From the Wild Things to the Big Apple: Alex Carrillo’s Unlikely Journey to the Mets

They say you can’t teach velocity, but apparently, you can rediscover it in a Frontier League dugout.

The Mets are at it again—taking a flyer on a pitcher from the baseball wilderness and turning him into a flamethrower fit for Queens. This week’s surprise guest on the Mets’ pitching carousel is 28-year-old right-hander Alex Carrillo, whose resume includes indie ball, winter leagues, Mexican bus rides, and more self-doubt than a Mets fan in the ninth inning of a one-run game.

Carrillo is expected to join the Mets on Tuesday after a dominant start to the season in Triple-A Syracuse, where he looked like a video game glitch: 5 2/3 innings, zero hits, and fastballs that kept lighting up the radar gun like a pinball machine—regularly touching 100 mph. That followed a strong stint in Double-A Binghamton, where he struck out 30 batters in just over 19 innings.

But don’t let the heat fool you—Carrillo’s story isn’t just about velocity. It’s about perseverance, reinvention, and a whole lot of long nights wondering if the dream had slipped away for good.

This time last year, Carrillo was suiting up for the Washington Wild Things of the Frontier League, throwing to guys with jobs at Best Buy. Before that? Stints in Mexico that fizzled. Arm injuries that lingered. And fastballs that barely broke a pane of glass, let alone 90 mph.

So how did he go from “Who’s that?” to “Call him up!” in a span of twelve months? The answer starts with a guy named Art Salazar and a place called The Art of Pitching.

Carrillo sat down recently for a brutally honest and often hilarious interview with The Art of Pitching, a baseball training program that helped him rebuild his mechanics, his body, and maybe most importantly, his belief.

“I met him that first day,” said Art, the founder of AOP. “We did a makeshift assessment… we were just looking at his mechanics because he was kind of all over the place. Super jumpy, arm was late… and obviously, the velo was sh*t.”

Carrillo laughed, because what else can you do when you’re a grown man chasing a dream and throwing 86 mph?

“I remember because he was throwing mid-80s,” Art continued, “and he was just like, ‘What the f***'s going on? Like, you think I have anything here? Be honest with me.’ And I told him, ‘Yeah. I genuinely believe you’re gonna throw mid-90s.’”

It sounds insane now, with Carrillo touching triple digits, but at the time? It was just two guys in a dusty facility, one with a camera and the other with a hope.

Before there were advanced metrics or game plans, there was just one goal: get the velocity back.

“You can’t go anywhere if you’re not throwing hard,” Art said. “First, you need to start throwing hard again. Then we can worry about everything else.”

So they simplified things. Bullpens. Live ABs. A fastball and a breaking ball. A makeshift changeup that maybe moved, maybe didn’t. The stuff was raw, but the intent was real. And Carrillo? He started to find it again.

“It was a lot of explosive stuff,” Carrillo said. “I remember slamming a ton of med balls into the ground—single leg, double leg, into the wall… Art didn’t let me lift like a bodybuilder anymore. I already had the muscle mass. It was about being an athlete again.”

And maybe shedding a little of that "chunky-ish" frame, too.

“You were still chunky-ish,” Art teased him in the interview. “After year one, you were like 240. Chunky-ish.”

Carrillo didn’t argue. “Yeah, I was chunky-ish.”

That year he signed with a team in Cancun. The stuff was electric—striking out over 40 batters in under 30 innings—but the command? Not so much.

“You had no idea where the ball was going,” Art deadpanned.

Carrillo just grinned.

What followed was a second offseason focused on refining his delivery and building the body of a pro athlete—not a gym rat.

“We cleaned up his lower half,” Art said. “His lower half was a f***ing mess. We got him using three to five-pound weights for arm care. We focused on becoming explosive, athletic. He already had it in him. It was just about getting it back out.”

That foundation carried Alex into professional ball in Mexico in 2022 — a wild, intense, unforgettable ride. “The experience was amazing,” he said. “Fans were crazy in the best way. It was Latin baseball — emotional, loud, and fun.” But it wasn’t all easy. “When I was doing well, everything felt great — chest up, head up. But if I had one or two bad outings, I’d spiral. I’d overanalyze video, send clips to Art, ask, ‘Do you see this?’ I got into my own head.”

That mental battle became the biggest challenge during his two years in Mexico. “I got complacent,” Alex admitted. “If things were going well, I’d think, ‘Eh, I don’t need to stretch today. I don’t need to lift. Let’s just play catch.’ I didn’t know how to handle the downs. And when they came, I let them consume me.” Art saw it too. “He didn’t know how to handle the top of the mountain — and didn’t know how to handle falling off it either. That’s dangerous for an athlete.”

But over time, that began to shift. “This past season was different,” Alex said. “When I struggled, I didn’t spiral. I just went back to the basics — which I didn’t have in Mexico. I didn’t really know who I was as a pitcher back then.” Art noticed the evolution: “There’s this quote a mentor of mine used to say — never too high, never too low. And that’s what Alex learned. Even when we were struggling, he was the same guy. He’d ask questions, then say, ‘F*** it, I’ll keep doing my work and bounce back.’”

For Alex, the mental clarity came down to one simple mantra: Be where your feet are. “Trust that God has a plan,” he said. “But don’t get caught up in the past or the future. Be present.”

Alex’s final season in Mexico, 2023, was a roller coaster with a steep drop. “That first half, he was one of the best arms in the league,” Art recalled. “Top three, statistically. I don’t want to say number one, but he was right there. Two ERA through the first half. We thought he had it figured out.” Then came the crash. “One bad outing, maybe two, and it just snowballed,” Art said. “Next thing you know, he’s got a seven or eight ERA and we’re both like, ‘What the hell happened?’” Alex nodded. “I fell off the mountain,” he said. “I don’t even know exactly what triggered it, but once it started going bad, it just kept going. The walks piled up — I think like 13 or 14 of my 18 walks came in the second half of the season alone. I completely imploded.”

Looking back, he sees that stretch for what it was — a necessary low point. “It goes back to everything we talked about,” Alex said. “If I didn’t go through that, I wouldn’t have learned how to actually handle the highs and lows. I wouldn’t have been ready for what was coming.” Art agreed. “He had to learn how to stay grounded — not too high, not too low. Be where your feet are. And now that’s who he is.”

The turning point began after his release from Mexico. “It sucked,” Alex said. “But it was a blessing in disguise.” He returned to the Frontier League — the same place that had cut him in 2021 — and took a massive pay cut just to get back on a mound. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could pitch in that league again. That I belonged.” But more than anything, it was a spiritual shift. “I stopped drinking. I started trusting God more. I put my family above baseball, and I finally took care of myself — physically, mentally, spiritually.” He gave everything he had to the 2024 season, not knowing what would come of it, but trusting something better was coming. “And it did.”

But to truly understand that transformation, you have to rewind to the Mexico era — specifically, off the field. “Cancún was wild,” Alex admitted. “Everyone knows the reputation, but you don’t really realize how much is out there until you’re in it.” He paused. “I’m not saying I was out partying every night, but I did drink every night. Especially when things started going bad, I leaned on alcohol. At one point, I was drinking a bottle and a half of whiskey every day or every two days. That’s crazy to say now.”

His wife stood by him through it all. “She remembers,” he said quietly. “I’d call her and tell her I was just sitting in the living room with the guys, but really I was numbing myself. I stopped caring — about my body, about baseball. I didn’t work out, didn’t recover, didn’t even think about doing anything the right way. I was just trying to feel good with the whiskey.”

The contrast to 2024 couldn’t be sharper. Off the field, Alex became a completely different person. “It was like night and day,” Art said. “People don’t realize how off-the-field decisions — what you eat, what you drink, how you sleep, who you hang around — they all affect your performance. Your energy, your focus, your recovery, your mental health. Nobody really talks about it, but it’s the biggest factor at the professional level.”

Alex now sees it with total clarity. “That version of me in Mexico, I wasn’t built to last. I was surviving, not growing. Now, I know who I am. I know what matters. And I know how to take care of myself — on the mound and off.”

What changed Alex off the field? The first thing was going back to trusting God. That was the biggest shift. Once I gave into that, everything else followed. I cut back on alcohol, gave it up for a while, and stopped letting alcohol be the reason I was happy. That wasn’t my crutch anymore. I started enjoying working out again—not just lifting heavy to get big, but actually enjoying the process. Then when I went into the season, I started stretching more. I never really stretched before. Remember how last offseason I pulled my hammy? You told me I needed to find a real warm-up routine before throwing, and that really stuck. So I made stretching, warming up, and recovery a priority. That led me to keep learning more about my body. I’d throw, go home, and immediately ask myself, “Okay, what do I need to do to be ready for tomorrow?” I was sore, so I started researching. I began rolling out at night, looking up recovery videos, taking vitamins, creatine, collagen, rolling out with a lacrosse ball or foam roller, stretching before bed—all to get blood flow and avoid waking up stiff. That became the biggest shift for me this season: truly caring for my body, learning how to prepare it day in and day out.

Off the field, my circle has always been small. I don’t let a lot of people in. But Dana, my wife, has been there from day one—since I got released by the Rangers. She’s seen me at my lowest and at my best, and she’s still here. Y’all—Art, you, Fred—have been there with me too. You’ve seen the full version of me. My parents have done everything. Back when I wasn’t making a dime in college, they were sending me money, helping with rent, groceries—everything. My circle is AOP, my family, my wife, my son, and my two best friends from Alabama. I could call them any time and they’d pick up without hesitation.

From the baseball side, what we’ve built here—what you guys have done for me—is hard to even describe. Pre-Fred, it was about building confidence. Velo wasn’t quite there yet, but you all helped restore belief in myself. Then Fred came in, and velo was there. He knew it would be. The next step became strikes—throwing with intent and command. I’ve always known how to throw strikes, but Fred pushed me differently. That one day he stood in the box and told me, “Let it eat. Throw it as hard as you can. You’re not gonna hit me.” Boom—95 mph right in the man pocket. From that point on, it all clicked.

If I’m talking to a guy like I was in 2022—searching for someone to help, maybe even save him—I’d tell him this: what makes this place different is the environment. It’s not just about working out. It’s about everyone wanting each other to get better. No egos. From the high school kids to the pros, we’re all locked in, cheering each other on. When one guy’s throwing a bullpen, the rest of us are watching, locked in, wanting him to succeed. That’s rare. That’s what we have.

Then Fred arrived and took things to another level. You had already gotten me to the point where my velo was right, because you know what you’re doing. But Fred saw something else that needed to click, and we didn’t even know what it was. It just happened. One day he showed up, I worked with him for a couple weeks, and he said, “Offseason starts now.” Then it was boom, boom, boom—strikes, velo, repeatability. I don’t even remember the exact drills—we just found that groove. That smoother rhythm brought out the velo naturally.

And the way you approached it all? You got to know me before worrying about what kind of pitcher I was. You talked to me like a man, like a person, with no bias—just truth. From that, you learned how to approach me as a player. I remember you saw me throwing plyo balls and told Art, “He’s gonna throw 100.” You believed it before I did. Because you understand how much the mental side affects everything—performance, execution, how your body moves under pressure. You knew there was more in the tank. I was just holding it back because I didn’t yet believe I could throw the ball right down the middle with conviction.

I remember that moment—the burn in the hand, the release window, just trusting it. You told me to throw it through the window. After that, I rattled off five strikes in a row. You stood in the box, risking getting hit just to help me feel that trust. And it worked. That first live bullpen of the offseason, I was 94–96 mph, sitting comfortably, and I had a bad knee and a pulled hammy. So when I finally got healthy? Of course 100 was coming.

Then we simplified. I had been throwing five pitches: fastball, slurve, cutter, changeup, two-seam… and had no idea where anything was going. So we cut it down to three. Something that moves one way, something that moves the other, and something hard right down the middle. Now I’ve got three pitches. Two I can throw for strikes anytime. The third one, we’re still working on, but it’s nasty. It’s a vulcan change—way better than my old changeup. I feel more confident in that pitch now than I ever did before.

All of the transformation—the early mornings, the late-night stretching, the mental reset, the trust in the people around him, the commitment to growth on and off the field—has finally paid off. What started as a journey to rediscover confidence became a complete reinvention of self. Now, Alex isn’t just hoping for a shot—he’s earned one. Every rep, every bullpen, every hard conversation and internal shift has brought him to this moment. He’s ready to take full advantage of the opportunity in front of him—and the Mets are hoping he does too.