Dominic Leone: Just Being Himself

Longtime reliever Dominic Leone chose not to attempt to comeback from an arm injury at the age of 32. With no other plans, he chose to just be himself.

Dominic Leone grew up in Norwich, Connecticut, a place he jokes about whenever the subject of baseball pedigree comes up. “There’s about ten guys that played baseball in Connecticut,” he says with a laugh. “So being one of ten was pretty good.”

Leone was the top-ranked high school prospect in the state, yet when draft day came and went, his phone stayed silent. Scouts knew him, but they didn’t quite believe in him, not yet. At 5-foot-8 and 165 pounds he wasn’t exactly what teams were hunting for. “I talked to a handful of pro scouts in high school,” Leone says, “but it was never anything serious. I was all of 5'8", 165 pounds soaking wet, so I was a small kid..”

College, he knew, was the path forward. And when Clemson came calling, it changed everything.

Clemson Put Him on the Map

“Clemson for me was life changing,” Leone says. “Not only socially, I’ve got a group of friends I’m still in touch with 15 years later, but on the baseball side of things, it really catapulted me.”

Suddenly, a pitcher from the Northeast was performing on a national stage. Leone pitched on Sundays as a freshman, started postseason games, and found himself throwing in Omaha at the College World Series.

“It showed that a little tiny, scrawny kid from the Northeast could pitch a little bit,” he says. “And pitch on the biggest stage.”

Opportunity met effort. Leone doesn’t shy away from how hard he worked to stay there. “It was a culmination of a little bit of luck, right place right time,” he says, “and also just me working my ass off.”

After three years at Clemson, the Mariners selected him in the 16th round of the 2012 MLB Draft. It wasn’t glamorous—but it was a foot in the door.

Becoming a Reliever

Leone entered pro ball as a starter. Seattle initially told him he’d ease into short-season ball out of the bullpen, then stretch back out.

“They said, ‘I'd thrown probably 80 plus innings, so the Mariners brought me in and they said, 'Alright, you're to go to short-season and just pitch out in the bullpen for now. Just kind of get your feet wet. We don't want to have you throw too much,’” Leone recalls. “But when you come into spring training next year, be ready to be a starter.”

However, something unexpected happened. Out of the bullpen, Leone’s velocity jumped. He was suddenly sitting 93–95 mph. The numbers were good. The profile shifted.

“I went home and trained all offseason as a starter,” he says. “I show up to spring training and they’re like, ‘Yeah, you’re with the relievers today.’”

Just today?

“It didn’t matter to me,” Leone says. “Would you love to be a starter? Sure. Better paycheck. But at the end of the day, it was like—whatever gets me there.”

That bullpen move became his fastest track to the big leagues.

Hiding in Plain Sight

Leone’s first big-league spring training came as a non-roster invitee, and the anxiety was real.

“I literally hid in my locker,” he says. “I’d fold my chair up and sit in the empty locker next to me. If they can’t find me, I’m still here.”

He made it all the way to the final day of camp before being summoned to the manager’s office. He thought he’d made the team. “Jack Z [Zduriencik, Mariners GM, at the time] looks me straight in the face and says, ‘Hell of a spring. You did everything you could. We’re starting you in Triple-A,’” Leone recalls.

It was a numbers game. Two days into the season, his phone rang again. “I’m in Tacoma at like 7 a.m., and they say, ‘You need to get on a flight. You’re going to Oakland. Game’s at one o’clock,’” he says. “I’m like, ‘Crap. Let’s go.’”

The nerves he expected never really came. “I’d been in spring training with that group for a long time,” he says. “I walked into the clubhouse and everyone knew me. It wasn’t a culture shock. I walked in like, ‘Alright. Hell yeah.’”

Then came the wait of the bullpen phone.

“You’re a little puppy down there,” Leone says. “Biting at any chance to get in the game.”

The Business Side Hits Hard

After productive seasons in Seattle, Leone experienced one of baseball’s most jarring realities: the trade call.

“I wasn’t pitching well,” he admits. “I honestly thought they were calling to send me down.”

Instead, Jack Zduriencik told him he’d been traded to Arizona. "'Hey, thanks for everything. You're going to Arizona. You’ve got eight hours to pack your stuff,'” Leone remembers. “They want you there tomorrow.”

The emotions came fast. “At first I was pissed,” he says. “Like, damn. I thought I was going to be a Mariner for life. I was naive.”

Then came the phone call from Diamondbacks GM Dave Stewart. “He’s telling me how much they love me and love my stuff,” Leone says. “So you go from angry and sad to pumped.”

That emotional whiplash became familiar. Leone would eventually play for ten different organizations, including two stints with Seattle.

“That trade was definitely foreshadowing of my career,” he says. “That’s how fast the baseball world can flip you on your head.”

The Season That Almost Broke Him

The toughest stretch came in 2018 with St. Louis. Leone pitched heavily early in the year, struggled, then suffered a mysterious arm injury.

“I throw a pitch and it literally felt like my bicep was ripping out of my arm,” he says.

The doctors didn’t know what it was. Leone went home panicked. “My whole arm went numb,” he says. “I couldn’t feel my fingers. I’m like, ‘Do I need to go to the hospital? Am I having a stroke?’”

It was his first real injury. A new city. No family around. Pressure to prove himself.

“That was when the mental side of the game really kicked the door down,” Leone says. “And once it does, it doesn’t go away.”

Being on the injured list felt isolating. “You show up to the yard and it’s empty,” he says. “You’re not really part of the team.”

Adam Wainwright, rehabbing his own injury, became a lifeline. “Thank God Waino was there,” Leone says. “If I didn’t have anybody else, man, it would’ve been really tough.”

They talked about life, faith, family—everything but box scores. “I was trying to pull him out of his funk,” Leone says. “And I didn’t realize the crater he was pulling me out of.”

Knowing When It’s Over

Leone officially retired on October 26, 2024, but the realization came earlier. “I knew I was gutting games out,” he says. “I didn’t feel like I was at my best.”

Then came the moment that ended it.

“We’re at home against the Yankees,” he says. “3-2 pitch. I walk Gleyber [Torres.] I slip on the mound. The ball's not even close. I slip and I'm on one knee and my arm is just writhing in pain. And like, it's, it's almost like a cinematic moment. Like it was in slow mo. I could just feel, I could feel it was over. I just, I remember staring into the dirt on the mound and I'm just like, 'This is it.' You know, like, it's hard to describe and put into words, but you just, you just know."

Identity Beyond Baseball

Post-retirement, Leone has leaned into interests that always existed beyond the field—fashion, wine, watches, travel.

“Everyone associates me with a uniform,” he says. “Or ten different uniforms.”

His social media presence strips that back.

“I'm saying, 'Hey, I I love clothes, and food, and wine, and travel' and I find it amazing that people are shocked by that," Leone says. "They're like 'I thought you only love baseball.' No! Honestly, if you talked to all 26 guys in the clubhouse, some guys are brainiacs and they're getting degrees during their playing days and guys are big into fashion and big into golf. We have other things that we love other than baseball. And that's one of the main reasons I got into social media is bringing a little bit of inside information to the world of like, We love other shit, you know? So if you guys like this, I'm here to talk about it. It's just creating community"

Leone's created the social media brand Big League Brands as his outlet to discuss fashion.

The Advice He’d Give Himself

To his 18-year-old self, Leone offers one message. “Ignore the noise,” he says. “Ignore the business. Focus on what you can control between the white lines. I'll be honest, my Arizona days were brutal. I was on Twitter and I would be getting crushed on Twitter Bad outings, whatever I'd be getting crushed. And I let some of that creep in. ”

And to the version of himself stepping away from baseball? “Pack your patience,” says the father of two boys, ages 3 and almost-5. “You think playing is hard? Try being a full-time dad." I never really had time to grasp on to being a full-time dad and understanding the [thoughtful pause] insanity that parenting is. So when I got home for literally for my first calendar year that I've ever had at home with my family, there were a lot of ups and downs. I was not mentally prepared for that, I wasn't physically prepared for it. The early morning wakeups and the, you know, all the things. And so I would tell myself now and say, Hey dude, you think this playing thing's hard? You think this playing thing's hard? They're going to love you and you're going to love them. But but you got to pack your patience and be willing to just learn.”

The Mental Edge

Leone doesn’t credit his longevity to physical tools. What separated him was mindset.

“I’ve seen thousands of guys with way better stuff than me,” he says. "I wasn't overwhelmingly big, wasn't intimidating, wasn't the strongest guy, the fastest guy. It was between the ears, Between the ears I had that mentality that if you got in the box, you were done. It was over."

His belief is simple.

“I studied the greats,” Leone says. “Brady. Jordan. Tiger. Obsession.”

"I was so obsessed with Brady and his story. How we overcame adversity and how he worked and how he grinded. Tiger Woods, how he was obsessed with golf from from day one. Obsessed, literally like bleeding hands bleeding from hitting balls. Michael Jordan, his killer instinct and determination getting cut in high school. I studied those stories. I followed those idols, those athletes. And I found that the common denominator is just an obsession, a pure sick obsession to to be the best and not just physically."

That obsession carried a small kid from Connecticut—undrafted, underestimated—through an 11-year major league career.

And now, into whatever comes next.

The Full Interview with Dominic Leone