A Young Rangers Slugger Could Reach a New Gear as Travis Jankowski Tries to Unlock His Speed

Baseball has a way of pairing unlikely characters together — the veteran who’s seen every corner of the game and the young slugger who still plays like the world hasn’t had time to disappoint him yet. In Texas this spring, that pairing has created something quietly fascinating: a speed project no one saw coming.

The kid — the young Rangers slugger with shoulders built for home runs and a swing loud enough to echo across the outfield — was never known for running. Power was his language. Strength was his calling card. He didn’t just hit the ball; he punished it. When he stepped into the box, people leaned forward, waiting for fireworks.

But speed? That was something he left to the sleeker guys. The leadoff hitters. The outfield burners. The specialists.

And then came Travis Jankowski.

Jankowski is the kind of player who doesn’t need introductions. He’s been everywhere — the journeyman with the steady glove, the good heart, the unshakable energy. He’s the guy who sprints on routine jogs, smiles through slumps, and treats every base like it’s a challenge he’s personally accepted.

When he watches the young slugger run, he doesn’t see heavy steps. He doesn’t see limitation.
He sees potential.

“You don’t have to be fast to be dangerous,” Jankowski told him one afternoon during workouts. “You just have to be smart — and willing.”

Maybe it was the simplicity of the words. Maybe it was the messenger. But something clicked.

That afternoon became the start of something nobody could’ve predicted: the power hitter learning how to steal bases, how to read pitchers, how to use speed not as a specialty but as a weapon.

Jankowski has taken him under his wing in that quiet, veteran way — no big speeches, no dramatic moments, just steady guidance. They run drills after practice when the sun is low and the field is empty. Jankowski shows him how to time a pitcher’s front foot, how to take that first explosive step, how to carry confidence in the soles of his cleats.

And slowly, the slugger is starting to change.
Not abandoning who he is — just expanding it.

There’s something beautiful about watching a young player step into a new version of himself. You can see it in his posture, the way he jogs a little quicker between stations, the way he laughs when Jankowski beats him in a sprint he almost won. You can see it in the way teammates watch him, surprised but impressed, like maybe they’re witnessing the beginning of something big.

And truthfully? They might be.

Speed isn’t just about stealing bases.
It’s about confidence.
It’s about pressure.
It’s about turning a single into a double and forcing a defense to panic.

If this kid — this strong, fearless hitter — unlocks even a fraction of the quickness Jankowski swears is hiding in his legs, he could become something rare: a power-speed threat capable of breaking open games in ways pitchers can’t prepare for.

Jankowski knows it. He’s lived long enough in the game to spot a spark before others see the flame.

“Trust your legs the way you trust your bat,” he tells him. “Let the game open up for you.”

The slugger nods, breathless, sweat rolling down his forehead. “I didn’t know I could feel this fast,” he admits.

Jankowski smiles — that calm, knowing smile of a veteran who’s watched a hundred young players grow, but maybe never one quite like this.

The season hasn’t even begun, but something is shifting in Texas. Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough to make you wonder.

A slugger learning speed.
A mentor passing on wisdom.
Two paths crossing at the perfect moment.

Baseball doesn’t always give you heroes. Sometimes it gives you teachers. And sometimes — if you’re lucky — it gives you both on the same team, chasing the same dream under the same endless Texas sky.