Shooting for the Stars: How Gerry Glasco Turned Texas Tech Softball into a WCWS Super‑Nova — “There Isn’t a Pitch in Baseball That Frightens Me”
When Gerry Glasco strode across the infield dirt at Oklahoma City’s Devon Park, the lights overhead looked less like stadium LEDs and more like launch‑pad beacons. One season ago, Texas Tech softball was a middling program still chasing its first Women’s College World Series berth. Tonight—after a 54‑14 whirlwind, a Big 12 double‑crown, and a silver‑screen‑ready sequence of postseason heroics—the Red Raiders are one win away from the sport’s summit. How did the 66‑year‑old rookie skipper blast a team picked second in the league all the way into orbit? Glasco grins beneath his scarlet cap and offers a shrug: “There isn’t a pitch in baseball—or softball—that frightens me.”
Glasco’s bravado is no empty boast. Before he ever held a radar gun, he spent two decades guiding deep‑pocketed hunters through cartel‑patrolled ranchland south of the Rio Grande. After being dragged from his truck at rifle‑point in 2008, DEA agents told him the next ambush might not end with an apology. Glasco pivoted from bird dogs to backstops, dialing former Georgia coach Lu Harris‑Champer to cash in a standing offer: come run our hitters. By the next spring he was charting pitches on college softball’s biggest stage, helping the Bulldogs reach the WCWS finals in Year 1.
That detour forged Glasco’s now‑famous steel. “Once you’ve stared down the wrong end of a cartel checkpoint,” he quips, “bases‑loaded, two outs just feels like recess.”
Midnight hunts also taught him to read terrain—a skill he’s repurposed as a master recruiter. With an eye for raw athleticism, he convinced star pitcher NiJaree Canady to transfer from Stanford, sold Kentucky speedster Mihyia Davis on wind‑swept Lubbock, and lured All‑SEC backstop Kayla Kowalik onto his staff. The result: an offense that scores 6.3 runs a game and a staff ERA that ranks top‑five nationally.
The semifinal classic against Oklahoma encapsulated Glasco’s ethos. Down 2‑0 in the sixth, he trusted freshman Brenlee Gonzales to lay down a textbook squeeze. Two batters later, Davis punched a single through the 5‑6 hole; Canady returned for a seven‑pitch save. Final: 3‑2. As crimson‑hued streamers rained, Glasco’s red‑and‑black swarm looked like a supernova swallowing a fading star.
Yet for all the swagger, Glasco’s journey is stitched with heartbreak. In January 2019 his youngest daughter, Geri Ann, a former All‑American and volunteer assistant, died in a car accident at 24. She wore No. 12; the Red Raiders entered the tournament as the 12‑seed. Their hotel rooms in regionals? Room 112. Fate can be blunt. “She’s riding shotgun every inning,” Glasco says. Daughter Tara Archibald, now his pitching coach, tears up whenever a 12 flashes on the scoreboard. “We feel her nudge when we need it most.”
Fittingly, the WCWS finals pit Tech against in‑state leviathan Texas—a program that once beat the Red Raiders 11‑0 in February. Glasco used that drubbing as tinder. “Remember how that felt,” he told his club, posting the box score in the locker room. Two months later, Tech ambushed the Longhorns in Austin, winning the series clincher 7‑2. Now the rubber match is for a national crown.
Game 1 went to Texas, 2‑1, after a ninth‑inning bloop. Glasco’s post‑game message: We like trilogies. Canady answered with a two‑hit shutout in Game 2, her 12th complete game of the year. Friday night’s decisive Game 3 looms as a battle of aces—and psyches. “Pressure?” Glasco laughs. “That’s just adrenaline wearing a different jersey.”
NiJaree Canady, RHP, Jr. – 27‑5, 0.95 ERA, 311 Ks. Features a rise‑ball that seems to defy gravity and a change‑up slower than a West Texas sunset.
Mihyia Davis, CF, Jr. – Slashing .402/.469/.589 with 41 steals, she turns singles into stand‑up triples when outfielders hesitate.
Alexa Langeliers, 3B, Sr. – Conference Defensive Player of the Year, her glove has vacuumed up every scorched grounder in Oklahoma City.
Hunter Veach & Kowalik, assistants – Veach charts match‑up data like a Wall Street quant; Kowalik runs catching drills that look more like CrossFit.
Glasco’s dugout buzzes with controlled chaos—one player tunes up a saxophone riff on the top step, another scribbles G12 on her wrist tape, a reminder of the sisterhood’s guardian angel.
A trophy tonight would be Texas Tech’s first NCAA team championship in any women’s sport—a legacy that will ripple through West Texas little‑league diamonds for generations. But Glasco insists the broader mission is “to plant fearless seeds.” He has already endowed the Geri Ann Glasco Memorial Scholarship, funneling NIL dollars toward aspiring female coaches. “Our wins fade,” he says, “but those dugouts full of women who believe they belong—that’s forever.”
Standing on the chalked circle during Thursday’s practice, Glasco took one last look at the empty grandstands. “Tomorrow,” he said, “it’ll be louder than a jet launch. Perfect.” Then he fired a fungo sky‑high, watched it disappear into the glare, and grinned when his third‑baseman hauled it in. Trajectory locked in; re‑entry optional.
