Korean Series (4): The Championship Clincher
Down 4-2, it looked like the momentum might shift in the second inning on Kim Sung-min's single. The next batter was Park Won-dong. His regular-season average had dipped to just .250. Of course, he'd been hitting over .300 through June, but with no real backup and having to play a full season, his stamina had worn thin. Kim Hyun-jae had come in as a pinch hitter or defensive replacement now and then, but whenever he did, the team inevitably gave up big runs. But right now, Park Won-dong's stamina was at 89—he'd rested fully during the preparation period, so there were no issues there. He might have been the eighth hitter, but he didn't feel like one. Even Figaro sensed it.
Lee Ji-seung and Figaro had something in common. They were both the type to overwhelm opponents with sheer stuff. But Figaro's velocity edged out Lee Ji-seung's, at the cost of spin rate. And his command wasn't quite on Lee Ji-seung's level either. Strong hitters picked him apart easily. Facing Park Won-dong, Figaro looked a bit more cautious than he had against Kim Sung-min. He threw two straight balls—but not wild ones. They were tempting pitches right on the edge. Park Won-dong didn't bite. Our hitters' focus is at its peak, I thought.
With the two bait pitches failing, Figaro finally worked one into the zone. Park Won-dong held back again, as if he'd planned it. The count was 2-1—still in his favor. Figaro zeroed in on Park Won-dong. Kim Sung-min wasn't much of a runner anyway, so Figaro wasn't worried. He'd swiped just twice all year, getting caught once for a 50% success rate.
Steal on this count. I flashed the sign to Kim Sung-min and Park Won-dong. Figaro was ignoring first base entirely. Plus, after a string of fastballs, I figured he'd mix in an off-speed pitch now. Sure enough, Figaro went with a forkball. Kim Sung-min bolted for second, and Park Won-dong held his swing per the steal sign. Taking a long lead after getting my go-ahead, Kim Sung-min dashed the moment Figaro went into his windup. Lee Ji-hyuk caught the pitch and fired late—Kim Sung-min was already safe at second.
"Aja!!!!" Kim Sung-min roared toward our dugout, arm thrust high in triumph.
No outs, runner at second, count 3-1. The Lions opted to play it safe, pitching around Park Won-dong. No sense wasting a good strike on a hot hitter in the Korean Series when you could just avoid the zone. Neither he nor Kim Sung-min were burners, so a double play seemed preferable. And up next was Lee Geun-taek. Our captain hadn't gotten many starts, pushed aside by Kang Hyun-jun, but he'd still hit near .300. We'd subbed him in for Snyder partly because he'd outperformed him lately, but mostly because I trusted him to deliver in a spot like this. He was the most selfless guy on the team—first to practice, consoling the players, laying into them with tough love when they strayed. He filled the gaps I couldn't as manager.
After Lee Geun-taek came Kang Hyun-jun, the leadoff man. The nine spot seemed like the bottom of the order, but it was a key role. Usually reserved for stamina management, it often went to a guy with a hot bat. Sometimes the nine-hole hitter played cleanup; other times, he sparked the top. It bridged to the heart of the lineup. Lee Geun-taek was perfect for it—not a big swinger, but a contact machine with elite plate discipline, drawing more walks than strikeouts. At thirty-six, he wasn't fast, but his BQ was high enough for a solid stolen base success rate.
Crack!! Lee Geun-taek delivered exactly what I hoped for. Gripping low on the bat, he poked a changeup just over the second baseman's head with a compact swing. Kim Sung-min held at third, but now it was no outs, bases loaded.
Kang Hyun-jun's turn again. He'd struck out looking last time but had grinded Figaro hard before. Figaro knew it, tightening up even more. He fouled off good pitches without chasing—pitchers hated that type. Especially loaded, where one wild pitch could mean runs. Figaro's heat was filthy, topping 159 km/h on the four-seam, but his off-speed command faltered with men on third—he rarely threw them there. Still, that fastball was no joke. Except the hitter was Kang Hyun-jun, who thrived on velocity.
Whoosh!! Pow!!! The ball drilled in tight; most guys would've bailed. Kang Hyun-jun stood firm, eyes shut. A hit-by-pitch would've scored one. It missed, but the ump called ball four. Figaro looked queasy—that heater had clocked 158 km/h. Kang Hyun-jun's resolve was unreal. Now Figaro hesitated to work inside against a guy willing to wear it.
Crack!! Reading it perfectly, Kang Hyun-jun waited on the outside pitch and ripped it.
The liner sliced between center and left, rolling to the wall. Plenty for Kim Sung-min from third and Park Won-dong from second. Score tied at 4-4 in a flash. No outs, runners at second and third. Up next: Kim Seong-ha, then Kim Kang-jun, Park Byung-hyun, Seo Geon-cheol, Yoo Jun-han. All batting over .330. Yoo Jun-han especially, at .362—second in the league behind Changwon's Tames. No wonder folks said if we didn't win now, we never would. A better starter would've made it easier, but this was already greedy. Managing this team was pure luck.
We surged to 7-4 in the second on blasts from Kim Kang-jun, Park Byung-hyun, and Yoo Jun-han. Lee Ji-seung returned, still baffling Lions with his elbow fake. By the third, though, they ignored it—figuring out the ploy. Didn't matter. His stuff was unhittable regardless. He went six strong. Rested three days, so we pulled him early. Hadn't burned many pitches in the first, he might've seen the seventh—but he had.
Shin Young-jae held the line in the seventh, Kim Hyun-se in the eighth, Son Seung-hyuk locking the ninth. The Lions countered with Shim Min-chang, Park Hong-geun, Baek Jung-hyuk to stem the tide, but our arms were desperate too. Park Min-seok whiffed on Son Seung-hyuk's four-seamer to end it.
"Heroes! Heroes! Heroes!! Lee Jin-ho! Lee Jin-ho!!" The crowd chanted our team and me. First regular-season title since inception, now Korean Series—integrated champs.
Players flooded the field, spraying water in celebration. Prep buzzed for the awards. I joined them, hugging each one, praising their grind. KBO commissioner Kim Hak-seon handed me the trophy; I raised it high, then passed to captain Lee Geun-taek. Tears streamed as he hoisted his first winner's cup.
Then the guys swarmed me for the fountain toss. Manager and team united for the crown.
As they launched me skyward, text appeared before my eyes.
Guided Gocheok Heroes to 1st place: +200 Ability Points awarded.
Additionally, 4 Korean Series wins: +200 Points acquired.
2015 Settlement Total: 400 Points acquired.
Mind-blowing. Last year's fourth place got me 70 points; this was nearly six times that. Shoving aside the shock, the ceremony rolled on. Korean Series MVP: Kim Kang-jun. Lee Ji-seung nabbed two wins with gems; Park Byung-hyun was solid. But no one matched Kim Kang-jun's carry job: 4 games, 24 AB, 14 hits, 3 BB, 2 SB, 20 RBI, 12 runs, 3 HR. .666 average, .708 OBP, 1.478 OPS. Undeniable—even for me, players, fans.
We squeezed cards from owner Lee Jang-sik for a hanwoo feast, capping the best year ever.
Or so it seemed.