Scrawled in pencil on a note card, the analysis is blunt.

“Today was a rough day,” it begins.

The writer signed the card, Peter Alonso. In the top right corner, the date is marked Oct. 9, 2013. The index card is one of thousands that Alonso wrote during his time at the University of Florida, but this one in particular is fascinating because the 18-year-old version of the Orioles slugger actually struggled — and openly admitted it.

The reflection offers an early look at how Alonso, even way back then, was his own harshest critic.

During his first semester as a Gator, he had produced many bright moments already. But, on this decade-old card, Alonso found himself wondering what went wrong during an intrasquad matchup.

“As hard as I tried, it was difficult to hit a hard, low line drive in the 3-hole,” Alonso wrote. “Before in the cages I felt like a million bucks.”

This was a lesson to Alonso, way back before his career took off and he became the superstar who signed for $155 million with the Orioles this winter. No matter how good you might feel, this game will humble you. And on that note card the teenager’s introspection is notable.

In some ways, Alonso hasn’t changed since that October day. His introspective nature allowed him to turn a “rough day” into a better day. A little more than a month later, on another index card, Alonso wrote with the bravado of a burgeoning star whose play backed up his talking.

“Today, I made Rhodes, Poyner & Harris my [expletive] — I saw everything they threw at me, no way I was getting out,” Alonso wrote on Nov. 13, 2013.

This treasure trove of information sits in storage at Brad Weitzel’s house. Weitzel coached Alonso at Florida, and he introduced a task for his players to encourage goal setting and follow-through. Weitzel wanted his players to document their practices and games, then turn the notes in to him.

“If you tell me you’re going to do something, you’re just telling me,” Weitzel, a longtime Gators assistant coach, told his players. “But, if you write it down and I have it here, it’s more of a conviction. So let’s do this.”

Few players bought in to that daily task at the level Alonso did, and the evidence is in Weitzel’s storage bins. The book-like stack of note cards is a testament to a player who was never satisfied with good enough, and that allowed a once-overlooked player to become one of the best hitters in baseball.

His first card, dated Sept. 23, 2013, was already full of the sort of analysis that made Alonso special. He wrote of increasing his swing efficiency by strengthening his bottom hand and cutting out loopiness in the bat path. He noted that, on defense, his footwork needed to be quicker to allow himself to avoid unnecessary backhanded plays.

In all the years Weitzel coached, Alonso stands out for his meticulous notetaking as much as his heroic performances.

“He can critique himself, and he can handle that,” Weitzel said. “He wanted info every day, good or bad, because he wanted to get better. He wanted to elevate himself in the game.”

So Alonso just kept writing, index card after index card. Eventually he needed more space, so he graduated to a trio of notebooks. Inside his new Orioles locker, Alonso pointed to those books.

They might just be the secret to his success.

Ugly repetitions

Dennis Braun felt the eyes of scouts and coaches on him that day in Central Florida during a prospect showcase event. The head coach at Tampa, Florida’s Plant High School went to watch Alonso, and although he saw the third baseman’s defensive inefficiencies, when Alonso made contact with his bat, the ball just flew.

But for some reason, before that showcase ahead of Alonso’s senior year of high school in 2012, there wasn’t an overwhelming level of interest in this raw prospect in the draft or in college circles.

“There were a lot of people who said he would never play in the SEC [Southeastern Conference] and would never play in the ACC [Atlantic Coast Conference],” Braun said. They would focus on the holes in Alonso’s swing, especially when he chased balls above the strike zone. “He would get himself out.”

Florida coach Kevin O’Sullivan “probably won’t admit it,” Braun said, but Braun called three times imploring him to sign Alonso. Then came the showcase, when Alonso sprayed balls all over the field — and over the fence. Braun’s phone began ringing off the hook.

“Everybody called, all the ones that said he couldn’t play,” Braun said. “I told them all, ‘Hey, it’s your problem now.’”

Earlier in Alonso’s high school career, chasing balls out of the zone and the occasional error at third base were knocks on his report, even if he throttled a baseball when he made contact. What those schools didn’t see were the early-morning weight room sessions and Alonso’s willingness to work on his weaknesses.

Those were the traits that lent themselves to note card writing at Florida. He wasn’t afraid of the ugly repetitions in the field or in the cage because he knew they’d lead to prettier ones in the game.

“I love winning. I love success,” Alonso said. “And, if there’s things I’m not good at, I want to work on them. Whatever I do, whatever work I put in, that’s going to help the team win. If I can be better, if I can control what I can control and pretty much dominate my area, then that’s going to help the team win.”

The first time Weitzel saw Alonso play was his junior year at Plant. He described him as a “bull in a china shop.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Weitzel said, and he thinks that may be why Alonso was overlooked for some time in high school. “He’s always dirty, always lathered up.”

Alonso shrugs off the lack of attention now — it all worked out, after all. The nature of recruiting at that time, Alonso said, was that college teams prioritized certain players first and then backfilled with late-blooming players who wouldn’t sign with a major league team out of the draft.

And Alonso, for as well as he hit even in high school, was late blooming in other areas. But there was no ignoring the way he swung the bat, even at that age.

“The thing I like about him the most is he tries to make the ball cry,” Weitzel said. “I love that part. That was his thing: try to make the ball cry.”

Alonso didn’t frequently need any urging to practice, but Weitzel kept him honest during his first semester on campus. On Mondays, an NCAA-mandated off day, Weitzel told his players he would be holding a “free practice.” If they wanted to come to hit his batting practice and get better, they were welcome.

The unspoken part was Weitzel expected everyone to attend, even if it was technically a day off. And he expected their full buy-in.

One early Monday, Alonso got ready for the not-so-optional practice by bringing just his bat to the field. He left his glove in the clubhouse.

“I said, ‘OK, Pete, I see where your priorities are at. You’re not hitting today. You’re going to take ground balls the whole time, so go get your glove,’” Weitzel said. “I wanted to make a point there [that] you don’t want to be a DH the rest of your life. You want to get better defensively, so that was the point I made.”

It was well received, and on every note card Alonso filled out, fielding took a prominent place.

“Made a good diving backhand; threw from knees,” Alonso wrote on Nov. 10, 2013. Then came the analysis of how to improve. “Was a liner, had time to get up, set my feet and throw.”

“Missed ground balls today and two throws to first on slow rollers,” Alonso wrote Oct. 9, 2013. “I’m having a rough time slowing everything down. I try not to think and clear my mind so I can concentrate. I just need to simplify things. Just hit, field, and throw. It’s just a game.”

Alonso was competing with his teammates — those note cards are from his first semester, before the spring season even began.

“And he’s critiquing and breaking down himself because his mission was, ‘I’m going to get better. I’m going to get better,’” Weitzel said. “And it kind of amazed me.”

Weitzel and Braun think part of that burning desire to improve comes from the fact Alonso was overlooked.

At first, it was his late recruitment. Next it was the fact Alonso hit seventh in his Florida debut, not in the middle of the lineup — before proving he should be a centerpiece.

Alonso became a member of the 2014 SEC All-Freshman Team and yet he played that summer in the Northwoods League for the Madison Mallards, not in the prestigious Cape Code League. Ask Alonso and he says going to the Northwoods League was the best thing for his development. There is no chip on his shoulder, he says.

But ask Weitzel and there’s a different answer.

“He gets pissed because he doesn’t get the attention of the big-timers. He gets pissed at that,” Weitzel said. “He was going to prove everybody wrong. He’s always doing that.”

That hasn’t changed, even now, with a $155 million contract.

“He’s kind of had a chip on his shoulder to always prove himself,” Orioles manager Craig Albernaz said. “And that’s a good trait to have.”

A playbook

At a certain point, Alonso realized keeping a deck of note cards was too difficult. He couldn’t lug them around. He certainly couldn’t flip through thousands of them to read how a plate appearance against a certain pitcher two years ago went — how would he find it?

And if he dropped the whole stack? A disaster.

The notebooks became his preferred method, and he dives into a wider range of topics than the early index cards he filled out.

“It’s not just self-analysis. It’s reports, being prepared, notes, observations,” Alonso said. “It’s a culmination of old-school baseball feels and just information data. It’s reflection and performance on previous games and then how to prepare. It’s kind of like a playbook, if you will.”

Alonso reflects on his fielding, throwing, baserunning, situational execution — “the whole bit,” he said.

For years, he heard he wasn’t good enough. The year before Alonso became the National League Rookie of the Year for the New York Mets with a record-setting 53 home runs in 2019, Braun said, there was a front office member in that organization who doubted his future. “Said he’d never play in the big leagues,” Braun said.

But the outside voices aren’t what drive Alonso, because no matter what critiques he hears from them, he has probably critiqued himself in harsher terms. Just read his index cards from college. They’re in a stack in Weitzel’s storage bins, as thick as an encyclopedia and as introspective as the most veteran player.

That was Alonso at 18. Alonso at 31, perhaps the biggest name the Orioles have ever signed in free agency, is just the same.

“He cares. He really cares,” Weitzel said. “And what he does, because of his work ethic every day, it kind of rubs off on other guys and kind of shames them, like, ‘I need to work a little harder, too.’”