With a piece of chalk, Thomas Eshelman would etch a strike zone onto a cement wall near the driveway of his family's Southern California home. Eshelman would then split the strike zone into quadrants and pelt each rectangle with repetition.
His parents - Dave and Rosemary - would complain about the constant patter of the ball hitting the house. But it was in those sessions that the pitcher's uncanny command was born.
"One time, I hit the side mirror of my dad's car," Eshelman said. "He was pretty mad about that. That one got away from me.