Midseason Roster Shuffle
As June rolled in, the Major League season had reached its midway point. On Tuesday, June 12th, Michael sat in the Oakland front office conference room, his face etched with fatigue. All of Oakland's scouts were gathered there, deep in discussions about the upcoming draft.
The draft was set for the end of the month. It was crucial for every team, but especially for Oakland. Fortunately, despite their strong performance the previous year, they'd snagged two first-round compensatory picks from free agency and a sandwich pick slotted between the first and second rounds.
Well, our best draft class was actually the year before last... Ah, but Roy was signed as an international amateur, so maybe I shouldn't count him?
The top three prospects from that 16th-round signing were developing smoothly in Triple-A without much fuss. Chambers even had the stuff to hit the majors before the season's end.
Of course, the real standout is Roy.
Just 20 years old this year, a second-year pro lefty fireballer who'd transitioned to starter without missing a beat. Yoo Min-hoo was growing like a storm.
Sure, he'd posted eye-catching numbers in high school that drew every team's attention, but considering most prospects his age were still stuck in Double-A, it gave a rough sense of just how dominant he was being.
The draft meeting hit a lull. As Michael leaned back in his seat at the head of the table, legs crossed, an older scout approached.
"Michael. You catch the recent minor league schedules?"
"Nah, been swamped with draft prep, so I haven't paid much attention. Something interesting brewing?"
Rubbing his eyes, Michael looked intrigued. If a scout was bringing it up directly, it meant something dramatic had shifted while he'd been heads-down on the draft.
In response, the scout handed him a single A4 sheet.
"Call Cloud's latest stats."
"Hm."
Stroking his chin as he scanned the page, Michael furrowed his brow. The first thing that jumped out was the strikeout rate—plummeted visibly. But ground ball rate had exploded in the opposite direction.
Call Cloud had always balanced strikeouts and grounders well. That balance had shattered.
Yet it hadn't led to bad results. On the contrary, his WHIP—walks plus hits per inning—had dropped noticeably.
"What happened?"
"Started throwing a cutter at the end of May."
"A cutter?"
To spark such a drastic change, his entire pitching mechanics must have shifted. For Call Cloud, mastering the new cutter had transformed him into a ground ball machine.
"At first, it was just a handful in live games, but now it's his go-to pitch."
"First I'd heard of it. Was he practicing on the sly?"
"Nah, apparently discussed it with the coach mid-month. You know how it is—sometimes a pitch just clicks perfectly for a guy."
Michael nodded, convinced. It happened: players who picked up a new pitch and exploded overnight.
"Gotta check the footage."
Stroking his chin again, he followed up.
"What'd you think, Mac?"
"He's dealing. Feels like a different pitcher, matching the numbers... I wouldn't blink if they called him up right now."
Michael's eyes lit up.
"Cabbin's the shakiest in the pen right now, right?"
"Age'll do that."
Mac said it flatly, recalling the 36-year-old veteran reliever. Kevin Walton, signed in the offseason via free agency. He'd anchored the bullpen early on, but as the real heat hit, his stamina was fading.
Of course, Michael hadn't expected a full season from him when they signed. He'd been a stopgap to bridge the first half. Performance-wise, he'd actually overdelivered.
If the footage confirmed Call Cloud could hack it in the majors, he'd get the call-up—and Cabbin would head to the minors. Cold reality, but neither Michael nor Mac felt uneasy about it. They were too seasoned for that.
And the next day, Call Cloud was called up to the majors.
"Guy takes your advice and gets called up in a month flat."
"Eh. He'd have made it soon anyway."
"Hm."
Stretching before the game, Yoo Min-hoo and Tyrone chatted idly.
"Who's next in line for call-up?"
"Chambers, probably."
"Figured."
Tyrone chuckled knowingly. Yoo Min-hoo eyed him.
"But Chambers might struggle up top for a bit."
"Why's that?"
"Hot-headed, surprisingly. Leads to inconsistency."
"True."
Chambers outshone Call Cloud everywhere but control, but stability? No contest. It wasn't just command. Tyrone had seen him blow up and self-destruct plenty.
"Personality's ice-cold, though."
"That's separate from play style."
Yoo Min-hoo shook out his left arm casually.
"Chambers has huge pride. Shows in his mound presence. Problem is, his ego keeps him from backing down even when he knows he should. Can be a strength, but being rigid wears you down."
"I get the vibe."
"Still, when he rides momentum, he's scary. Real mood player."
Tyrone whistled.
"You really know your teammates."
"Competitors."
"With Call up, someone's gotta come down. Who?"
"Kevin Walton's the likeliest demotion."
Too old for trade bait, recent results sour. Not like Kevin had a glittering resume anyway. Classic journeyman bouncing between levels.
Thursday, June 14th. Home game. Yoo Min-hoo was today's starter.
He always arrived absurdly early, so the clubhouse was usually empty when he showed. But today, someone else was there.
First time meeting, but not an unfamiliar face. As Yoo Min-hoo entered, Kevin Walton—packing his gear—spotted him and greeted warmly.
"Oh, hey! Nice to meet ya."
His easygoing smile prompted Yoo Min-hoo.
"Hey, Kevin."
Kevin didn't bat an eye at being recognized. Any Nashville Ports player knew Oakland's 25-man roster cold.
"You're Roy Yoo, right?"
Gripping the offered handshake, Yoo Min-hoo nodded.
"You're here early."
"Usually am."
"No kidding?"
Surprised, Kevin finished packing and asked Yoo Min-hoo.
"Haven't talked to the skipper yet. Mind pointing me to his office?"
Yoo Min-hoo gave quick directions. Kevin thanked him and headed out.
Nice guy.
First impressions were solid—round edges, no sharpness.
Yeah, guys like that usually are. Adapt quick, fit right in.
Kevin blended into morning drills seamlessly, bonding fast with the Nashville crew. Just as Yoo Min-hoo figured—quick adapter.
Initial reactions from the Ports players were mostly positive.
After lunch, Yoo Min-hoo grabbed water in the dugout and spotted Chambers sitting alone, silently watching Kevin chat with players on the field.
"Deep in thought?"
"Nah."
Chambers shook his head at the question, then deadpanned.
"Kevin Walton seems real chill about it all."
"Good dude."
"Not what I mean."
Chambers rubbed his chin.
"Demoted like that, and no sign of it bothering him. Kinda wild."
Yoo Min-hoo glanced at Kevin, smiling wryly.
"You think he feels nothing?"
"Huh?"
"He's pissed, for sure. Just used to it."
After enough rounds, it becomes routine. Plenty of pitchers like Kevin—tweener types. Not quite big-league caliber, but too valuable to cut. Perpetual trade chips.
Bouncing teams toughens you up at quick friendships.
"Might be hard for you to get."
"Sounds like you do."
Yoo Min-hoo burst out laughing at Chambers' jab.
"Anyway, guys like him have lessons to teach. Tons of experience facing major league bats, knows the tricks. Ask nice, he'll share. Could help."
Chambers eyed Kevin again, musing internally.
Come to think of it, Roy's the one who tipped Call about the cutter...
Recalling his instant-call-up rival, Chambers frowned.
Sometimes I seriously doubt this guy's a 20-year-old sophomore.
Shaking his head at Yoo Min-hoo's retreating back from the dugout, Chambers sighed.