything is measured, tracked and broken down. Players have access to tools that give them instant feedback, allowing adjustments to happen almost in real time.

But when I think back to my time with the Texarkana College Bulldogs in 1999 and 2000, I remember a version of the game that looked very different.

There were no numbers guiding your swing. No video waiting for you after the game. No shortcuts. What we had was repetition, competition and an environment that forced you to figure things out on your own.

That environment didn’t give you answers, it made you earn them.

Before This Chapter…

My story in Texas didn’t start in Texas, it started in Toronto. It started at York Baseball, at York Memorial, with the GTA Stars and with the Ontario Blue Jays. It started with coaches who believed in me, moments that pushed me and opportunities that came through relationships more than exposure.

That foundation was everything.

If you want to understand how that part of the journey was built, the early years, the people and the experiences that led me to junior college baseball, you can read that full story here:

👉The Canadian Baseball Journey That Shaped My Career

Because before junior college…

There was a kid who started the game at 12 years old, trying to catch up in a sport that already felt ahead of him and everything that happened next was built on that.

The Records We Had to Keep Ourselves

One thing people don’t realize about that era is how little of it actually exists online today.

There are no full databases, no easy box scores to pull up, no video archives you can scroll through. A lot of those seasons, those teams and those performances… they live in memory more than they do on the internet and that reality is even more true when you look at Texarkana.

The Texarkana College Bulldogs baseball program no longer exists.

The school itself is still there, but athletics were discontinued over time and with that, a lot of the history disappeared with it. When programs shut down, records don’t always get preserved the way they should. Stats, rosters, accomplishments… they slowly fade unless someone holds onto them.

Today, baseball in Texarkana is played through Texas A&M University–Texarkana, which built its own program in 2014. But that’s a different chapter, a new program, not a continuation of what we were part of. Which makes those old Texarkana College years even harder to find and that’s why I’m grateful for something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

My mom made me keep everything.

Every newspaper clipping, every article, every stat sheet she could get her hands on, she held onto it. Like any Italian mother, even from thousands of kilometres away, she wanted to build something that captured the journey. At the time, it felt like just another thing to do.

Now I understand what she was really doing.

She was preserving something that would have been lost. Because today, when you go looking for information from those years, it’s not there and if I didn’t have those clippings, those records and those pieces of history saved, a lot of that story would be gone too. That’s something players today don’t have to think about.

Everything is tracked, everything is saved, but back then… If you didn’t keep it yourself, it disappeared and looking back now, I’m thankful she made sure mine didn’t.

Junior College Baseball: The Reality

Junior college baseball is one of the most misunderstood levels of the game. From the outside, people see it as a step below Division I, but anyone who has been through it understands something very different.

It’s a proving ground.

Players arrive with something to prove. Some were overlooked, some are trying to rebuild their path, but everyone is there for the same reason, to move forward.

There is no comfort in JUCO baseball, there is no guarantee.

If you don’t perform, someone else is ready to take your spot. That pressure creates a different type of player. It forces you to grow up quickly, take ownership of your development and compete whether you feel ready or not.

Region XIV: Where You Had to Earn It

At Texarkana, we competed in Region XIV, one of the toughest junior college regions in the country, every weekend felt like a test.

Programs like San Jacinto, Blinn, Navarro, Alvin, Panola and Paris were loaded with talent. These weren’t just junior college teams, they were pipelines to Division I and professional baseball. The pitching was real, the lineups were deep and there were no easy innings. You couldn’t take a day off.

That environment didn’t just challenge you, it exposed you.

The 1999 Bulldogs: Learning How to Compete

The first real moment that defined Coach Deggs didn’t come during a game, it came before we ever picked up a bat.

During our first week, we were told to show up in full uniform, but not to bring any equipment. No gloves, no bats, nothing. At the time, it didn’t make much sense. You show up ready to play and instead, you’re standing there wondering what’s coming next.

Then it started.

We ran timed 60-yard dashes, over and over again, all week.

Along with conditioning drills that pushed you past your comfort zone and, while it looked like it was about running, it wasn’t. He was watching everything. Not just who was fast, but who kept going when they were tired. Who competed when it hurt, who pushed through adversity without saying a word. That first week told you everything you needed to know about the program.

This wasn’t about talent.

This was about toughness, a mindset and if you couldn’t handle that… Nothing else was going to matter.

There was another moment early on that summed up exactly who Coach Deggs was. One of our pitchers was chirping a bit, saying nobody could hit him. In his mind, he was a pitcher, period. That was his identity and he carried himself like no one on the field was going to touch him.

Coach Deggs had heard enough. Without making a big scene, he stepped in and said something along the lines of, “I haven’t faced a live pitcher in years.”

We were all on the bench watching, it was the start of practice, but now everyone was locked in. The pitcher got on the mound. First pitch — strike one. Deggs didn’t move. Just took it.

Second pitch… Gone.

Not a line drive, not a cheap one. A no-doubt home run, somewhere around 400 feet over the fence and just like that, the message was delivered. He wasn’t just a coach who talked about the game.

He could still do it.

Moments like that stay with you, because they show you something deeper. They show you credibility. They show you that the standard he was asking for wasn’t unrealistic, it was lived and that’s something I’ve carried with me into my own coaching.

The 1999 Season

If there’s one thing that really defined that team, it was how we played defense. Coach Deggs made it clear from day one, offense might get attention, but defense wins games.

And he didn’t just say it, he demanded it.

We were taught to play the game hard, to dive, to sacrifice your body. To take pride in making plays that other teams wouldn’t even attempt. There was an expectation that you finished every play, no matter what it took.

That mindset becomes part of you.

I remember one moment that still stands out to me, playing against Eastern Oklahoma. Late in the game, there was a ball hit into the gap. Our right fielder tracked it down and made a strong throw in. I was the cutoff, and without hesitation, I turned and made the throw home.

The runner was out, game over.

Before anything else, before the celebration even started to build, Coach Deggs was already on the field. He was the first one out there, fired up, celebrating that play. Not the hits, not the home runs, that play.

Because that was the standard.

That moment reinforced something that stayed with me, defense isn’t just part of the game, it is the game when it matters most.

1999 Statistics

The 1999 Texarkana Bulldogs were an offensive team that could compete with anyone.

We finished the season hitting .328 as a team, with 484 hits, 396 runs and 78 home runs. As a group, we carried a .427 on-base percentage and a .554 slugging percentage. But what made that team special wasn’t just the production, it was the depth.

There were no easy outs, every hitter could extend an at-bat, create pressure and contribute. Players like Jeramie Hale, Mark Younk, Jeff Blevins, Riley Fincher, Stephen Flood, Scott Ray and Chris Green were part of a lineup that forced pitchers to work every inning.

That environment demanded something from you, every single day.

That season was also where I began to truly understand hitting. I finished the year hitting .380 with a .488 on-base percentage, collecting 52 hits in 137 at-bats with 6 home runs and 39 RBIs and that performance earned me First Team All-Conference honors.

Looking back now, what stands out isn’t just the numbers, it’s the approach. That year taught me how to control the strike zone, how to compete pitch by pitch and how to stay present in the box. It taught me that hitting is not just about results, it’s about understanding the game within the game.

But just as importantly… It taught me that if you want to stay on the field, you better be able to defend. That lesson carried forward because the best players don’t just hit, they make plays when the game is on the line.

More Than Baseball: Lessons That Stayed With Me

One of the most impactful parts of that 1999 season had nothing to do with stats. Coach Deggs brought in someone he had connections with from professional baseball a former big leaguer who had managed him in the minors, Butch Hobson.

He came to Texarkana and spent time working with us hitters, but what stood out wasn’t just what he taught about hitting, it was what he shared about life.

He spoke openly about the challenges he faced during his career, including struggles with drugs and the reality of how quickly things can go the wrong way if you’re not grounded. For a group of young players chasing the game, that message hit differently.

It was honest, it was real and it stayed with you. Because in that moment, you realized something important, baseball isn’t just about talent.

It’s about choices.

At the same time, we were constantly around players who were already in professional baseball. Guys like Craig Monroe, Melvin Bunch and Brian Lawrence were at our field regularly, working out, talking with players and even jumping into drills.

They didn’t just show up for themselves, they gave back. They helped younger players and they showed you what the next level actually looked like, not just in ability, but in how they carried themselves, how they worked and how seriously they took the game.

That kind of exposure changes you, because once you see the standard up close…You can’t unsee it.

Coach Deggs: More Than a Coach

Coach Deggs wasn’t just a coach, he was someone who taught us how to compete in life. There are coaches who teach drills, run practices and manage games and then there are coaches who leave a mark on you far beyond the field.

Coach Deggs was one of those guys. He had our backs. Always.

He was the type of coach who would stand up for his players without hesitation, but at the same time, he demanded everything from you. There was no shortcut in his program, no entitlement, no excuses. One of his quotes was "Excuses are for losers."

His message was simple. Work your ass off… and I’ll find playing time for you, and he meant it.

I remember coming into Texarkana and seeing how he built the team. He recruited three shortstops, all players who had been “the guy” on their previous teams, but instead of forcing one into a role or cutting players based on labels, he moved guys around.

One to second base, one to third, one stayed at short.

It wasn’t about position, it was about competing and finding a way to contribute. That taught me something early, the game doesn’t care what you were before, it only cares about what you can do now.

On a personal level, one of the biggest impacts he had on me was how I played the game.

When I arrived, my mechanics were very structured. Everything I did was controlled, almost robotic. I was trying to be perfect instead of trying to be athletic.

He saw it right away and I still remember him telling me, in his own way, that I needed to loosen up and play more like a Latin player. What he meant wasn’t about style for the sake of style. It was about rhythm, it was about feel, it was about trusting your athleticism instead of thinking through every movement.

That shift changed everything for me.

The Texas–New Mexico All-Star Game

One of the highlights of that time was being selected to the Texas–New Mexico Junior College All-Star Game. That event brought together top players from across the region.

It was more than recognition, it was exposure. Scouts were there, coaches were watching and it gave players another opportunity to prove they belonged at the next level. But what I remember most about that experience wasn’t just the games.

It was everything around them.

There were three games in total, and I didn’t play in the first two. For a lot of players, that can be frustrating. You’re there to compete, to be seen, to prove yourself and you’re sitting, but even in those moments, you’re still being evaluated.

Between innings, I was out in the outfield playing catch with the right fielder. Just staying loose, staying ready. And like I always did, I started doing my glove tricks, deflecting the ball into my bare hand, working on feel, keeping my hands active.

To me, it was just part of how I stayed in rhythm, but people were watching.

I remember Coach Deggs walking over to me and saying, “Don’t stop… everybody in the stands is watching.”

That moment stuck with me.

Because it reminded me that evaluation doesn’t just happen when you’re in the lineup, it happens all the time. How you carry yourself, how you prepare and how you stay ready when your number isn’t called.

That’s all part of it.

When I finally got into the third game, I was ready. Not because I had been sitting around waiting, but because I had stayed locked in the entire time. That experience taught me something that I’ve carried into coaching.

Opportunity doesn’t always come when you expect it, but when it does… You better be ready because someone is always watching.

The 2000 Bulldogs: A Complete Offensive Team

If 1999 built the foundation, the 2000 team elevated everything.

We finished hitting .344 as a team, scoring 453 runs with 81 home runs. The on-base percentage sat at .431 and the slugging percentage at .587.

That’s elite.

But what made that team dangerous wasn’t just power, it was consistency. It was the ability to apply pressure inning after inning and never allow a pitcher to settle.

There were no breaks in that lineup.

In 2000, I hit .357 with 60 hits in 168 at-bats, along with 8 home runs and 38 RBIs. I carried a .435 on-base percentage and a .571 slugging percentage and once again earned All-Conference honors.

But more importantly, I grew.

I learned how to adjust to better pitching, I learned how to respond to failure and I learned that success at one level means nothing if you don’t continue to evolve.

That’s what JUCO baseball forces you to do.

Calling It Before It Happens

One of the things that made that 2000 season special wasn’t just the numbers or the wins. It was the belief that existed within that group.

Our leadoff hitter, Jeramie Hale, carried a quiet confidence about him. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone or make noise for the sake of it, but when he spoke, you listened, because there was a certainty behind it.

Before our first home game of the season, Hale said something that stuck with me. It wasn’t something he kept repeating all the time, but he had mentioned it before, and when he said it that day, there was something different about it. He told me he was going to hit a home run in his first at-bat. Not that he was hoping to, not that he felt good, but that he was going to do it.

It was simple, confident.

And the way he said it made you pay attention. By the time the game started, you could feel that belief. He stepped in like he already knew what was about to happen. When the game started, he stepped in and did exactly what he said he would do. First at-bat of the game, he drove a ball out of the park.

No doubt about it.

As he came around the bases and touched home plate, he looked right at me and told me it was my turn.

Now I’m walking up to the plate and you can feel the moment. There’s an energy that builds when something like that happens, especially when it’s called beforehand. You try not to think about it too much, but at the same time, you can’t ignore it.

That at-bat ended the same way, another home run.

Back-to-back to start the game.

What made it even more memorable was that it didn’t end there. Throughout the season, Hale kept bringing it up. He kept saying that he was going to do the same thing again in the final home game of the year. It became something we joked about, but at the same time, there was a part of you that believed it could actually happen again.

We made a deal that if he did it, I would follow him again.

When that last home game came around, there was a different kind of anticipation. It had been talked about all season, and now it was actually in front of us. You could feel it in the dugout, even if nobody was saying much about it out loud.

He stepped in for his first at-bat and once again, he delivered. Another home run to lead off the game. At that point, it didn’t even feel surprising anymore, it felt expected. I stepped in right after him, fully locked in, understanding the moment and the result was the same.

Back-to-back home runs to start the game, just like we had talked about months earlier.

Looking back, those moments say a lot about that team. It wasn’t just talent, it was confidence, preparation and belief all working together. Because when a group starts to believe in what they’re doing at that level, the game starts to slow down and sometimes, what sounds impossible at the beginning of the year… Becomes something you actually live out by the end of it.

What Texarkana Gave Me

When I look back now, I understand something clearly. Texarkana prepared me for all of it. It prepared me for pressure, failure and it prepared me for the truth of the game.

It didn’t just develop my ability, it developed my mindset.

The game today has changed. There are more tools, more exposure, more opportunities, but the value of junior college baseball hasn’t changed. It still produces players who understand what it means to earn it. Players who understand how to compete and players who understand that nothing is guaranteed.

The 1999 and 2000 Texarkana Bulldogs weren’t just part of my journey. They were the turning point. They were where I learned how to compete, how to adjust and how to handle the reality of the game.

Because before Division I… Before anything else… There was junior college baseball in Texas and that’s where the real work began. ⚾