The Bet (3): Tenacious Battles at the Plate
Our leadoff hitter was Lee Yong-gyun, who'd been heating up lately. Stepping up to the plate, he settled into his signature batting stance. Facing him was Lee Hak-jae, the sidearm pitcher from the Changwon Dinosaurs. He had a style similar to Lim Young-gi's, but his polish was still a ways off from matching this guy.
Lee Hak-jae was the classic two-pitch pitcher. He only threw a four-seam fastball and a changeup, but that was plenty to define him. Telling them apart was incredibly tough since they came from the exact same arm slot. Plus, his grip strength was insane, giving his pitches tremendous spin. Even without blazing velocity, that made them a nightmare to square up.
From the moment Lee Hak-jae was named the starter, I'd shared intel on him with the players and guided them through it. But how much it'd stick? Who knew. The consensus was that calling him a simple two-pitch guy didn't do justice to how hard he was to hit.
Lee Yong-gyun seemed to remember my advice, gripping the bat short and straining to pick up the ball as best he could. Lee Hak-jae's pitch was released, tracing a messy trajectory toward the plate. It looked like a fastball at first, but the sidearm angle gave it that hooking dive. For a lefty like Lee Yong-gyun, it must've felt like it was boring right into his body.
But he let the first one go, wisely taking it. "Ball!" The pitch hugged the inner edge close enough that an ump could've called it a strike without argument. Lucky for us, it wasn't. A tight zone worked against sidearmers like him. Good news for our hitters, but bittersweet for Lim Young-gi in the same situation.
The second pitch came in on a similar path, and Lee Yong-gyun swung. It clipped the strike zone a bit more this time. But nope—changeup. He whiffed big and let out a wry chuckle. He'd figured it for the same pitch as before, only for the changeup to scramble his brain. Even with Yong-gyun's great contact skills, that kind of deception was brutal.
The third was a fastball right down the middle for a strike. Two strikes in a flash, and Lee Yong-gyun wiped the smile off his face, eyes sharpening. He dialed in his focus like never before, refusing to back down. He fouled off similar pitches, tweaking his bat angle just enough to keep fighting.
Lee Hak-jae was up to pitch seven now, frustration creeping in. Yong-gyun looked like he was whiffing clean, but he kept nicking the ball with grit. Balls were mixing in too, forcing Hak-jae to nibble—he couldn't keep pounding the zone forever.
By the eighth, ninth, and tenth pitches, it was full count. As manager, I loved seeing our guy grind like this. It showed his fire, sure, but more importantly, it wore down the pitcher's stamina and gave our bench time to eye up his stuff. Yong-gyun benefited too.
The eleventh pitch came, and he smoked it. No more check swings—this was a full rip. Whether he'd finally separated the fastball from the changeup or just went off pure feel, he crushed it. The ball drilled through left-center. Solid contact; he bolted for first, the defense still scrambling. He blew past first and slid into second safe. Pure hustle.
As the center fielder scooped it and fired to second, Yong-gyun hit the dirt feet-first in his signature slide, popping up with time to spare. Safe. Lee Hak-jae's face darkened after coughing up a two-bagger to the leadoff man after eleven pitches. That grind chipped away at stamina and mentality.
But Hak-jae didn't fold. He fanned Jeong Woo-geun. Then Pie popped out to right, and Yong-gyun tagged up to third. Two outs, but Kim Tae-hoon had a golden chance with a runner there.
Hak-jae glanced at Yong-gyun lurking on third before challenging Tae-hoon. The big first baseman yanked a body pitch. "Woooaaahhh!!!" The crisp crack echoed as it banged off the wall and kicked dead. Great contact, but the speed kept it in the park—a single. Yong-gyun trotted home.
Kang Hyun-jun followed but couldn't solve Hak-jae's gritted-teeth heat, striking out. For a rookie like Hyun-jun, Hak-jae was still a towering wall. But every battle like this was fertilizer for his growth. I couldn't wait to see him build on it.
Now it was Lim Young-gi's turn at the plate for us. The Dinosaurs' leadoff was their first baseman, Tames. This foreign slugger flashed monster stats, making him public enemy number one. Huge frame, quick feet, and he barreled balls with power. His presence in the box was intimidating.
But Young-gi showed no fear or awe—just his usual pinpoint control, painting the corners. Tames had a sharp eye and didn't bite easy, but Young-gi worked to two strikes, two balls.
Foreign hitters often struggled against sidearmers, and Tames was no exception. He whiffed hard on a diving changeup and trudged away. Young-gi pumped his fist and roared, having toppled a beast. He looked cool under pressure, but that release said he'd been wired tight.
Jeong Cheol-min coach caught it and ambled over with a hearty laugh. "Teaching that kid's made me see how bold he is. Puts in the work too."
"Has he?"
"Yeah. You always spot the right guys to develop, Manager."
Cheol-min had warmed up to me since patching things up. Senior or not, he stuck to polite speech.
"Nah, that's on you coaches being top-notch. I couldn't do squat alone. You all teach 'em hands-on—that's why they improve."
True talk. My status windows told me how to coach, but execution was their domain. I chipped in, but their expertise drove growth. Glad to be tight with Cheol-min now.
While we chatted, Young-gi fanned cleanup hitter Kwon Dong-hee and caught six-hole Son Si-hyun popping up. A pitchers' duel between him and Hak-jae.
We nursed a one-run lead, but it felt razor-thin. Young-gi blanked them through the third, fourth, and fifth. We'd blown past our bet's five-inning, three-run limit ages ago.
After the fifth clean, Cheol-min swung by with a grin. "Lost the bet—drinks on me." I smiled back; no need to harp on it. Winning mattered more.
Young-gi was outperforming expectations today. Hak-jae too—shaky first, but locked in through five.
Stick Young-gi in the sixth? He'd thrown 76 pitches—plenty left. But I pulled him. One look at his stamina bar sealed it: down to 32.
Stamina bars were a game-changer for rotations. 90 or 60 felt similar, but below 60, performance dipped. I might notice more thanks to the windows, but 40 was still workable—players gutted it out with focus bursts.
Under 40? Different story. Velocity dropped, spin faded, balls flattened for pitchers. Hitters slowed down, lost pop. Injury risk too.
Young-gi had conquered starter nerves like a champ, but that pressure drained him. Frequent first-team stints would teach him pacing—no biggie.
"Coach Jeong, let's change pitchers for the sixth."
"Huh? Who?"
He'd have griped before, but now he listened.
"How 'bout Ahn Young-hyun?"
"Young-hyun works. He can go to the seventh."
Young-hyun was due to start today but was bullpen this week thanks to me and Cheol-min. He'd thrived there before, so no issue.
Told of his five-inning limit, Young-gi beamed and bowed. "Never dreamed I'd start, but I gave it all for you, Manager."
His stamina bar backed the sincerity. "Good work. Ice that shoulder and rest."
"Thank you!"
Young-hyun tipped his cap entering the sixth. Might've irked him losing the start to our bet, but he played it cool. Trust ran deep between us now.