Summoned to Gocheok
The key to infield defense is simple: stay low, get in position to sprint either way. Thwack! Once the batter makes contact, judge the ball quickly and try to field it from your center of gravity. That maximizes your chances of a clean pickup. But when the ball is hit far and hard like this, you have to adjust—slide into it...
I slid left and snagged it cleanly. Pop! With the ball secure in my glove, your eyes go straight to first base. Scoop it out and fire with solid footwork. I popped up and hurled it toward first.
Whoosh! The ball spun through the air toward the first baseman—aim for chest height, easy to handle. Pop! He caught it at belt level. Perfect throw.
"Out!" The umpire clenched his fist, and the batter trudged back to the dugout with a disappointed grimace.
"What do you think?"
The second-team defensive coach, who'd been watching from the side, replied to the manager.
"Hmm... Steady all game. Great focus today, and his throws have been spot-on. Looks like he's settling into that expanded range."
But Oh Tae-sik, the second-team manager, cut in coldly and realistically.
"Tch. Defense alone won't cut it. Hitting and baserunning... that's the issue. To get the first-team manager to use him, he needs to show those too."
"Still, this is solid enough for a defensive sub, right? Who's really counting on utility guys anyway? You're being overly picky, Manager."
"You think the first team sees it that way? We've already got defensive specialists. He's doing that level."
"But Hu-seong handles both infield and outfield decently, doesn't he?"
"Infield's passable. Outfield's still iffy."
"He'll get comfortable there soon enough."
I stepped into the batter's box. The opponents were the Guri Crows, second team for the Seoul-based Eulji Crows—who used to share Jamsil Stadium with the Falcons until they built their new park in Eulji.
I adjusted my helmet, recalling the manager's words.
—Watch until two strikes, then swing smart.
Defense had earned a nod, but without results at the plate, I wouldn't survive. I steadied my nerves, raised the bat slightly.
The opposing pitcher was a fellow rookie, picked in round four—better than me, but not elite 1-2 round material. Manageable.
Whoosh! Pop! First pitch, fastball right down the middle. Tempting, but I held back. Hands itched, but I fought it.
Second: breaking ball tailing off the plate outside. Let it go. No swing from the ump.
I gripped tighter. Whoosh! Pop! Another heater, center in.
"Strike two!"
Game on. Think and hit, right? Fastballs crowd the middle. Off-speed lacks command.
The manager glanced at the baserunning coach, flashing the sign: aggressive. Swing at your pitch.
Same as my plan. Third pitch: Whoosh! Fastball, hittable.
Crack! No hesitation—I swung, connected. Grounder, hard bounce, big hop.
I tossed the bat and sprinted to first. Shortstop charged out. Thud-thud-thud! My spikes dug into the dirt.
He fielded at the projected spot, whipped to first like lightning. Pop!
"Safe!"
Whew... close call. Lungs burned from the all-out dash. His throw was true, but my feet were truer. That's my edge—not power hitting, but speed.
This is how I survive.
"Nice," the baserunning coach on first said. I nodded, settled in.
Glanced at the dugout—Oh Tae-sik signaled: steal.
Now? Already? Heart dropped. I'd practiced steals for days, but game reps? Second time ever. Last one advanced on a hit.
Real steal incoming... Mind raced. But orders were orders. He wanted experience.
It's just an exhibition. Practice for the real thing. Go for it.
I took a bigger lead, eyed the pitcher's motion. Pulse quickened.
Delivery—Go!Thud-thud-thud! Full sprint to second. Muscles screamed.
Pop! Catcher received, threw.
Approaching second, I dropped awkwardly. A bit late... Sliding technique raw, but hand touched bag.
Slide! Thud! Shoulder hit, then his glove tagged my back.
Out?
"Safe!"
Relief washed over. Heart pounded, but success hit harder. Risky, but I pulled it off.
I stood, brushed dirt from my uniform, looked to the dugout. Oh Tae-sik nodded slowly, arms crossed. No big show, but approval clear.
All that brutal training paying off...
Post-game, heading out of the dugout, the manager beckoned.
Today: 3-for-3, infield single, one steal. One bunt hit, plus the steal—solid.
Praise incoming?
His face was oddly serious.
"You've played six exhibitions already."
He frowned. "Yes, sir. Best one today."
"Yeah. Effort showing."
Unexpected praise left me stunned. "Thank you, sir."
He lowered his voice. "These kids skip real training. Flashy stuff, self-practice, modern baseball? Fine, whatever."
Not many slackers in second team... First team?
"Talented freaks rise without it. But when you're not? Grind endlessly, life on the line. Talent needs it too."
Why the lecture? Usually short and sharp...
Silence, then:
"Kim Hu-seong. Head to Gocheok tomorrow."
"Pardon? Gocheok?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I pitched it to the first-team manager, but sooner than expected. Two exhibitions left there. Join 'em."
Heart stopped. Me? Eleventh round? First team already? Mind blanked.
I bowed. "Thank you, sir."
He clasped hands behind his back. "Don't thank me. They're short, asked if we had anyone. Or our exhibition guys suck. You're solid among second-teamers."
High praise—top of ~30 guys.
"Don't get cocky. You're mid-pack, rookie potential. But attitude's right. Grind silently, opportunity comes. Yearn, push till you grab it. Do nothing, get nothing. Baseball especially. You earned this call-up."
Surreal. High school: training beast, bench sub. Good coach now?
"Ahem. I'm old-school, can't teach modern game. Learn that in first team. Stay up as long as you can. Odds say you'll drop back... but fight till they send you down. Get broken up there, got it?"
Maybe I'd just lacked real guidance...
"Thank you! I'll make your recommendation proud!"
I bowed deeply.