The Battle Inside Your Head

Hurst's family, of course, knew of his horrific first pitching outing, but he didn't share how tough it was on his mental well-being.

He started calling his dad randomly to see if he would drive the four hours from Jacksonville to Bradenton to hang out or play some golf. That was odd, Jerry thought, because Hurst was usually a very independent person.

Hurst now says, without a doubt, that he was in a depression. His uncle and cousin both struggled with depression and both committed suicide.

Not only did he hide his feelings from his family, but Hurst was also isolated by his teammates. They were so spooked that they didn't want to be near him while he pitched because they feared his yips could spread like a disease. Hurst was alone with his thoughts.

"It's a battle inside your head every single second of the day," Hurst said. "You second-guess what you're doing, why you're doing it, why this is happening to you.

"There was a failure of letting my family down. But I think as much as I didn't want to disappoint my family, I didn't want to disappoint myself. I never want to fail at anything; that's just the competitor and man that I am."

So he kept working … and working. Elarton has since coached other players who had the yips. None tried to conquer the affliction as long as Hurst did.

"It's so mentally exhausting that it eventually becomes not worth the toll that it takes on you," Elarton said.

Some other players, such as Ankiel, got past the yips because they switched positions. It's a lot easier to hide throwing problems when you're not the pitcher.

Hurst gave that a try, too. In 2014, he converted to being a first baseman, but wasn't a good enough hitter to make it work. He batted .245 with two RBIs and no home runs in 60 plate appearances.

The 2015 spring training was his last shot, and he was again taking some positive steps. Hurst summoned his courage and stepped back on the mound. He spiked pitches into the dirt, then sailed one into the fence.

"I just dropped my glove, walked inside and cried," Hurst said.

Elarton joined him. The two sobbed together. They had tried everything and nothing worked.

"It was a monumental struggle," Elarton said. "There was no light at the end of the tunnel."

Throughout the entire process, Elarton would ask Hurst what he was passionate about. His answer would always be the same: football. Finally, Elarton had seen enough. Go play football, he said.

"The first time I heard about football, I thought it was just frustration coming out and second-guessing," Elarton said. "When it started to come out more and more, I could tell that was his primary passion."

Hurst battled the yips for three years. The day he decided to pull the plug was the best day of his professional baseball career.

"It was such a huge relief to him," Elarton said. "He almost seemed like a different guy. He had become pretty beaten down. To finally give it up and walk away was like getting out of jail."

Hurst called his father and asked if he could drive down to Bradenton to talk to him and Elarton. For the first time, Hurst spilled the beans on the extent of his pain to his father.

Father and son got in the car and talked. They drove to Sarasota, then down the beach to Siesta Key. After that car ride, Jerry knew it was time.

They stopped in a parking lot near the beach and called Pirates Minor League Director Larry Broadway to announce Hayden's retirement. "Well good," Broadway said. "I hope you find something in your life that you can stick with."

Brutal.