Despite an Intense Hydration Plan, Tigers’ Casey Mize Can’t Find an Antidote to Muscle Cramps

There are pitchers who fight hitters, and there are pitchers who fight the game, but Casey Mize — in this strange, frustrating chapter of his career — finds himself fighting something far more unpredictable: his own body. And no matter how much water he drinks, no matter how carefully he follows the hydration plan mapped out by Detroit’s training staff, the cramps keep coming. Uninvited. Unpredictable. Unrelenting.

It’s the kind of battle fans don’t see. They see the warmup pitches, the strikeouts, the grimaces. They don’t see the long, quiet hours in the training room, the bottles of electrolytes lined up like soldiers, the way Mize kneels on the carpet of the clubhouse stretching muscles that refuse to cooperate.

And yet, he keeps going.

This is Casey Mize, after all — the former No. 1 pick, the pitcher built from the promise of dominance, the young arm who once represented the bright dawn of a Tigers rebuild. His journey has been anything but smooth. Injury setbacks. Long rehabs. Slow climbs back. Just when he seems ready to stabilize, something else knocks at the door.

And now, the cramps.

Sometimes they hit late in games.
Sometimes early.
Sometimes without warning — a sudden tightening in his side, or a jolt in the calf that sends a ripple up his leg. He tries to breathe through it, throws a few more pitches, tries to convince his body that the moment is bigger than the pain.

But cramps don’t bargain.
They take what they want.

The Tigers, to their credit, have done everything possible. Hydration charts. Hour-by-hour intake schedules. A plan so specific it feels like a science experiment: measured fluids, balanced minerals, monitored workloads. It’s all there. And still, some nights, Mize walks off the mound with frustration radiating from every line of his face.

Baseball is cruel like that. It teaches you that sometimes you can prepare perfectly and still lose a fight you never signed up for.

But what makes this story compelling isn’t the setback — it’s Mize himself.

Watch him in the dugout between innings, towel around his shoulders, eyes trained on the field. He is not defeated. He is annoyed, stubborn, determined. He has the energy of a man who refuses to accept that a muscle spasm could derail a season he’s worked so hard to reclaim.

His teammates know it, too. They clap him on the shoulder after early exits. They shake their heads with him when training staff steps in. They feel his disappointment like it’s shared among all of them — because in a way, it is.

Detroit has invested years in this rebuild. Fans have whispered his name with hope throughout slumps and losing streaks. Mize is not just another pitcher; he is a symbol. A reminder of the future they once imagined, the one they still want to believe is possible.

And that’s why every outing feels heavy. Every inning feels important. Every cramp feels like an unwanted plot twist in a story that still hasn’t found its ending.

People forget sometimes just how human the game truly is. We talk about mechanics and velocity and ERA, but we forget about the vulnerable parts — the tendons, the fibers, the silent battles. A muscle spasm carries no stat line, yet it tells a story of its own: the story of a body trying to catch up to a spirit that refuses to slow down.

Mize isn’t done. Not even close. The frustration, strangely, proves it. Players who quit don’t get frustrated — they detach. But Mize is deeply, fiercely attached. He wants the ball. He wants the innings. He wants to be the pitcher Detroit envisioned when they called his name on draft night.

And maybe, with time, the cramps will fade. Maybe the hydration plan will finally click. Maybe the body will relent and the rhythm will return.

Until then, Mize fights. Quietly. Patiently. Stubbornly.

Because sometimes the hardest opponent in baseball isn’t the batter standing sixty feet away — it’s the one staring back at you from inside your own skin.