I was 5 or 6 years old.
My dad, former Major League catcher Kevin Brown, who was playing for the Red Sox at the time, took me to the outfield during batting practice so we could goof around a little. For an hour, he hit balls off the Green Monster, and I ran around with my little league glove catching them. After practice, fans asked my dad for his autograph, and when he’d signed their hats and gloves, they asked for mine, too.
I’ve never forgotten that day—it’s the day I knew I wanted to play pro baseball, just like my dad.
I was born into baseball. Like I said, my dad played pro ball, and from the minute I arrived, baseball was how we bonded. My dad taught me everything I know about the game, literally—until I turned 21, my dad was also my coach. He would have me in our backyard, in batting cages, doing catching drills, making sure everything looked the way he wanted. He was hard on me: harder even, I think, than the other kids. Looking back, I’m so glad he was. His drive and determination kept me going.
I remember in high school, when I was stressing out about the college recruiting process, my dad told me: “If you’re good enough, they’ll find you. If you have the talent, they’ll see it.”
After looking at a few other options, including junior college, I accepted an offer to attend the University of Southern Indiana—my dad’s alma mater. The day I committed, I called my dad and told him: “I’m going to break all your records.” He spit some game back at me, but I know he was thrilled. That’s what our relationship is like: it’s competition, and it’s love. (I did end up breaking my dad’s records. Well, two of the four.)
In 2018, I got drafted. I’ll never forget that day, either. I hadn’t been chosen in the earlier rounds, so after a few days of sitting around watching the Draft and waiting to hear my name, I decided it wasn’t going to happen, and committed to playing summer ball in Virginia. My mom and I were in the car, heading for the east coast, when my mom started shouting. She’d been streaming the rest of the Draft on her phone, and when they got to the 35th round, my mom, one hand on the steering wheel, the other squeezing her phone, yelled: “It’s you, Logan! It’s your name!” She tried turning up the volume, but accidentally locked her phone, which ended the stream, so I didn’t even get to hear the proper announcement. I just remember her crying and saying, over and over: “I heard it. I heard it. I heard your name.”
Fast-forward a year. In the middle of my first full season with the Atlanta Braves, I got a LinkedIn message from someone named Victoria—Vic—who worked at a company called Pando. Vic wanted to talk to me about income pooling. I immediately thought it was a scam, so I told Vic I wasn’t interested. But she wasn’t put off. She insisted that we talk again, so I relented, and we got on another call.
An income pool, Vic eventually explained, is when a group of baseball players contributes a percentage of their future earnings, over a certain threshold, to a shared pool, which is then evenly distributed among all the players at a later date. Players get to choose who’s in their pool, and can select all the details, too—how much to contribute, how long the pool lasts for, what the dollar thresholds are.
After Vic explained everything, pooling made much more sense, but I still needed to talk it over with—you guessed it—my dad. Back when he was playing, Pando and income pooling didn’t exist, so like me, he was skeptical at first.
The more we talked, though, the more sense it made. Pooling was a golden opportunity to invest in my own career, and in the careers of those around me. If one of us were successful in the Big Leagues, we all would be. Besides, my dad pointed out, catchers like us don’t usually get paid as much as other players, so this would be a great way to look out for myself financially.
Between conversations with Vic and my dad, as well as with my agent, I eventually signed up. It took me even longer to actually pool with anyone; it wasn’t until I made the Braves’ top thirty prospect list that I actually brought someone into my pool. Right now it’s just the two of us, but I’m excited to bring more guys into the fold.
As the son of a pro ball player, I know I have big shoes to fill, but in a Pando pool with other talented, ambitious guys, I’m able to invest in myself and share the dream of making it in the Big Leagues ourselves.