Breaking the Losing Streak
A team mired in a losing streak craves one thing above all: snapping it. As Beloit wrapped up the final game of their three-game series against Bowling Green, the atmosphere was electric. And cleanup hitter Joey Barton could distinctly feel the shift in Beloit's pitchers and fielders compared to the previous two games.
Swinging at a diving breaking ball and striking out, Joey Barton chuckled inwardly. Even after whiffing in Single-A, he didn't seem particularly upset. He was a high-strikeout hitter by nature, so he didn't dwell on them much. Besides, while his body was in perfect shape, his game rhythm hadn't fully returned yet. No matter the chasm between a major leaguer and Single-A players, a strikeout wasn't all that surprising.
They've come out grinding their teeth.
With his out, the bottom of the first ended, and the teams switched sides. To his veteran eyes, the opposing pitchers and fielders were laser-focused. Showing this kind of fight amid a skid was a trait of contenders.
Returning to the dugout, Joey Barton muttered, "This one's gonna be tough."
Oakland's a powerhouse for a reason.
Watching the switch from the dugout corner, Yoo Min-hoo thought to himself. In the future he knew, Oakland started shining after the 20th season. They'd hover mid-to-upper pack for years, then explode with potential, turning fearsome. They made deep postseason runs consistently until he got retirement advice.
One reason is their minor league affiliates' strong records.
Elite prospects dotted the minors, sure, but that wasn't all.
They've got real attachment to the team.
Yoo Min-hoo scanned the dugout players. Minor leaguers usually lacked team loyalty. Two reasons: constant shuffling from trades, call-ups, demotions; and players' hunger to climb out. League levels were like castes—higher meant better treatment. But Oakland's farmhands got superior perks, like meals. That bred loyalty other clubs lacked, fueling passion for wins.
Our GM's a genius.
Bowling Green struck first. Bottom of the fourth. The leadoff No. 2 hitter walked. Then Kim Yong-su, batting third today, ripped a double, runners on second and third none out. Joey Barton singled in two. No more runs, inning over.
Beloit tied it top fifth on Tyrone's two-RBI hit. Then they hounded Bowling Green's arms, plating four in the top eighth. 6-2 Beloit. Bottom eighth: Bowling Green's 8-9-1 hitters due.
Up stepped Chamber. Tyrone, watching him climb the mound, clicked his tongue. "He doesn't look thrilled."
Manager Wyndham sighed at Tyrone's words. "Chamber wanted the ninth."
Tyrone scratched his head vigorously. "Think he'll be okay? Dude's pissed from yesterday."
Recalling Chamber's heated ump argument, Tyrone fretted. Wyndham replied, "He gets rattled when hyped, but it doesn't linger overnight."
"Hmm."
Tyrone nodded, convinced. Wyndham handed the ball to mound-ready Chamber. "Hold 'em down."
Descending, Wyndham left Tyrone. Grinning, Tyrone called, "Let's shut 'em down easy!"
Chamber nodded, adjusting his cap. True to form, his stuff was steady. Clean Ks on 8 and 9. But a shaky call walked the No. 1. No. 2 grounded out, inning done.
Dugout mates steered clear of his irritation. Top ninth, Beloit went down scoreless. Bottom ninth.
"Your turn," bullpen catcher Lexon said. Yoo Min-hoo smirked, nodded, adjusted cap, and headed out.
Thud. Thud.
Glove on right hand, he mounted the mound, grass crunching. Masked Tyrone approached. "Gonna be a grind this time."
Yoo faced Bowling Green's 3-4-5 heart: Kim Yong-su up, Joey Barton fourth.
Yoo dominated Single-A, but would it work on Barton? "You walking him IBB?"
Tyrone's question paused Yoo mid-kick. He chuckled. "Why think that?"
"Feels like a Roy move."
Tyrone couldn't fathom it, but Yoo sometimes ruthlessly IBB'd without hesitation—logical, yet Barton seemed match-worthy. Pondering, Yoo shook head. "No IBB today."
Tone firm, surprising Tyrone. "Gonna battle straight up. Gotta test something."
Yoo eyed plate-bound Kim Yong-su.
Kim thought, Bottom ninth. Down four. Barton's behind me.
Glancing at on-deck Barton, he setup, recalling Yoo's words two days back.
Will he really dodge?
Blank-faced Yoo stared. Dodging him meant facing Barton—illogical. IBBs hit scary hitters behind threats. But Yoo's cunning eluded him.
Kim frowned slightly. Yoo was sharp: pitcher-whisperer, calculating, bold. Infuriating foe. Kim figured Yoo'd IBB twice straight.
Big-league material, Kim Yong-su.
Rubbing pine tar, Yoo mused. Fresh HS grad adapting pro fast? Tough. Yoo knew Single-A from experience; Kim was green. Foreign land, language barrier—yet cruising. Not just bat/speed. Smart hitter: reads pitchers, psyches. Emotional yet clutch-cautious.
Kim expected two IBBs. Not today.
Bait's set.
Recalling chat, Kim wouldn't fully buy it—but confusion sowed. Yoo wound, fired.
Medium-speed fastball sank far off plate. Kim froze; Tyrone inwardly facepalmed. Thought you were battling?
Classic Yoo IBB pattern. Rattled, Tyrone tossed back. Kim relaxed, glared at Yoo. Head spinning now.
Blank Yoo reset; Kim did too. Yoo gripped hard, wound full, unleashed. Blazing fastball—night-and-day—cracked the mitt.
Crack!
Ump bellowed strike. I fell for that bastard's line—I'm the idiot!
Kim gnashed inwardly, caught flat-footed.
"Damn, outsmarted."
From infield seats, Marsha watched Yoo grab counts, tongue clicking. 0-0 to 0-1, 1-0 to 1-1—similar counts, vast difference. Two strikes? Variables plummet; pitcher cruises. One ball post-strike? Minimal damage.
Recalling interview, Yoo baited Kim for 1-1 stability. Laughable genius.
Stuff's elite, but style's so dirty?
Sudden epiphany halted her. Was Roy Yoo always this way? Hell no.
Famous star; she knew his game. Injury mindset shift? But style overhaul in a year?
Head tilt puzzled. "Relentless...?"
Muttering, she eyed the rookie intently.
Rattled Kim swung early at Yoo's heater. Thwack! Fouled down line. 2-1, two strikes.
Kim scowled. Sneaky prick.
Yoo eyed gnashing Kim. Pissed good.
His style: exploit relentlessly, deceive for edge. Fingering ball, Yoo gripped, set.
Four-seam or splitter?
Two-pitchers simplify, but counts complicate minds. Yoo fired. Low-inside heater zipped. Kim hesitated—too late. Realized fastball post-timing.
Crack!
"Strike! Strike three, you're out!"
Bold fastball K; Yoo clenched left fist. Your turn next.
Perfectly trapped, Kim retreated bitter.