Joey Barton Steps to the Plate
From the on-deck circle, where he had been watching Kim Yong-soo strike out, Joey Barton let out an internal whistle of admiration. 'Huh, not bad?'
Joey Barton knew all about the pitcher Yoo Min-hoo as well. Ever since high school, Yoo Min-hoo had been a pretty well-known name even in the majors, and his contract signing with Oakland at the end of last year had made quite a splash in the media. He was currently one of the top pitchers at the Single-A level. Joey classified Yoo Min-hoo as someone he needed to be cautious about if they ever matched up.
'From what I saw just now, his fastball sits around 95 to 96 miles per hour?' Joey Barton, who had checked some info on Yoo Min-hoo beforehand, smacked his lips inwardly with a hint of regret. 'I heard he throws a splitter, but it's a shame I didn't get to see it.'
For Joey Barton, that was really all there was to it—just a mild disappointment. Sure, Yoo Min-hoo stood out among Single-A pitchers and was definitely someone to watch out for. But that was the extent of it. He wasn't the kind of pitcher who warranted any real tension from Joey Barton. If anything, facing guys like Yoo Min-hoo or Chamber was something Joey welcomed.
'Perfect for getting my condition sharpened up. No better pitchers for that.'
Purely in terms of fastball velocity, Yoo Min-hoo and Chamber were definitely major-league caliber. For Joey Barton, who had joined the minors to shake off the rust from not playing for a while, they made for excellent pitching machines.
'Come on, rookie, let it rip.' Joey muttered to himself as he stepped into the batter's box.
On the mound, Yoo Min-hoo adjusted his cap and smirked. 'What, am I just a pitching machine right now?'
Yoo Min-hoo had read Joey Barton's thoughts perfectly. Their levels were just too different. Yoo Min-hoo's father, Jack Brown, was one of the all-time great home run hitters in major-league history. That's why Yoo Min-hoo knew exactly how monstrous a top-tier major-league power hitter could be.
Against Joey Barton, Yoo Min-hoo's options were limited. Overpowering him with raw stuff would be suicide. Even a fastball pushing 100 mph with movement and command was something Joey could crush for a homer. Sure, as a power hitter, he lacked some finesse, but that was only by major-league standards. At Single-A, Joey's hitting skill could easily post a .350 average or better. His eye was sharp too, making it tough to steal counts with the splitter. And if you followed up a count-working splitter with another one? You'd get drilled for a homer.
'Even if my splitter dives out of the zone, he'd just lift it out.'
He was overwhelming in every way.
'Still, it's not like I have zero options.'
Yoo Min-hoo went into his set position. He exchanged signs with Tyrone.
'Roy, let's start by nibbling outside.'
Yoo Min-hoo nodded at Tyrone's sign, but his fingers flashed a different one.
'I'm putting it in the zone.'
Tyrone blinked in surprise at Yoo Min-hoo's sign. 'This guy's usually so cautious—why's he suddenly going bold?'
As teammates and close friends who clicked well, Yoo Min-hoo and Tyrone got along great. But as battery mates, they sometimes clashed. Tyrone always trusted Yoo Min-hoo's stuff and called for aggressive leads, while Yoo Min-hoo pitched conservatively against those calls. When Yoo Min-hoo bucked his usual caution, Tyrone hesitated and called for another sign, but Yoo Min-hoo didn't back down from jamming the first pitch right down the middle.
In the end, Tyrone went with Yoo Min-hoo's call, though worry crept in. 'First-pitch strike against a guy who crushes Chamber's stuff without breaking a sweat. This okay?'
Tyrone settled into his crouch. Watching him, Yoo Min-hoo went into his windup.
Joey Barton tensed his muscles, eyes locked on Yoo Min-hoo's delivery.
Yoo Min-hoo drove off the rubber and unleashed a full-effort pitch.
Whoosh—thwack! The ball sliced through the air, slamming into the mitt, the sound echoing in Joey's ears.
"Strike!"
Joey, having watched the first pitch, muttered inwardly. 'More movement than it looked from the on-deck circle.'
He took some dry swings to find his timing. 'Whew~ So you wanted me to take the first one. Lucky break.'
With the batter taking it, Tyrone let out a silent sigh of relief and tossed the ball back to Yoo Min-hoo.
Yoo Min-hoo caught it, fiddled with his cap bill, then scraped the mound dirt with his right foot in his routine. 'Not just luck.'
Finishing his routine, he eyed the ball in his glove. 'Joey Barton hasn't swung at a first pitch once in this three-game series.'
Yoo Min-hoo had noticed it from coldly observing Joey throughout the set. It wasn't complacency or looking down on Single-A pitchers. More precisely, it was his way of dissecting them. Single-A arms leaned heavily on fastballs since their breaking stuff was weak. And when they needed a putaway pitch, they often defaulted to heat because the offspeed wasn't refined enough. At Joey's level, he could just sit on breaking balls and hunt fastballs no matter the count. Taking the first pitch was why.
'Sure, he could crush the first fastball for extra bases... but his goal here isn't stats—it's getting sharp. He wants to see more variety. Swing hard early, and pitchers get gun-shy, avoiding aggressive counts.'
Yoo Min-hoo quickly reset for the next pitch.
'Quick tempo.' Joey matched it, settling into his stance. 'Full of confidence.'
Fired-up rookie prospects like this? Joey loved them. Their passion brought boundless energy, always charging toward the top. It reminded him of his own younger self, putting him in a good mood.
Of course, that was Joey's complete misread. Yoo Min-hoo wasn't your typical rookie. He was the type who dissected hitters, pinpointed weaknesses, and gnawed at them relentlessly. He hid everything, marshaled every tool to sucker-punch from behind, scrambling quietly to seize the upper hand.
That was the exact pitcher type a swashbuckling hitter like Joey hated most. Just minutes ago, Kim Yong-soo had eaten one of those sucker punches for a strikeout.
Whatever illusion Joey harbored, Yoo Min-hoo fired right away. Joey's keen eye traced the ball's path.
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
The pitch tailed just off the outer edge. Well-placed, but Joey didn't flinch.
Tyrone clicked his tongue watching. 'I'd have twitched. Different level.'
Of course, Yoo Min-hoo had expected no reaction. He followed with a low fastball that dived out, making it 1-and-2. Poor command sent it well off the plate, but it looked like a bid to induce a swing. Still, no splitter.
'Planning to put me away with it?' Joey wondered.
Yoo Min-hoo set again. Another fastball rocketed in—inner half. Joey watched it bore in and thought, 'Uh-oh.'
Better command than expected—it jammed tight, sucking right into the zone. Joey hesitated as what he thought was a ball dove in for a strike.
Yoo Min-hoo was surprised too at the pinpoint location.
Thwack—!
"Ball!"
Pitcher, catcher, batter—all saw strike. Umpire said otherwise.
Joey exhaled in relief. As Tyrone rose to argue the second bad call, Yoo Min-hoo didn't blink.
"Tyrone, ball."
Tyrone shot him a baffled look, but Yoo Min-hoo waited stone-faced. With the pitcher unfazed, Tyrone sighed and backed off. 'Cool customer.'
For Yoo Min-hoo, no big loss. A strike would've eased things, but he'd thrown expecting a ball. Umpire subjectivity on calls like that was routine. Best to chalk it up to bad luck—lesson from hard experience.
One strike, three balls. Pitcher cornered. But for Yoo Min-hoo, game on.
'Bait's laid. Now...'
He slipped his hand into his glove, gripped. 'Let's test it.'
Not battle-ready yet, but this spot? Worth a shot.
Joey eyed the windup sharply. He clocked the arm angle differing from the fastball swings, tempo off from the four prior pitches.
'Splitter. Kinda obvious?'
Joey pegged it instantly—not a fastball. Splitters dive hard. Ball, he figured, holding his swing. But something felt off with trajectory and speed.
Too late—timing stolen.
'Wait, changeup?'
Thwip—!
"Strike!"
It plunked dead center. Joey's face twisted in disbelief. Tyrone, receiving it, matched the shock.
'This guy's throwing a pitch he can't even control properly in this count?'
Tyrone knew Yoo Min-hoo practiced changeups, but nothing game-usable yet. He couldn't help but gape.