The Minors' Ruthless Reality
After the game ended, Chamber Ricky fielded a swarm of local sports reporters with a brief interview. Watching from afar, Tyrone scratched his head vigorously and muttered.
"That guy... how the hell did he post those numbers in Double-A?"
He'd been called up to Double-A after logging a 0.00 ERA in Single-A spring camp. Having just caught his pitches, Tyrone could feel the pitcher's stuff was still there in spades. Even for Double-A, those awful stats were hard to believe.
"Probably had his reasons."
"Hm?"
Tyrone whipped around at the voice from behind.
"Could've been out of shape, or beef with the team. Who knows."
Everyone on the Beloit roster knew Chamber had caused a major stir in Double-A.
"I just can't picture him tanking because of bad blood with teammates."
"You never know," Roy Yoo replied.
Tyrone let out a low "Hmm..." and sank into thought. Could be?
Then, glancing at Roy, he added, "Speaking of, why are you so damn chill?"
"About what?"
"You're the closer."
If it'd been Tyrone, some new guy suddenly grabbing the mask and starting ahead of him? He'd be pissed. But Roy showed no such signs.
Roy just shrugged at the question. "This is minor league life."
"What?"
Tyrone looked baffled. Arms crossed, Roy eyed Chamber and continued.
"In the minors, chances come to everyone equally. Grabbing 'em? That's on you. And equal shots mean competition's inevitable, right? It's the essence of the minors. Complaining about that core truth? Most exhausting thing ever."
Tyrone stared blankly, then asked seriously, "You sure you're a high school grad this year?"
Roy chuckled softly. Tyrone eyed him like he'd spotted some exotic creature.
Roy was spot on, of course. But Tyrone found it weird hearing this from a minors newbie like him. Sometimes he feels so... seasoned? Like he's seen it all.
Scratching his head out of habit, Tyrone muttered inwardly before asking again.
"So you're cool just handing the closer gig to Chamber like that?"
Roy burst out laughing. "As if."
Knowing minor league routine didn't mean embracing every rival.
"Never thought I was losing to him anyway."
The next day, with a five-game win streak on the line, Roy took the mound in the top of the ninth, score 2-1. Facing the lineup from the nine-hole, he cruised through a clean 1-2-3 inning just like Chamber the day before, notching his sixth save.
No wobble despite his rival's strong showing yesterday. Stone-faced, he walked off the mound. From the dugout, Wyndham Manager shook his head with a wry smile. That kid's a tough nut too.
Not cowed by a powerhouse like Chamber. Clueless? Or bold? Wyndham leaned toward the latter. Tougher than I thought.
Setting aside worries about Roy, he glanced at Chamber in the corner, chewing gum listlessly. He watched Roy's blank return in silence, then stood and headed straight to the clubhouse.
Today's game must've shown him the closer spot wouldn't come easy. If he bounces back quick and heads back to Double-A, that'd be ideal.
Not likely. Officially a conditioning demotion, but Oakland's brass meant it as a "cool your head in the lower league" slap on the wrist.
"Guess we watch his form a bit longer."
Arms crossed, pondering the future, Wyndham sighed.
Low-cost, high-efficiency was the foundation—and that meant the GM stayed busy. Oakland's Michael was always swamped: scouting amateurs for the draft, managing minors for the franchise's future, juggling major league rosters for the season.
His biggest headache lately? The minors—specifically Double-A Midland. Tensions between pitchers and hitters had boiled over, with Chamber lighting the fuse.
Chamber was the spark, but the powder keg was already there.
Michael had tracked down the culprits. His face twisted in irritation.
"So? All this over some bar girl?"
"Bartender, not bar girl."
"Same difference?"
Mac Camry, his unflappable aide, tried correcting him. Michael snapped back irritably—not at him, though. Mac got it; even he was stunned at first.
It traced back to last season's end. Players flocked to a bar near Midland's home field. They hooked up with bartenders often. Private lives, no big deal.
Trouble: one bartender two-timed two players.
Casual flings, nothing serious. Players weren't saints either, so judging? Laughable. But this lovers' quarrel escalated into player beef.
Coaches said the ace starter and starting catcher came to blows over it. They kept clashing, stirring teammates, until pitchers vs. hitters.
"Athletes are simple-minded, sure—but this is ridiculous, right?"
Mac shrugged at Michael's incredulity.
"Chamber walked in blind and snapped at the hitters' jeers."
"Makes sense. Jerkish personality to start—with bats picking fights over his pitching? Bound to blow up."
Not that Chamber was pure victim. His attitude was trouble.
"Anyway, table Chamber for now."
The young Oakland GM drummed his fingers on the desk, then asked Mac, "Main culprits?"
"Starter Adam Wayne and catcher John Morris."
"Wayne and Morris..."
Five seconds of drumming later, he jerked his chin. "Trade 'em somewhere."
"Pardon?"
"Plenty of starters. Catchers too—Single-A's got Tyrone."
"But they're Midland's core."
"Exactly the problem."
Michael snapped irritably. "Charisma and leadership don't mean guiding right. They'll just make it worse. Best to cut out the cancer early."
"..."
"What're you waiting for? Scout teams."
Mac bolted to pull files. Michael tasted bitterness. Waste of talent.
Both were studs. But he wouldn't harbor loose cannons.
May 8th. For the road series against Bowling Green, Beloit was at their home, Bowling Green Home Park. As players gathered on the field for light conditioning and stretching, Tyrone helping Roy stretch said,
"Hey, Roy."
"Yeah?"
"That Korean guy's glaring daggers at you."
"..."
Roy turned to see Kim Yong-soo, face burning with fight, staring him down—until a teammate smacked his head.
Roy let out a hollow chuckle. Tyrone looked puzzled.
"Spring camp was tense too. What's his deal—wants to devour you?"
"Struck him out last year."
"No way?"
Tyrone gaped—not admiration for Kim's fire after a year, but shock.
"Three K's against him?"
Midwest League home run and slugging leader: Kim Yong-soo. 7 HRs, .527 SLG. .271 AVG—elite for a power guy. Double-A call-up after this series.
"You, him... Korea just full of monsters?"
Tyrone whistled. Roy had shut out every start last week, dropping his ERA under 1.00. Call-up rumors swirled for him too.
"Monsters, huh... The real one's elsewhere."
Tyrone shot him a curious look, then scanned the field. "Stadium feels off, though?"
Roy checked the stands. Morning practice, yet crowds. Reporters, obviously.
Something up?
He frowned at the vibe.
Pre-game morning workout: loosen up, then lunch. Single-A team meals? Bread and milk, usually. Beloit, Oakland's better-fed affiliate, splurged on burgers.
Getting envious stares over this? Kinda pathetic.
Roy muttered bitterly over his meal. Pre-regression, upgrading to Double-A burgers had thrilled him. Depressingly happy memory now.
Post-meal, players chilled before team drills. Roy headed to the clubhouse bathroom, then back—when a bump happened.
Thud!
Corner turn: collided with someone rushing.
"Eek!"
A cute-faced beauty tumbled with a yelp. Roy flustered, bowed. She lay there sprawled.