Born with sand in his cleats and salt in his blood, Caleb Wright is not your average kid from a beach town.
While others rode waves, he was grinding in cages, chasing a different kind of tide — one made of leather, dirt, and dreams too big for most to carry.
Destin, Florida raised him with sunsets and storms, and both show up in his game.
He doesn’t play for the crowd.
He plays for the silence — the weight of the count, the crack of the bat, the sound of his own heart pounding when it’s bottom of the seventh and the pressure is suffocating.
That’s where he breathes best.
There’s a stillness to him. A storm behind the eyes.
Coaches say he’s got the fundamentals, but it’s the fire that sets him apart — raw, disciplined, and always hunting the next level.
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t fold.
Doesn’t feed off hype.
Just hunger.
Beach by birth.
Baseball by blood.
Destin by destiny.
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