First Wins and the Butterfly Effect
While Seo Tae-woong was dominating with six scoreless innings to notch his first career win alongside the Hana Eagles, his best friend and classmate Kang Baek-ho wasn't sitting idle either.
Just as Tae-woong wrapped up his postgame interview and started tidying up, the crowd at Wiz Park in Suwon—where the game had dragged into extra innings after a scoreless bottom of the ninth—was on its feet, screaming wildly.
Crack!
“Woooah!”
“Waaaaah!”
And so, Seo Tae-woong and Kang Baek-ho began to unleash the butterfly effect.
Across the Pacific, in a hotel room in America, a white-haired Asian man in his seventies sat by the window, where soft sunlight filtered through. In his hands was a sleek, modern tablet PC that seemed oddly youthful for his age, and his eyes darted rapidly across the screen, utterly absorbed.
The headlines were packed with stories of rookies like Seo Tae-woong of the Eagles, Kang Baek-ho of the Wiz, and Yang Chan-seop of the Lions.
“Seo Tae-woong of the Eagles, Kang Baek-ho of the Wiz, Yang Chan-seop of the Lions...”
For over half an hour, the old man hadn't taken his eyes off the tablet, meticulously scanning not just the articles but every single comment below them.
Finally, having finished, he smiled and murmured to himself.
“Hmm... excellent. Yes, they're all performing beautifully. If they keep this up through the end of the season and their teams stay strong, it couldn't be better. The Lions might struggle a bit, though.”
Knock knock knock.
“Commissioner, it's about time to head out.”
As the old man finally looked away from the tablet and gazed out the window, lost in thought, a knock sounded followed by familiar Korean.
He checked his wristwatch and replied.
“Oh dear, lost track of time thinking... Got it! Everything's ready, so let's go right now.”
Leaving the hotel, the old man hopped into a car driven by his secretary and headed to a towering building nearby emblazoned with “Major League Baseball Headquarters.”
Standing at the entrance with his secretary, he remarked.
“One day, the KBO needs to grow to MLB's scale.”
“Haha, with how hard you're working, Commissioner, it won't be long.”
“I hope you're right.”
Chatting as they reached the desk, they followed the staffer's lead upstairs to a large conference room.
“Oh, Mr. Jeong, you're early.”
“Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
“Not at all—you're right on time.”
A middle-aged white man with a slightly receding hairline, looking a bit younger than the elder, greeted him at the door. They shook hands warmly, clearly acquainted.
“Rob, how've you been?”
“Great, Mr. Jeong. It's been three months, right? Come on in.”
The elderly Asian was Jeong Un-cheol, the newly appointed KBO Commissioner. The smiling middle-aged white man shaking his hand was Rob Manfred, commissioner of Major League Baseball—the head of a colossal industry raking in $9 billion annually, or over 11 trillion won in Korean currency.
Entering the conference room, Jeong Un-cheol gazed at the front wall lined with small black-and-white framed photos.
“Last time I visited, everything was so new I barely noticed the details. Coming back so soon makes it all the more impressive.”
“Hahaha, no need to mention it. Once business wraps up, I'll assign a staffer to give you a proper tour.”
“I'd appreciate that.”
“You arrived in New York yesterday? Jet lag must be rough.”
“I exercise regularly, and as you age, you need less sleep anyway. You should ramp up your workouts before you get any older, Rob.”
“Haha, point taken.”
After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, they brought in an interpreter to ensure no misunderstandings and dove into the main discussion.
“I heard ahead of time, but have you fully secured agreement from the KBO clubs and players' association? You mentioned strong pushback from two or three teams last time.”
“Absolutely. I've spent the last three months day and night convincing the GMs. No issues on your end, Rob?”
“The players' union was tough at first—real hardliners—but I won them over. The clubs? Not a single objection. Got all 30 teams on board in just two days.”
“Impressive.”
“They won't say it outright, but every club seems to have their eye on some KBO talent. Even if not this time, it's a golden chance for them to scout and develop our prospects directly.”
“That's a relief.”
“Plus, the Angels reaping big rewards from posting Shohei Ohtani from NPB helped smooth things. The league office sees the boost in Japanese fans positively, just like the clubs do.”
“If this all pans out, maybe we should send Ohtani a thank-you note.”
“No need—I've already met him personally and mentioned it. Hahaha.”
“Haha, perfect. You've worked hard. Shall we get to signing?”
“Yes, let's. Lunch is almost over anyway—join me after?”
“Of course. Dining with you is always a pleasure, Rob.”
“Here you are.”
Rob's secretary handed the documents to Commissioner Jeong.
“Hmm...”
Having already reviewed the details days earlier with MLB office lawyers and the Korean Baseball Committee's legal team, Jeong skimmed the major clauses.
1. MLB-KBO Posting System Revision: Effective immediately upon signing, KBO adopts NPB-style posting. Posting fee capped at $15 million maximum.
2. Opening Series: From 2019 through 2030 seasons, one MLB opening game per year at Jamsil Baseball Stadium.
3. Club Partnership: One KBO team and one MLB team enter operational cooperation agreement, up to 5 years...
4. Integrated Marketing & Exchanges: Aimed at mutual promotion and expanded interactions... (abridged)
5. WBC Participation: MLB players encouraged to join WBC with additional rest periods... (abridged)
The terms were intriguing. Once announced to the press, they'd draw massive attention.
'The $15 million posting cap was the big win. It's double what they offered two years ago, but negotiations dragged on forever. Without that sticking point, we could've wrapped this up back in March.'
Two years prior, in 2016, MLB had proposed a similar NPB-style system to the KBO—but capped at $8 million, about 89 billion won, comparable to top FA deals at the time. Clubs, players, insiders, and fans alike rejected it outright.
'But matching NPB levels sealed the deal for clubs and players.'
After passing the documents back and forth, the conversation resumed.
“Rob, about that bat flip allowance and NL designated hitter we discussed—rolling those out next season right away?”
“You bet. Talks with clubs and the union are done; announcement after the All-Star break in two months. They're already prepping for the changes.”
“Must've been tough.”
“It is, but necessary. MLB's dying a slow death. To pull in young fans, we can't be this staid, gentlemanly sport anymore. We need excitement, something everyone can go wild for.”
Rob Manfred stated it firmly. Before becoming commissioner, he was a lifelong New Yorker, a diehard Yankees fan idolizing Derek Jeter and the King of New York. But he wasn't alone—everyone in baseball felt MLB aging, love and interest waning with time.
Sports without fans fade away. So in 2014, upon taking the helm, Rob wielded the blade of reform: fixing pitcher-hitter dominance, shortening games, and greenlighting bat flips.
Endless pitching duels stretched games to 2-3 hours with scant runs, muting comebacks and home-run cheers. Attendance dwindled—stadiums emptying, TV and streaming viewers dropping.
Meanwhile, NFL behemoths collided full-throttle, while MLB punished homer celebrations as “disrespect.” Middle-aged and elderly fans stuck around; youth saw baseball as dull, for buttoned-up gentlemen.
“I won't let the game I love wither like this.”
“Same here, Rob.”
“Then we're perfect business partners, Mr. Jeong.”
Meeting Rob's blazing eyes, Commissioner Jeong replied. He had no intention of coasting in this honorary role. And for KBO growth, MLB partnership was essential.
“Rob, your term ends next year, right?”
“Yep. Took this seat in 2014—time flies. Zipping across America, Europe, Asia... hadn't noticed.”
The MLB commissioner is elected by the 30 team owners' vote. Rob enjoyed broad support and smooth relations.
“If this deal bears fruit next year... my tenure might not end in 2019.”
His predecessor, Bud Selig, served from 1998 to 2015—not impossible. It hinged on fan reaction to tradition-breaking changes.
“Globalizing baseball and evolving from gentlemen's sport to thrilling spectacle will work. I back you all the way, Rob. KBO will help however we can.”
Jeong didn't want to lose this partner who understood him and supported KBO's global push.
Signing the contract, Rob stood and said.
“KBO needs a star to put the league and Korea on the world map. MLB too—Americans crave new superstars. We'll succeed.”
“I believe it, Rob. We will.”
“Business done—stomach's rumbling. Lunch? Reserved a great spot nearby.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“This way, Mr. Jeong.”