KBO Pros Don't Do Mornings
KBO first-team players had no such thing as mornings. Shift their schedules back by at least four hours, and it would line up pretty closely with the daily grind of regular office workers. Of course, with the old saying that sleep is the best medicine, baseball players who poured everything into a game were left with barely any energy afterward, so they needed longer sleep than average folks just to recharge. But the biggest reason was that most games wrapped up around 10 p.m., with some dragging on until 11 or later.
You might think, Just crash right after— what's the big deal? But it wasn't that simple. After a game, it took three or four hours to loosen up the body tensed from hours of intense focus and calm the lingering adrenaline high before sleep could even be an option. That's why, during the season, the unwritten rule was to never contact a baseball player before 11 a.m. unless it was a dire emergency. Not even family or close friends would dare ring them up in the morning.
Especially for players like Tae-woong on the road, who started their "workday" even later than the home team, they got to sleep in longer.
-Ace:Like that no-name scrub pitcher sprawled out next to you, limbs everywhere, snoring like he owns the damn place.
By the time the sun hung high in the midday sky, Tae-woong slowly stirred awake.
"Ah, shut up with the yapping right next to me. Were you trash-talking me to thin air again?"
-Ace: "Trash-talking? Why the hell would I waste my breath on you? But did you catch what I said?"
Tae-woong, still groggy, squeezed his eyes shut again with effort before mumbling back.
"Yawn... No clue... whatever you were grumbling about. Might as well get up now that I'm half-awake."
-Ace: "It's just past 11. If you're only rolling out of bed now, looks like you've finally adjusted."
"Yeah, well, I was bouncing between first team, rehab squad, and second team due to injuries, syncing to their schedules each time... Just when I'd get used to one, bam—back to first team."
As Tae-woong said, hopping from first-team rehab to second team and back had thrown his rhythm all over the place. Now he was finally settling into the first-team routine. Second-team games kicked off around 1 p.m., when the midday heat started baking everything under the blazing sun. So they'd wake at 7 a.m., hop on the team bus at 8, arrive at the stadium by 9:30 or so, and start training at 10. Worlds apart from the first-team schedule, so it took until his second start to adapt.
"Waking up early sucks, that cramped bus packed with all those guys wrecked my knees, training in the sweltering heat was brutal... First team feels almost human."
-Ace: "Alright, enough whining. Get your ass up. Time for the meaning of life—chow time."
"Yeah, gotta eat to live, right? Skipped a proper meal after last night's game 'cause I was wiped and didn't wanna risk indigestion. Starving now."
Tae-woong rubbed his belly, which let out a loud gurgle like it was starving for real.
Ace stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief.
-Ace: "What? 'Skipped'? You demolished a jumbo pork hock platter, a massive bossam spread, and a big bowl of buckwheat noodles—and that's skipping? How much more were you planning to pack away?"
"That's barely 1.5 servings by normal standards, isn't it? I wanted more but crashed from exhaustion..."
Tae-woong looked genuinely puzzled. At 199 cm tall, he weighed under 100 kg—skinny for a pro baller. Back in the minors, teammates even joked he was like "that scrawny Asian Chris Sale from our squad."
Though I wasn't that bad—Chris Sale's one of MLB's top starters right now, 198 cm and a featherweight 81 kg, basically skin and bones.
He wasn't exactly bulky either. That's why the coaches and vets always dragged him along for feasts and snacks—no matter what, Tae-woong never filled up first.
-Ace: "Didn't you, Lee Tae-young, and Jang Man-jae crush eight extra-large pizzas last time? Those two looked like their eyes were gonna pop out watching you."
"Oh, crap—is it that late already? Gotta head out now if I don't wanna be late."
Denying reality, Tae-woong ignored Ace's brutal facts and bolted for the cafeteria.
-Ace: "I've seen pigs in human suits, but this..."
Powered by their ace starter and red-hot lineup, Daesung Bears were dominating the standings. The battle for the spots behind them was fierce. The Bears led by seven games over second-place Wyverns, while Wyverns held a slim 5.5-game edge over fifth-place Twins.
Excluding the runaway Bears, only four of the nine teams would taste postseason ball in 2018. Every squad from fifth on up clung to that hope—except Lions and Dinosaurs, mired in a basement brawl thanks to pitching-hitting mismatches.
Hana Eagles, rebooting under manager Han Young-deok, were no different. Sure, Seo Tae-woong's heroics were a boost, but eyes stayed fixed on the present, not past glories. Han trusted his squad but never let complacency creep in.
Game three against Wiz: Eagles starter was ace Kybers Simpson; Wiz countered with number-three Gu Young-pyo.
Gu's changeup bit hard, diving sharply and making Eagles bats flail. With five lefties in their nine-man order, it was a nightmare matchup. The lineup circled without a single runner touching first.
But they didn't roll over. After three-up-three-down innings one and two, hitting coach advice shifted gears: Wear him down, boost pitch counts, force an early exit, then tee off on the pen.
Everyone—from table-setters to heart-of-the-order to bottom-feeders—choked up and focused on contact. They fouled off 5-6 pitches minimum, up to 10, sapping Gu's gas. By the sixth, still scoreless, he'd topped 95 pitches, closing in on 100.
The moment arrived in the seventh: Fatigued, his high cheese sailed belt-high. Eagles pounced—core bats strung hits, plating four in the frame.
Gu wobbled, surrendering those four, but buckled down for a scoreless eighth. Solid: eight innings, four runs.
Simpson, meanwhile, was pure ace. Eight hits and a walk, including Kang Baek-ho's two-run jack—but those were his only tallies.
Not bad from the bats either—way better than expected against that nasty change. Simpson's at 118 pitches... Up two, still looks strong. Ride him to the finish.
With reliever Jung Aram pitching lately, Han handed Simpson the final outs.
Smart call. Ninth top, two on, two out: Facing number-three hitter Hwang Jae-gun at 1-2, fifth pitch...
Whoosh! Thwack! Pop!
153 km/h—a filthy four-seam up and in, tailing nasty. Rare velocity in KBO outside a few imports. Coming off a knuckler curving 30 km/h slower, the batter's empty hack made sense—like the ball was snaking toward his ribs.
The mitt crack echoed like a balloon burst, rippling through the stands.
Eagles swept the midweek trio from Wiz in Suwon. But the season rolled on—no time to bask. Before the coaching staff or players could savor it, they hustled from Suwon to Jamsil for the weekend set.
Once settled at the dorm, Tae-woong checked a KakaoTalk from a buddy: Heo Gura name-dropped him late in the broadcast.
Thirsty for praise as always, Tae-woong couldn't skip a clip hyping him up.
"What'd the commentator say? My towering height and clean looks? Nah, I'd rather be judged on skill alone..."
-Ace: "What kinda bullshit is that?"
Ignoring Ace's eye-roll, Tae-woong dove in as the highlight dropped in the green window.
"So-called... synergy, huh? Not going lone wolf—setting up the next arms to thrive?"
-Ace: "Uh, your interpretation's way off-base, buddy."
"That's what he said, Ace."
-Ace: "Sounds more like Simpson dominated today, and your junk yesterday helped a tiny bit."
"You deaf or something? No Korean comprehension?"
-Ace: "Even a foreigner like me gets the national tongue better than you—scribes and all that jazz."
They watched the same clip, but interpretations clashed. Ace downplayed; Tae-woong overhyped. Truth lay somewhere in between—and Heo Gura nailed it.
It was that timing disruption Ace hammered home. Batters tweaking for Tae-woong's arsenal, then readjusting to heat? Tough sledding. In a war of 0.01-second margins—HR or single, grounder or fly—disrupted swings stressed hitters facing back-to-back arms.
Bullpen guys eating 24 hours after Tae-woong felt it most.
-Ace: "Whatever synergy or hype—bottom line, you suck, it's over. The arms after you shining? Only happens when you deliver. Don't forget it."