Man, I’ve been obsessed with Porter Brown’s swing lately. Caught a Giants game last week and couldn’t stop rewatching his at-bats. Today I went to the batting cages determined to figure out his magic. Here’s exactly what went down.
Setting Up at the Cage
Grabbed my worn-out bat and an old bucket of balls around 9 AM. Cold morning made my hands sting pulling the cage netting shut. Focused on three things: that closed stance stance he rocks, the leg kick timing, and how he stays balanced through contact.
Move #1: The Funky Setup
- Stood sideways in the batter’s box like Porter does, back foot way deeper than my front
- Felt super awkward at first – like twisting myself into a pretzel
- Leaned my weight back onto that rear leg until my calf burned
Attempting the Leg Kick
Started feeding balls into the pitching machine. First few swings? Absolute garbage. Whiffed four straight as I tried copying Porter’s high leg lift. Too early every time – the ball zipped past while my foot was still in the air. Adjusted by whispering “heel down, THEN swing” to myself like a madman.
Move #2: The Kick Timing
- Watched the machine arm like a hawk
- Lifted my front knee when the arm started its throw
- Forced myself to plant that foot flat BEFORE starting the swing
Nearly faceplanted twice. Lost my batting helmet on swing number seven when I spun myself around. Worth it when I finally connected dead center on an inside fastball – that POW sound echoed through the whole facility.
The Follow-Through Tango
Now came the hard part: staying put after smashing the ball. Porter looks like a statue mid-swing while I usually stumble toward third base. Gripped the bat handle til my knuckles turned white to stop my body flying open.
Move #3: The Balance Act
- Choked up higher on the bat for control
- Kept my front shoulder locked toward the machine
- Let my hips rotate but kept my head laser-locked on where the ball was
Sweat was dripping off my cap brim by the 30th ball. Felt my whole body screaming BUT… that last bucket? Crushed nine out of ten pitches right up the middle. Even the cage attendant gave me a nod through the fence.
Final verdict: My stance still looks like a baby giraffe learning to walk, and my legs are jelly. But for five glorious minutes? I absolutely felt like Porter Brown spraying line drives.
