Take Down the No. 1 Team 2
Crack! "Another hit! Following Jeong Ui-hoon, Hwang Do-yoon smacks one too, putting four runs across in the first for the Gocheok Turkeys!"
"They've crafted a perfect big inning!"
Daniel, having surrendered those four runs, barely escaped the inning and trudged back to the dugout with his head bowed. He steadied himself afterward, allowing no further damage, and the Turkeys couldn't pull ahead any more than that.
Can we hold on and win like this? Just as that thought crossed my mind—
Baseball never runs smooth. The opponents were the current pro baseball leaders, and they quickly zeroed in on the Turkeys' third starter, Kim Seung-hwan.
The crisis hit in the bottom of the fifth.
Crack!
The leadoff hitter, No. 9 Chae Ji-hoon, targeted Kim Seung-hwan's low fastball and ripped a single to left. The real issue was his speed. Even as the nine-hole hitter, Chae Ji-hoon's legs were lightning-quick toward shortstop. The moment Seung-hwan went into his stretch, he took off without hesitation.
The catcher's throw was sharp, but Chae Ji-hoon's speed was sharper. The steal succeeded, runners at second with none out. The score was still 4-0, but the momentum had begun tilting—ever so slightly—toward them.
And stepping up was their leadoff man again.
Crack! "The batter pulls it! Kim Seung-hwan's fastball is tagged by the Crows' No. 1 hitter."
"It's heading into shallow left! Dangerous!"
The instant the bat met ball, I knew. If it snuck through clean, that runner's wheels meant he'd score easy. I hurled myself full extension, diving left and stretching out my arm as I slid. Then—a graze at the tip of my glove.
Got it!
I popped up fast, blocking the runner. The guy at second scrambled back, diving for the bag. I debated throwing to first, but their leadoff was speedy too—tough to nail—so I focused on pinning the runner at second.
Next up: the Crows' No. 2, Ryu Seong-jae.
Turkeys' third starter Kim Seung-hwan tried masking his nerves, but having runners at first and second weighed heavy.
On the first-pitch fastball, Ryu Seong-jae unleashed like he'd been waiting. Clean rip—a pulled liner dropping in front of right field.
Instinct kicked in. Front of right, but the runner at second had home easy. Even up four, one run here could wake their lineup in this vibe.
Fake 'em out.
As the runner rounded third toward home, I shifted to third base, slipping between him and the Crows' third base coach. Blocked the coach's view, then subtly posed like the ball was coming my way.
The coach kept waving him home, but my body obscured it for a split second—conflicting signals flooded the runner's brain.
Effect immediate.
No. 9 Chae Ji-hoon at second should've arced wide for home—textbook curve dash. But my sudden screen and catch fake sent him straight-lining again. Nearing third, he dropped low into a slide.
Safe play.
By the time he dove for third, the relay from right had the ball at second. As he lifted his head to check, he caught the third base coach's scorching glare.
Whew... dodged a run there.
…
"Man, Hu-seong's defense is unreal. He just killed two scoring chances back-to-back. That defensive sense..."
Manager Kim Young-ho nodded at the chief coach's words, but with the root issue unsolved, he sank into deep thought.
"Sigh... The pitcher's gotta step up. Why's he losing it now?"
Arms crossed, he stared at the mound and sighed.
"Pull him? But he needs to eat five innings at least..."
Starters were expected to go five minimum. But like this... Changing him midstream felt right, leaving Kim Young-ho torn.
Tch... Can't yank him rashly when he hasn't given up more yet... Hmm...
"Go check on him. If he stays like this, it's risky. Worst case, bullpen. How's the pen?"
"Closer Jin-ho's warming. Too early for Tae-sin or Seon-jae..."
The pitching coach headed to the mound on the manager's order. Seung-hwan insisted he was fine, so the coach retreated—but sadly, the next hitter, No. 3 Kim Yong-hoon, singled.
Crack! "The batter pulls it. Drops in front of left field!"
This time, no stopping the sprinting Chae Ji-hoon. Third and second scored in a flash—4-2.
"Turkeys change pitchers. Kim Jin-ho enters. Season record: 1-2, 3 holds, 3.94 ERA."
The closer Kim Jin-ho rushed in. But he seemed stiff, deliberately dragging to loosen up.
"And waiting at the plate: Eulji Crows' cleanup, Go Ju-seok."
Whiiip! Pop!
High fastball—near pitch-out. Jin-ho finally found balance.
Shake of the head.
Whiiiip!
Damn!
The curve tested low—flat drop. It hung bottom of the zone; the batter pounced.
Crack!
"Go Ju-seok pulls it~ Tosses the bat!"
"Oh! That's gone."
The batter knew. From third, I turned left, helpless as it sailed over left field into the stands. 4-5. Reversed.
Ah... this the top team? Damn, they can play.
* * *
Top of the eighth. Still 4-5.
My at-bat again.
Opposing pitcher: lefty closer Im Jun-ho. Three-quarter arm slot—cutters, sliders, occasional change. Tough matchup for a lefty like me. But just another hurdle to clear for the win.
"Kim Hu-seong watches two. No balls, two strikes. Time to battle."
No more teasing—hit time. Focused, Im Jun-ho's pitch flew.
Whiiip.
Eh? Inside fastball?
Reflex swing—for a foul. But...
No—this one's...
Coming in! Lefty inside cutter tails off the plate then drifts back. Unavoidable. Barely got the bat on it.
Tink!
"Kim Hu-seong makes contact."
"Ball's up—where's it going? Looks like foul territory behind first..."
Damn...
I bolted to first anyway, stone-faced, tracking it. First baseman and right fielder closed in.
Tch... out, huh.
Plop!
"Oh! It drops! Lucky hit for Kim Hu-seong! First and right can't snag it."
Whew.
I settled at first. Eyes met Im Jun-ho's. Lefty—best avoid battle. But after beating vet Im Jong-hyeon last time vs. Phoenix, no fear. Might not win every time, but once? Possible. And running's not all.
Whiiip! Pop!
My threat worked. Pitcher and catcher pitch-out often—balls piled fast.
3-0.
Count deep against them; at the plate, Gu Min-seok read it perfect.
Now.
Walk or strike—only choices. Walk advances me. Heater? Min-seok-hyung hits it.
They knew. To dodge worst, Im Jun-ho went curve.
Shiiiip.
Finally. Dropping pitch.
I bolted instant.
Min-seok saw, swung long—intentional miss, blocking catcher's view, delaying grab.
Catcher slowed a beat. I slid safe into second easy.
At second, I eyed Im Jun-ho's hand close. Pattern hunt.
Tougher than thought.
Pop! "Ball four."
3-1 count, Min-seok picked another—walk to first.
My steal lost some shine, but fine.
…
"Strike three!"
Next, Kim Han-seong whiffed to the lefty. Lefty hitter weak to lefty heat. Late 140s inside backdoor cutter for strike one, sinker whiff same spot, final outside corner fastball cooked him.
Got it!
While nailing Han-seong, I cracked Im Jun-ho's tells. Mostly fastballs, but off-speed grip slip.
Casual helmet touch, back off a step.
Off-speed signal.
Shiiiip!
Cleanup Son Tae-ho swung big.
Crack! "Batter pulls! Sharp liner drops front left!"
Ball down, brain math—instinct sprint. Rounded third wide from jump.
"Go! Go!"
Third coach windmilled wild.
"Kim Hu-seong rounds third! Left throws home!"
Diving home, felt the ball incoming from catcher's stance.
Faster!
Full slide home.
Shhh!
"Safe!"
"Kim Hu-seong's too quick! Catcher can't tag. Game tied at 5-5!"