A Big Fall Ahead: Music, Books, and Building Knoto

It’s been a busy season behind the scenes at Molsy Media, and I’m excited to finally share some updates. This year has been about building, sometimes slowly, sometimes chaotically, but always with purpose.

The Spark Album

On September 18, we’ll be releasing The Spark Album, with pre-orders opening September 5. If you grew up on Schoolhouse Rock, you’ll get the vibe immediately. It’s educational music designed for 2025: songs that don’t just teach, but stick in your head. We’re blending humor, hooks, and hard facts—making it just as fun for kids as it is for adults.

Below is a sneak peak at my personal favorite on the album. And Click Here to pre-save or pre order

I Think Therefore I Jam

0:00

The Last Draft

I’m humbled to share that I’ve officially signed a publishing contract for my debut novel, The Last Draft. We’re targeting a mid-November release.

This isn’t just another political novel. It’s a story that blends baseball, family, and public life into something much more personal: a reflection on resilience, loss, and what comes next. Writing it has been one of the hardest, and most rewarding, projects of my life.

PS. Scroll to the bottom for an excerpt from the book.

Knoto

And then there’s Knoto, our short-form educational app. I’ll be honest: development has been slower than I hoped. Experimenting with an AI tutor extension has been a challenge, but the vision hasn’t changed.

Knoto is built around a simple question: What if scrolling made us smarter instead of numb? Imagine learning real skills in real time, streaks that actually stick, and lessons that meet you where you are. That’s the app we’re building.

Looking Ahead

When I step back, it feels like a lot for anyone, let alone a first-year, owner-operated company. But that’s what excites me about Molsy Media—it’s built on curiosity, service, and always asking what’s next?

Thanks for being here at the start. The best is still ahead.

Excerpt from The last Draft 

Chapter 39: The Final Column

By Tony Truman

Published in Sports Illustrated

What Baseball Taught Me

I never made it to Cooperstown.

Not as a player, anyway. My pitching arm gave out somewhere between a duffel bag, a night bus, and a minor league locker room with a busted A/C unit and dreams stuffed into the ceiling tiles. But baseball—like life—never needed me to be perfect. It only asked me to keep showing up.

Some people measure their lives in years, others in milestones. I measure mine in innings.

Top of the first: A boy in Brooklyn, tossing a ball with his father in the last light of a Sunday afternoon. He’s still wearing his church clothes, tie loosened, glove two sizes too big. His father says, “Keep your eye on it.” He means the ball, but later in life the boy will wonder if he meant something else, like truth, or hope.

Second inning: High school bleachers, first kisses, nervous laughs, the smell of pine tar and concession stand fries. The feeling that everything is possible and nothing hurts. Not yet.

By the third, the game is in full swing. Scholarships. Love. A brother who can hit anything thrown at him and a sister who teaches you how to cheer even when your voice is hoarse. Coaches who hand you more than a lineup—they hand you a sense of worth. Loss arrives, too, but you’re young. You think you’ll outrun it.

The middle innings blur.

War. Marriage. Fatherhood. Tragedy. One minute you’re the one being coached, the next you’re the one giving the signs from the dugout. You learn that leadership isn’t a title; it’s the ability to keep going when everyone else looks to you with fear in their eyes and asks, “What’s next?”

I’ve had a few of those innings I’d rather forget. I’ve stood in courtrooms, on podiums, in front of cameras, but I’ve also stood beside graves. The kind dug in soil and the kind that live behind people’s eyes.

And yet. Baseball endures.

Because it’s a game built on failure. Because three out of ten gets you to the Hall of Fame. Because there’s always another at-bat. And because the man standing in left field today might not be there tomorrow, so you better wave while you can.

I once coached a team of kids who didn’t know the rules yet. One of them asked me why there was no clock in baseball. I told him, “Because this game doesn’t end until everyone’s had a fair shot.”

Maybe life should be more like that.

Now, in the bottom of the ninth of my own life, I find myself sitting behind a broadcast mic or scribbling notes on a legal pad I rarely understand anymore. But I still feel the rhythm. The pitch and pause. The way a crowd holds its breath. The hush before the swing.

And once in a while, when the lights hit just right, I swear I can still see the field as it was when I was ten years old—sun-drenched, perfect, and wide open.

So if you’re reading this, maybe you’re a ballplayer. Or a soldier. A teacher, a parent, a dreamer, a survivor. Maybe you’ve known the joy of a walk-off win or the sting of a game lost in extra innings. Either way, I hope you keep stepping up to the plate.

Keep swinging.

Because no matter the count…

What’s next is always worth showing up for.