Cactus League Blues
MLB spring training camps were held in two locations: Arizona and Florida. The Arizona camps were called the Cactus League, while those in Florida were known as the Grapefruit League. Oakland belonged to the Cactus League.
As one might expect, teams in the Cactus League couldn't play games against Grapefruit League teams during spring training.
Under the scorching sun beating down on the ballpark, players were deep into their workouts. A man in the stands, chewing gum loudly as he watched the game, soon pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, spat his gum into it, tossed it into a nearby trash can, and grumbled.
"The mound looks pretty damn depressing this year."
The man muttering with a hint of irritation was Michael, none other than the Oakland GM currently overseeing the training on the field.
Oakland had ended the previous season without securing a wild card spot, losing to Boston and failing to reach the playoffs. It was a heartbreaking defeat, but on the flip side, it showed just how strong they were—good enough to compete in a wild card decider. That alone gave reason to be optimistic about the next season.
Of course, that was only looking at it piecemeal. Unfortunately, Oakland's outlook for the upcoming season wasn't so bright.
Grayson Welston, their No. 2 starter last year, had hit free agency and signed a massive deal with the LA Robins: six years, base of $120 million, up to $140 million with options. Small-market teams like Oakland simply couldn't afford to pay one player $20 million a year—that was a quarter of their entire annual payroll.
And next year looked even bleaker. Their ace, Gabe Gabriel, was hitting free agency too.
For the current season, they'd already lost one reliever from the victory unit and one from the chase unit to free agency during the stove league. Three core pitchers gone in total.
It was a relief that the position players hadn't seen any losses, but the pitching staff's absences were a bone-deep blow.
From the farm, players showing roster potential... Jimmy Derren, Burnett Liliano, Cole Claws, and maybe Chamber Ricky?
Michael sighed, listing off the standout Triple-A prospects amid the ongoing spring camp.
Jimmy Derren and Burnett Liliano were already training at the major league spring camp. Big departures hurt the organization, but they were golden opportunities for the guys below to step up. The two pitchers were approaching training with unusual intensity.
As Michael pondered the farm's top prospects, one pitcher suddenly crossed his mind.
What about Roy?
He muttered inwardly, then let out a wry chuckle and shook his head.
Even I think that's ridiculous.
Roy Yoo's performance last year had been astonishing, no doubt. His growth rate was exceptional, but including him on the major league roster was still too premature.
Sigh... If only one of these candidates could pull off a fluke and shine this season.
Harboring that wish, Michael watched the players practice.
The spring camp for Oakland's Triple-A affiliate, the Nashville Ports.
Oakland's top prospects of the 17th season—Yoo Min-hoo, Chamber, and Tyrone—had begun their spring training with the Ports. And right now, Yoo Min-hoo was throwing bullpen sessions at the Nashville camp facility.
Thwack! The ball slammed into the mitt with a sharp crack.
Wayne Asler, the pitching coach for Oakland's Triple-A affiliate, checked the speed gun and stroked his chin.
"Roy, what the hell have you been up to in the offseason? You take some kinda magic pills or what?"
Roy Yoo shrugged off his arm as he replied to the half-joking coach.
"Why? What's up?"
"Your practice pitches just averaged 96 mph, maxing out at 97."
That was up about a mile per hour from last year's average of 95 and max of 96.
Roy nodded, as if he'd expected it.
"So the velocity's up, huh?"
"Yeah, and command looked solid too. What'd you do?"
Wayne eyed him expectantly—what kind of offseason wizardry had boosted velocity and control?
As Roy peeled off his glove, he explained.
"I tweaked my delivery a bit."
"Your mechanics?"
Wayne furrowed his brow. Changing form was no small matter; rush it, and injury could follow.
"Yeah. I moved my plant foot forward a touch and raised my arm angle."
"You practiced that all winter?"
"Nah, I just got comfortable throwing it, but that's it. Haven't worked breaking balls with it at all. All my real training was with the old form."
Wayne nodded approvingly.
"I'll have to run it by the manager, but I wouldn't recommend using it right away. We should monitor your body some more. How about switching full-time once we confirm no issues during the season?"
"Sounds like the smart play."
Wayne studied Roy silently. Most pitchers would've chafed at a coach's caution, but not him.
Just like the Single-A and Double-A coaches said—extremely prudent personality.
Roy hadn't stuck around Triple-A long last season, so Wayne hadn't fully gauged him yet. But respecting his coach's input? That earned major points.
The average age of Double-A players hovered around the mid-20s. Unless something special happened, you rarely saw anyone in their 30s.
Triple-A, though, was as diverse as the majors—early 20s up to mid-30s.
For reference, the oldest player in the National League was 37.
Triple-A was the step right before the show. In a country with tens of thousands of pros, including independents, reaching Triple-A alone marked you as a success story.
Amid that age spread, Roy stood out starkly in Triple-A.
For one, he had the best stamina in Nashville.
"No sign of fatigue on him at all."
Pitchers did group long-distance runs before training. Manager Weden was obsessed with conditioning; his workouts were notoriously brutal. During spring camp, he'd run players ragged until they dropped.
Yet Weden had never seen Roy collapse.
"His stamina's a huge plus, at least."
Nodding with satisfaction, Weden turned to the pitchers sprawled and gasping near the bullpen.
"You lot—the youngest among you is still fresher than that kid. What the hell's your excuse?"
Heckling flew back amid Weden's bark.
"He's only 20! I was full of pep at that age too."
"Damn this aging body."
"Bet our team's fitter than any other squad."
"It's not us—Roy's the freak."
Weden had no comeback for their gripes.
Roy's second standout trait? His age. Pro year two, and already Triple-A at 20? Even in a league of geniuses, that was elite trajectory.
The sprawled Nashville players snuck glances at Roy chatting with the pitching coach and gossiped.
"That's talent for ya."
"World's so damn unfair."
They'd been teammates briefly last year but never really talked.
"Hey, Chamber. What's that guy's deal?"
Pitcher Cole Claws asked Chamber curiously. He was the only one who'd been with Roy longest.
"Old soul in a kid's body."
"Old soul, huh? Yeah, he carries himself mature for his age. Bullpen's cutthroat enough without another rival."
Chamber kept eyes on Roy, replying without looking away.
"From what he said earlier, he wants to start this season."
"Start?"
Cole glanced at the starters.
"Yo, rookie's gunning for rotation. Watch your backs."
The starters burst out laughing. Last year, Roy threw hard but lacked polish for Triple-A. Remembering that, they dismissed him as no real threat yet, chatting casually as they recovered.
Early March. As teams ramped up full spring schedules, GM Michael visited the minor league camps.
He rarely watched minor games during the season unless something special came up. So spring was his chance to scout the farm live.
First stop: Triple-A Nashville Ports.
He settled in the infield stands, silently watching.
Major league exhibitions drew crowds, but minor league ones were sparse. Triple-A at least had some fans.
Mid-game, the starter came out, and a reliever entered.
It was Roy Yoo.
Michael, who'd been relaxed, sharpened his focus.
Hm. Manager said he wants to start, but looks like bullpen for now.
First Triple-A spring exhibition today.
Wonder how much he built up over winter?
Setting aside mound worries, Michael watched Roy prepare to pitch with keen interest.