Brett Myers redeemed himself with the 2008 Phillies. Now he passes that lesson to his son, a prospect.

Brett Myers failed to record an out in the third inning before he was pulled from another rough night as his return to the starting rotation had become a disaster.

A season earlier, Myers became the Phillies’ emergency closer and threw the curveball that sent them back to the postseason. The Phillies, unlike Myers, saw that as a temporary fix. They traded for Brad Lidge a month after the 2007 season and told their starter-turned-closer that he was a starter again.

“I was still a little angry that they went and got Lidge. I told them that I was better than him,” Myers said. “And then he goes 40 for 40, so I kind of ate my foot.”

The Rangers blitzed Myers for five runs in June 2008, ballooning the pitcher’s ERA to 5.84. He was peeved about starting again and was pitching like it. Myers went to Charlie Manuel’s office after the game, asking the manager to move him back to the bullpen. He could figure it out there, Myers said.

Later that night, the Phillies called Myers’ hotel room. They were sending him to triple A.

“I was [ticked]. Like really [ticked]. I was just mad,” Myers said. “I had five years in the big leagues, so I didn’t have to go. I was like, ‘I ain’t going.’”

Myers, 43, purchased a sprinter van earlier this year and converted it into a “baseball wagon.” His eldest son, Kolt, is one of the country’s top high school players and Myers hit the road with him this summer.

Fifteen years after winning the World Series, the 2008 Phillies are now all retired after Cole Hamels walked away in August. Some found jobs in the game. Others chased new careers. And some became baseball dads.

“Wait,” said Myers, who last pitched in 2013 with Cleveland. “I haven’t officially retired. Can I still do that after 10 years?”

In June, Myers drove from his 65-acre farm in Jacksonville, Fla., to one of Kolt’s tournaments in North Carolina. The 18-year-old shortstop committed last summer to the University of Florida, the same school his father was committed to before the Phillies drafted him 12th overall in 1999.

Kolt Myers can play any position — “He’s a hybrid,” his father said — but he has made his home at shortstop. He’s expected to be drafted in June. Scouts always ask his dad when he’s going to pitch, but Kolt Myers wants to reach the majors his way.

“He wants to make his own journey and I’m proud of him for that,” Myers said. “I’m pumped for him. I hope he gets what he wants. I just challenge him a little bit and he amazes me every time I give him a challenge. He wants it just as bad I wanted it so I see a lot of reflections of myself. How bad he wants to play in the big leagues, on his own terms. I can’t stress that enough.”

The father and son drove home from North Carolina and Myers flew the next day to Cooperstown, N.Y., where his two younger sons — Koda and Kace — had a tournament. He flew home and left later that day on a flight to Phoenix with Kolt for the Perfect Game All-American Game. They flew home and drove the van a day later to a tournament in Atlanta.

The sprinter van — which often brings his son’s teammates to weekday events since other parents are working — was a good investment.

“Over the whole summer, we were probably home for two weeks,” Myers said. “People always ask me ‘Do you miss baseball?’ Well, I don’t have time to miss it because I have three boys playing and I’m at the ball field during baseball season almost seven days a week.”

The game has changed since Myers left high school and the youth-baseball landscape is dramatically different. There are more scouts, more events, more attention, and more pressure. And the Baseball Dad doesn’t bother too much about mechanics, allowing others to coach his son.

But he did spend 12 years in the majors, learning along the way what it takes to be successful.

So when Kolt struck out four times in a game this season, the Baseball Dad didn’t say anything. He remembered when he struggled as a young major leaguer and how he would respond by changing his routine, hoping to find a quick fix. It wasn’t until later in his career that he learned to stay the course. He wanted to see how his son would react.

“I just sat back and didn’t say anything,” Myers said. “He got in the car, went to the house, and I knew he was mad. But I didn’t say anything. The next day, he did the same routine.”

Kolt Myers took 50 swings the next afternoon in the backyard batting cage, just like he does before every game. Nothing changed after a rough day.

“Most kids could have drown in their sorrow when they have a game like that. That’s why I wanted to see how he would react to it. There’s going to be games or weeks or months where you struggle,” Myers said. “I just said, ‘Tonight, just try to hit the ball over the scoreboard in right field. That’s your approach. That’s all you have to do.’ He goes up and first at-bat is a homer, opposite field over the scoreboard. I’m like, damn. From 0-for-4 to that is a pretty good bounce-back.”

Before becoming a full-time baseball dad, Myers was the front man for his own rock band. Myers said it helped him transition to life after pitching. The gig brought him five years ago to a benefit concert where he spotted the Undertaker, the legendary professional wrestler.

With the Phillies, Myers was often backstage at WWE events — “Half of the writers are from Philly,” he said — but he always steered clear of the Undertaker.

“He never came out of character. I was scared of him,” Myers said. “He was always in dark clothes. Looked like he was dead. I don’t know if he’s really messed up or not. You couldn’t tell.”

But the Undertaker, whose real name is Mark Calaway, seemed friendly this time and Myers had a conversation starter. Myers — who put his music career on hold when his son’s baseball career became serious — wrote songs with the wrestler’s brother-in-law.

“So I told him that and we were talking about careers,” Myers said. “He said, ‘What was your biggest regret?’ I said I don’t know. A lot of stuff was running through my head. I don’t know. Then I sat there for a minute and it kind of came to me because I never thought about that. I never knew how to turn it off. I didn’t know how to turn the switch off when I left the field. When I went out in public, I was still the jerk that I was when I took the mound.”

Myers wasn’t expecting the WWE Hall of Famer to get introspective — “It freaking blew me away,” Myers said — but it gave him a lesson to bring home for Kolt. On the field, Myers told his son, be a jerk. But learn how to turn it off.

“Don’t show anyone up and play the game the right way with respect,” Myers said. “But I want you to play hard and I want everyone to not like you because that means you’re really good. But when you get off the field, shaking hands and kissing babies. Be yourself. You don’t always have to be [ticked] off like I was. I felt like if I talked to the wrong person, I was going to pitch bad and then I would blame that guy for talking to me.”

Myers was fuming after the Phillies told him about their plans to demote him. He called Rod Nichols, his minor league pitching coach, and clued him in.

“Can you believe this?” Myers said.

Nichols could. He told Myers that he wasn’t helping the team and had to swallow his pride. Myers calmed down. His old coach was right. Come down here, Nichols said, and it’ll be OK. The Phillies wanted the assignment to last just 20 days. They permitted Myers to stay in Philly and meet the minor league teams on the days he started.

“That’s when my career changed,” Myers said. “I told myself, ‘How much worse can it get?’”

Myers made four starts in the minors, relaxing so much that he even took a bus trip with the Clearwater Threshers. After Myers was demoted, pitching coach Rich Dubee said the pitcher’s confidence was as low as he had seen it. He returned to the majors a month later, refreshed. Myers posted a 1.80 ERA in his first 10 starts, seven of which were Phillies wins as they pushed into playoff contention.

With two weeks left in the season, the Phillies had a Sunday doubleheader against Milwaukee, but Myers had pitched four days earlier. Still, he told Manuel he was good to go.

“Give me the ball,” Myers said. “I wanted to pitch that game. I knew I had a hot hand.”

He watched the first few innings of the first game at home before driving to the ballpark for the second game. He listened on the radio as Joe Blanton completed seven innings against the wild-card-leading Brewers.

“I could feel the energy when he was pitching before I even got there,” Myers said. “You could feel it.”

The Phillies entered that Sunday night a game behind Milwaukee after winning the first three games of the series. They gave out rally towels, the ballpark was rocking, and Myers pitched a complete game on three days’ rest just 10 weeks after being sent to triple A.

The Phillies raced to the playoffs, Myers worked a walk against CC Sabathia, had three hits and three RBIs against the Dodgers, started a World Series game, and ended a once disastrous season on a parade float with the son he now mentors. He redeemed himself and has the ring to prove it.

“I try to tell a lot of kids that story of how you can be down in the dumps like that, but all of a sudden you’re walking out of there with a ring at the end of the year,” Myers said. “That’s a great story. You never know how it’s going to turn around for you. I needed a break, I guess.”