#072 The Intentional Walk Reset
Tyrone Wed, spotting the sign, hesitated for a split second, glancing toward the dugout. Even after two pitches—and against the game's very first batter—this rookie's call for an intentional walk left the dugout stunned, with no instructions coming back.
'Hey, Roy. You might get an earful in the dugout later.' Intentional walks were typically the manager's call. It was rare for a pitcher or catcher to decide on their own, especially something as unheard-of as walking the leadoff hitter on Opening Day.
Torn between options, Tyrone quietly rose and shifted to the side.
'Nothing this guy's done has ever been without reason...'
Letting out a deep sigh, Tyrone raised his hand in a clear signal for the intentional walk. Roy Yoo fired the ball toward Tyrone's mitt. Two deliberate, unhurried but firm tosses. The umpire silently called balls, and leadoff hitter Toby Parnell trotted to first.
With the game kicking off in such an absurd fashion, the No. 2 right-handed batter stepped up right away. On the mound, Roy lightly rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, adjusted his cap to steady himself, and stole a glance at first base.
'Top of the first, no outs, runner on first.'
It was a routine situation, but with his command shaky, it felt like a precarious start. Staring silently at the runner on first, Roy dropped into his set position and unleashed his arm.
Thwack!
"Strike!"
The ump called a strike on the pitch that tailed off the outer edge. Roy grabbed the return throw from Tyrone, rubbed up the rosin bag once, and went into his next delivery. Same spot as before, but this one leaked in a bit. Crack! The fouled-off ball trickled down the right-field line as a grounder.
'Huh? His command's back to normal already?'
Tyrone inwardly marveled at Roy reverting to form. Roy followed with a third pitch to the same zone—but this time a changeup. The batter, timing thrown off, whiffed wildly, and Roy punched him out on three pitches.
Wayne Coach, who had looked exasperated at the intentional walk, was left speechless watching Roy regain his usual command. Emotional lapses causing command issues were a headache to fix. Some players bounced back quickly, reining in their feelings; others spiraled. But most command woes stemmed from the subconscious, making root causes hard to pinpoint—and even harder to resolve on the spot.
'Did he intentionally walk the guy just to relax and reset his body?'
There was no trace of the earlier wildness as Roy fanned the No. 3 hitter on seven pitches, pitching with his trademark composure.
"What do you make of it, pitching coach?"
Manager Wedden's question drew a reluctant response from Wayne Coach.
"Looks like the walk was to steady his command."
"......"
Wedden stared in disbelief at Roy, now facing the No. 4 hitter.
Roy adjusted his cap as cleanup hitter—and the opponent's key player today—Kevin Green stepped in, then glanced at the runner on first. Just as Wayne Coach suspected, Roy had thrown the intentional walk to reset his emotions. Making his first start in ages, he'd unknowingly gotten himself overly amped. Even with his cool head, taming that awakened subconscious wasn't easy. After a brief internal debate, he'd decided to stress himself out deliberately, walking one to loosen up physically and mentally. The two tosses had done the trick, and his judgment proved spot-on.
Roy fiddled with the ball in his glove and snuck another peek at Toby Parnell on first. Parnell scowled back.
'Why's this guy keep staring? It's creepy. He walked me on purpose.'
Already debating a steal, the constant glances made Parnell feel exposed. It irked him, like the pitcher was holding him in check. He'd considered stealing three times against the prior batters but backed off each time their eyes met. Now, as Roy showed no interest in picking, Parnell fumed.
'Next one's mine.'
As Roy went into his motion, Parnell edged half a step off first. Roy glanced over. But this time, Parnell committed. As Roy wound up, Parnell coiled to bolt—only for a pickoff throw to jolt him off-balance. He scrambled to second but found himself trapped between first and second. A quick exchange between the infielders nabbing him easily, ending the inning.
Teammates mobbed Roy with backslaps and shoulder punches, laughing. The dugout had been baffled by the walk, but Roy had shut the door perfectly, making their shock feel misplaced. Amid the cheers, Wayne Coach awaited him in the dugout. As the fielders slinked off under his glare to prep for offense, the coach asked:
"Was the intentional walk your call?"
"Yes."
Wayne stared, speechless at Roy's unflinching nod.
"Results were good, but I want the reason."
"It was to stabilize my command. Throwing like that would've made things worse, so I figured walking one would let me loosen up and get back to normal."
"You always do this when your command's off?"
"Depends on the situation."
Wayne eyed him a moment, then nodded.
"Got it."
He headed to the manager. Cole Cloud, watching nearby, whistled.
"You dodged a roasting there. Smooth talker."
"If they chew me out, can't be helped. Means they don't like my way."
Cole shook his head at Roy's nonchalance.
"You're no ordinary guy. All geniuses like that?"
Roy chuckled softly.
"Genius, my ass."
Eyeing the opposing pitcher taking the mound, he muttered:
"Just know-how I picked up thrashing around to figure shit out."
Bottom of the first, Nashville went down 1-2-3, and sides switched. Roy took the hill again for the second.
He'd thrown 15 pitches in the first. Up next: Kevin Green, retiring from the prior frame. The league's hottest prospects squared off.
Standing tall, Roy sized up Green as he dug in, compiling his scouting report.
'Kevin Green, righty power bat. Killer wrist strength—pulls inside pitches over the fence easy.'
Inside was risky. But outside wasn't safe either. Green crushed inside, sure, but he feasted on outer-half homers even more.
'Better work high-low than wide. Swing's irregular too.'
He'd hack at anything if it felt right. Few walks, lots of strikeouts—but no glaring weakness.
Roy went into his windup. Green set up. No hesitation—first pitch, inside. Thwack!
"Strike!"
The 96-mph heater bored in. Tricky spot to swing at. Green froze, then stepped out, air-swung lightly, and eyed Roy.
"Hmm. Coming right at me, huh."
His murmur reached Tyrone.
'Tch. Not good.'
Green loved aggressive challenges.
'Roy knows that.'
Tyrone muttered to himself, dropping into his crouch as Roy set. Same location—Green swung hard. But changeup. Green yanked the bat early, frowning.
'Changeup's sharper than I thought.'
'Count's in the hole. Tough. Stuff's too good to hunt early. Wait—doesn't he throw a splitter too?'
Green narrowed his eyes.
'Feels like splitter coming.'
Favorable count for bait. Or fastball to disrupt rhythm. Green trusted his gut—he was that kind of hitter. Tricky for pitchers who played counts.
'Question is, can I lift his splitter first time seeing it?'
Green recalled splitters from past foes, dialing in his timing. Roy wound up. Green tensed, eyes gleaming. Roy whipped his arm—Green pulled the trigger.
'Splitter! Lift it or wait for next at-bat!'
Crack!
Green's bat met the diving splitter mid-drop. He popped it up, tracking uncertainly. Normally he'd know instantly if it carried, but this one... He watched it barely clear the center-field fence, thrusting both arms skyward as he circled toward first.