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Jason Larzelere comes from six generations of military service, going back to the Revolutionary War. He was an Air Force medic who felt untouchable. On the third morning of his second deployment, a mortar went off about 30 feet away. The next thing he remembers is being airlifted out.

What followed was 18 surgeries: four on his shoulder, three on his forearm, two on his wrist, and more on his face. While he waited on a medical review, the Air Force put him on honor guard, where he served at close to 190 military funerals. The first was for a Doolittle Raider. That changed the cocky kid into someone who understood what service really means.

He did everything he could to stay in. He got down to 175 pounds and was running and doing push-ups better than ever. Then he stood at attention in full dress uniform in front of a medical board, watched them stamp "medically retired," and sobbed. "It's not about the name on my chest. It's about the branch." He had 30 days to get out.

Next came four years of depression and nearly 300 pounds. He tried to play again and physically couldn't. Then a coach he met at a charity game asked a simple question: have you ever thought about coaching? That one question got him back on a field. From there he earned a degree from Texas A&M, built a career in HR, spent a year working in the U.S. Senate, and today manages a San Antonio-area team where more than half the roster is military. Some of them wouldn't get to play anywhere else.

His rule for life is five words long: give before you take.

In this episode:

• How Brian Penn's catching surprised a guy who'd underestimated him (Brian credits WD-40 and glucosamine)
• Nolan Ryan, José Cruz Sr., Michael Young, and why Dustin Pedroia is his all-time favorite
• Watching the 2017 Astros win it all with his grandfather, who was still talking about that team from hospice
• Honor guard, a Doolittle Raider's funeral, and finding a new sense of service
• The med board that ended his military career
• How baseball taught him to read people better than any training did
• Why your time is worth more than you think
• Warriors SOAR Website: https://warriorssoar.org/

"If it just gets them out of the house one day a week, that's one day that maybe they look forward to all week." — Jason Larzelere

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"This episode includes discussion of a suicide attempt and suicide loss. If you're struggling, call or text 988 (US) any time to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline."

Al Reano has spent 34 years in commercial lending, and he's turned down more loans than he's approved. He never tells anyone “Never", he tells them, "not now."

It took him a long time to say that to himself.

The episode starts light. Al met James Gass on a pickup basketball court, ended up as his unofficial roadie, and tells about the time James stood outside his garage in the heat just to hear his band practice. Al fell in love with the Showtime Lakers at age nine. Years later he turned down $500 for a pair of tickets so his grandfather could see Magic Johnson's comeback game in person. He still has the photos. He's a Mookie Betts guy, an Eric Karros guy, and he once met Tommy Lasorda. He also refuses to touch a Dodger Dog these days.

Then James asks about his darkest moment, and Al tells it straight.

He'd been married for 22 years and thought it was a strong marriage. He saw it falling apart slowly, did everything his therapist asked, prayed hard, and nothing worked. When the end came, he felt numb and saw no way out. A couple of years ago, he tried to take his own life. He calls it the most selfish thing he's ever done, because he didn't think about his kids for a second. He and James, who shared his own story, talk openly about what was really behind those moments.

What came after is why this episode matters. The same therapist he started seeing with his wife is the one he still sees today. Through that work, he learned he is someone worth loving. And he found what his therapist calls his "God's army": about 20 people who will never let him feel alone again. Three of his four kids are in therapy now too, because he made sure they had support outside of him.

Brian Penn also shares something he's carried for months: a quiet nudge to call a friend he never acted on, and the phone call two weeks later.

In this episode:

• Why "not now" is kinder than "never"
• The game Al chose to share with his grandfather instead of selling the tickets
• Walking into Dodger Stadium with his kids for the first time
• 22 years, a slow ending, and the moment he gave up
• Why Al says therapy is cool and everybody needs it
• Paying attention to the whisper that tells you to check on someone
• Smiling more and being kind, even to people who annoy you

"You are not alone. Reach out. Call someone. Let someone tell you that you matter in this life and that life would suck if you weren't here." — Al Reano

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In 2020, Mike Dickinson was sitting in a doctor's office in Asheville, North Carolina, when they told him to go to the hospital immediately — his blood sugar was dangerously high. He weighed around 420 pounds. He had diabetes, blood pressure medication, heart medication. A year or two earlier, his nieces and nephews wanted to walk a few blocks and he asked if they could call an Uber.

So he picked a target most people would call ridiculous: Atlanta Braves Fantasy Camp. He needed a picture on the bulletin board, something to run toward. Twenty minutes of cardio became thirty. Thirty became a habit. Weights came two years in. No workout partner, no trainer — just Netflix, music, and the voice in his head that refused to quit on him.

This past January, at roughly 170 pounds, Mike Dickinson walked onto a field in a Braves uniform, played for a team captained by Brian Penn, and made a diving, game-saving catch against the Yankees that his team celebrated like a championship. He didn't want to take the uniform off. He also reversed his diabetes and came off every medication.

Oh, and his day job? He runs fifteen-plus strip clubs across the country, from small-town Tennessee to Chicago to Oklahoma — and the thing he loves most about it is finding the person everybody else overlooked and turning them into a star.

In this episode:

• The hospital visit that started everything
• Why 20 minutes every day beats two hours for two weeks
• Trading the boss's chair for the rookie's locker at fantasy camp
• Meeting Andruw Jones in a batting cage — and Brian's very awkward run-in with Leo Mazzone
• Growing up in Richmond watching the entire 90s Braves dynasty come through Triple-A
• Why "Instagram lifestyle" is the biggest lie in modern life

"It's better to do 20 minutes a day for a month than two hours a day for two weeks." — Mike Dickinson

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Nathan Marr came on as family. He's dating James Gass' daughter Madison — and James was there for the first date, watching her come home with a smile he says told him everything.

It starts easy. Nathan's a bar back in Santa Clarita at a place whose old fashioned has won best cocktail two years running. He works out every single day, does jiu-jitsu two or three times a week, and has never played a sport in his life — unless you count a freshman golf tryout where he didn't know the lingo, hit a window, and got the "we have too many players this year" talk. He'll argue Charles Oliveira is the best fighter on the planet and tell you it's not an opinion, it's fact.

Then the darkest moment...the room changes.

Last year, four months into a Border Patrol hiring process that was moving fast, Nathan's mom was diagnosed with a glioblastoma. He went to the academy anyway, because she would have wanted him to. A month and a half in, the call came: you need to come home. He quit — no leave, no timeline, nothing to come back to. On October 4th, she passed away.

What he says next is the part most people never say out loud. The months after, he drank more than he ever had. He started arguments. He and Madison fought more in that stretch than in their five years together, and he'll tell you most of them — no, all of them — were on him. The turn came in a parking lot after a dinner where he was the only one drinking and felt entirely out of place: she would be disappointed right now.

He's applying to LAX PD now. And his advice to anyone carrying the same weight isn't "be strong." It's this: mourn, take the time, but stop asking what you want and start asking what they would have wanted for you.

In this episode:

• How dating the co-host's daughter turned into a podcast appearance
• Why he never regrets going to the gym, only not going
• Disneyland, fake snow, and a memory he was almost too young to keep
• A mother who was endlessly kind and still nobody to walk over
• Hiding behind good news from a doctor
• The parking lot moment that stopped the spiral

"Thank you guys for listening. If this touches one person, then this is a success." — Nathan Marr

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The roles flip. This time Brian Penn holds the mic, and co-founder James Gass tells the story behind the easy laugh.

It starts light: a nervous softball guy getting talked into a wood-bat baseball tournament by their mutual friend Chuck, climbing out of the passenger seat, taking one look at Brian and thinking, "I can't win these guys over with my playing — I'll win them over with my kindness." Forty years of guitar. "Prince over everybody" . Dave Winfield, the Blue Jays, and coaching both his daughters from the bottom of the lineup to leading off in center field.

Then Brian asks about the darkest moment, and James goes to a place he says he rarely talks about. The grandfather who practically raised him, gone. His parents divorced. Siblings out of the house. A two-story home traded for a drug-infested apartment complex, a three-to-four-mile walk to school because a bike wasn't in the budget, an eviction, an extension cord run from a neighbor's apartment for power, and stretches with no food. A father with a good job and a phone he didn't pick up. And, at 13, a night in a bathroom that could have ended the story — and the moment right after, when something snapped, and he walked out, picked up his guitar, and started playing like nothing had happened.

"To say music saved my life is no doubt."

What he built from there — work at 13, a sister and two cousins who took him in, a father who's now more friend than parent, brothers he talks to across an ocean — is the reason this podcast exists. His advice for the world isn't complicated: acceptance. We have far more in common than the 20% we blow up into a mountain.

In this episode:

• How Chuck's four-year recruiting campaign accidentally started a podcast
• Guitar vs. baseball, 40 years later, still undecided
• Coaching his daughters Madison and Ava — his favorite sports memory, period
• The lowest of the low, told plainly
• Why forgiveness is a gift you hand yourself
• Vulnerability isn't weakness

Everybody has a dark cloud. There's a solution to everything, and there are people out there who will pick you up.

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A cocktail waitress told a 21-year-old Brian Penn he had "a voice for radio." Decades later, that offhand comment became a podcast — but the story that gets told in Episode 1 is a much harder one.

Co-founders Brian Penn and James Gass kick off Unite the Bullpen with the origin of the name, the friendship that started with a Houston men's-league baseball team, and a whole lot of love for Ken Griffey Jr. and Rickey Henderson. Then Brian goes somewhere most men never go on a microphone: the first eight years of his son's life, when he was a traveling consultant who was, in his own words, "stupid, immature, and selfish" — and whose own family didn't even know his son existed.

It took a therapist's ultimatum — acknowledge your son today or don't come back — to turn Brian the selfish dude into Brian the father. What followed was a 3 p.m. Friday drive from Houston to San Antonio, a confession to his parents, years of rebuilding trust with his son and his son's mother, and a sermon that stopped him cold: press too hard on what you're holding and it will never blossom.

Eleven years later, they're as close to “father & son” as one can get. This is the episode about what it costs to come back — and why it's worth it.

In this episode:

• How a suggested tryout to become a DJ and two failed audiobooks led to a podcast
• Where the name "Unite the Bullpen" actually came from
• Brian’s journey in baseball
• The therapy session that changed everything
• Why Brian says only you get to define your greatness — and why he didn't start chasing his until three years ago

Be bold. Be courageous. Go after your greatness.