Updated Aug. 12, 2026, 10:45 a.m. CT
Trevor Megill is known around the Milwaukee Brewers clubhouse for a few different reasons. He collects cards. He closes games. He has a say in the postgame victory playlist.
And, perhaps above all, he discards baseballs on the mound with a visceral disdain.
“It’s part of his shtick,” manager Pat Murphy said.
And that shtick is extensive.
It begins, fellow reliever Chad Patrick points out, as he jogs slowly in from the bullpen and offers every piece of his uniform to get checked by the umpire to buy himself as much time as possible. Before every batter, he pulls a card out of his back pocket to browse the scouting report. He flops his hat off and back on, then does it again. After most pitches, he yanks the belt loop behind his right hip to lift his pants up.
But at the core of it all is the jettisoning of baseballs.
Surely you’ve seen the act by now: Megill gets a ball back from the catcher, flips it to his right hand, looks at the umpire, hoists it above his head to ask for a new ball and then chucks the old one toward the dugout like it insulted him.
The scene is so common that left-hander DL Hall estimated it happens five times a game. Not quite, DL; across Megill’s first 41 games this year through July 25, Megill threw out 46 baseballs received from umpires.
There, of course, is no official stat to keep track of this, but there doesn’t need to be for the Brewers to know who leads the team – by far.
“I’ll throw out a baseball or two if I don’t like the way it feels,” said Hall. “But it’s nothing like Trevor.”
So, what’s the purpose?
Is it to buy another few seconds with the pitch clock? (“Big man,” Murphy says.) Is it the mudding of the baseball? The laces? (DL Hall swears the lace height varies from ball to ball, leading to some that feel like “high school balls.” Megill concurs whole-heartedly.) Giving himself a second to reset after a bad pitch?
Could it even be something far more complex: A high-spin pitcher with an innate sense for which baseballs are more to produce the necessary spin? Megill does acknowledge that higher laces could give him more spin for his signature knuckle curve.
But, really, the answer is none of the above.
“Most of the time,” Megill says, “it’s just being petty.”
Take a timeout against Megill and prepare to wait
A couple patterns have emerged from the closer’s spheroid yeetings. The most recent one backs Megill’s stated rationale.
Early in the season, Megill would mostly toss balls away after missing the zone or a bad call. For instance, the very first one of the season came on March 29 after a 2-2 pitch in the zone was called a ball. The next day, he missed on another 2-2 pitch, got the ball back from William Contreras and spiked it into the grass near the mound.
Through June 16, most of Megill’s throwaways followed a ball.
On June 22, something changed.
Cincinnati catcher Tyler Stephenson called time in a 2-2 count. Megill watched, waiting until Stephenson was ready to step back in against him. And when he did, Megill stepped off the mound and struck the Brewers version of the Statue of Liberty pose, flaming torch exchanged for an unwanted piece of cowhide.
Megill had done this before, but this game set off a new fervor for pettiness. The following evening, he tossed out three balls in the same at-bat against Edwin Arroyo, including one following a batter timeout call.
Since that game, Megill has only tossed out one baseball following a called ball and without a timeout taken. He hasn’t done it since June 26.
Instead, he’s just waiting for hitters to step out on him. The game will be played on his timing.
“Whenever they step back in, I call timeout,” Megill said.
His right hand goes up.
“‘Here’s your ball.’”
Within the phylum of Megill disposals are the various class types. There is the overhand toss – a simple flick toward the ball boy. The underhand toss, which is a rarity. The bowl. And, of course, the most common variation: The spike.
Of Megill’s 46 jettisons this year, 36 were directly caught on the home broadcast cameras. Eighteen – 50% – of those were spikes, each one discarded with disgust to leave no doubt as to Megill’s exact emotion at that moment.
Ten times Megill tossed a ball he had just received.
This, in a nutshell, is the kind of competitor Megill is.
“That’s just Trev being Trev,” Patrick said.
Most importantly, Megill’s strategy (if you can call it that) seems to work. When chucking a freshly requested pearl, Megill has struck out eight hitters compared to only two hits allowed. He’s also recorded nine outs on balls in play, six called or swinging strikes and only 11 balls.
If you consider any out or strike to be a win for the pitcher, more than three-quarters (78%) of Megill’s pitches immediately following a toss-out have led to a positive outcome.
Perhaps, after all, there’s a method to the closer’s madness after all. Just don’t expect him to tell you there is.
“No rhyme or reason,” he said. “Just tossing balls.”
