Veteran Advice and Trade Deadline Blues
Chamber stared blankly at the water bottle handed to him before turning his gaze to Cabin and taking it to drink.
Cabin said to him, “You’re always so diligent.”
“I’ve never really thought about it that way.”
Chamber responded flatly, but Cabin’s words were spot on. Among the Nashville Ports pitchers, Chamber was one of the most dedicated in training. He couldn’t completely shake the shadow cast by Roy Yoo, but he was growing at a remarkable pace. It was a testament to his passion for baseball.
“So, did you come to give me some advice?”
“Well, I’m not sure I have any to offer you.”
If Chamber had felt the need, he would have asked Cabin long ago. Setting the water bottle down, Chamber replied to Cabin, “I do have one question. What do you do when a slump hits?”
“In my case, I step away from pitching practice and rest completely.”
Cabin said it casually, as if it were no big deal. Every player handles slumps differently. Some dive headfirst into grueling training, others analyze and fix their issues. Then there are those like Cabin who focus solely on conditioning. Chamber fell somewhere between the first two.
“A slump, huh?”
Cabin asked even though he knew about Chamber’s recent dip in form. Chamber answered indifferently, “You can tell from my recent stats, right?”
“Your stuff isn’t lacking velocity, and your command hasn’t gone off the rails either.”
Sure enough, nothing seemed wrong on the surface.
“From what I see, you’re too much of a perfectionist. You’ve trapped yourself in a slump you didn’t need to have.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re too meticulous.”
Cabin said it offhandedly.
“You tend to dwell too much on runs allowed. Sure, it keeps you from repeating mistakes, but constantly replaying bad memories does more harm than good.”
Dwelling on negative memories makes you shrink without realizing it. Chamber was an aggressive pitcher by nature, unaccustomed to passive approaches. Overthinking runs led to hesitation, creating openings. That was the root of his current slump—one that wouldn’t last long.
Chamber showed no particular reaction to Cabin’s words. They rang true.
“If it keeps bothering you, try just following the catcher’s lead and throwing without overthinking.”
Chamber eyed Cabin skeptically at the suggestion, but Cabin just smiled faintly.
“What’d you talk about with Chamber?”
“His slump.”
Cabin replied nonchalantly to Wayne Coach’s question. A dip in form tormented any player. Even minor issues could wreck pitching balance. Like Roy Yoo before, excess tension could lead to shaky innings and a spiral into slump territory. Roy’s ability to coldly diagnose and fix problems on the fly was the abnormality—not Chamber.
“He didn’t take it badly?”
“Didn’t seem like it.”
Wayne Coach nodded at Cabin’s response.
“What are your plans going forward?”
“Thinking of heading to Korea. Kinda funny at my age to chase new challenges in a fresh environment, but I still want to pitch more.”
Cabin answered seriously to Wayne Coach’s question about his next destination.
“I see.”
Wayne Coach nodded in understanding. Cabin shifted his gaze from the coach, scanning the bullpen. Other pitchers were practicing. His eyes landed on Roy Yoo, and he watched for a moment. Even in practice, the careful focus on each pitch was impressive.
“He’s gonna be huge. Roy.”
“Hm?”
Wayne Coach chuckled at Cabin’s sudden murmur.
“Yeah, Roy’s got what it takes. Players like him don’t come around often.”
July. As summer hit full swing, the season entered its midpoint.
Early July, Oakland’s bullpen took a hit when reliever Harvey Dean hit the disabled list, leaving a gap. Chamber, who’d been heating up late June, got called up to fill it.
Three days after Chamber’s call-up, on Tuesday, July 10th, Michael strode purposefully through the stadium toward a destination. He reached a room near the clubhouse, knocked lightly, and entered. It was Oakland manager Trevor’s office.
Trevor, preparing for the day’s game at his desk, removed his reading glasses upon seeing Michael.
“Shouldn’t you be holed up in the front office this time of year? What brings you here?”
Michael spread his arms slightly with a grin at the joking remark.
“Been grinding on trade scenarios in the office—starting to feel nauseous. Just taking a walk.”
July 31st was the trade deadline. After that, no more free trades between teams. As it approached, teams reacted in three typical ways based on standings and roster strength.
Sellers dumped expendable players for top value. Contenders with solid lineups monitored quietly for postseason needs. Middle-pack teams scrambled desperately to boost firepower.
Oakland fell into that last desperate category. They’d lost core players in last year’s big free agency, starting the season weakened. Wild card contention wasn’t dire, but far from ideal.
Michael sat in the seat Trevor offered.
“What do you think of Chamber?”
“Not bad. Mental game’s a bit shaky, but that’s common enough not to worry about.”
Trevor said coolly. No player was flawless. A manager’s job was to know those flaws and deploy them optimally—like a mercenary tactician.
“But starters are the real priority.”
Michael nodded as Trevor sighed. Losing their number-two last year had punched a hole in Oakland’s once-solid rotation. Bullpen gaps were easier to fill than starters, especially quality ones teams hoarded fiercely. Trades for aces were rare.
Oakland’s shaky starters overburdened the pen—an unsustainable trend.
“Not like we can magic one up overnight.”
Trevor leaned back, asking Michael with a deep sigh, “How’s Roy?”
“Roy?”
Michael furrowed his brow before shaking his head.
“Solid numbers in Triple-A, but not 25-man roster ready yet.”
Calling up Roy Yoo meant demoting someone. Pitching staff was untouchable, so it’d hit the lineup. Oakland’s roster was perfectly tuned to Michael’s vision—each player had a clear role. Roy hadn’t earned a spot yet, in his eyes.
“Hm. All the hype had me hopeful.”
Baseball Research’s prospect nod had spiked expectations for Roy Yoo.
“Better to build steadily than inflate hopes beyond his level.”
Though with that personality, he probably won’t get ahead of himself.
Michael chuckled inwardly thinking of Roy.
“September call-up’s possible, though.”
September expanded rosters to 40. Roy might squeeze in.
“Heard he’s tweaking his mechanics.”
“Yeah, spring training chatter.”
“Hope it pays off quick.”
“Haha, even miracles don’t work that fast.”
Michael laughed heartily.
July 10th. Tuesday. Nashville Ports home game.
Roy Yoo, starting on the mound, went through his warm-ups. Play ball signaled the end. He rolled his left shoulder lightly, locked eyes silently on the batter stepping in, gripped the rosin bag once, and shook his hand out.
In his last two starts, Roy hadn’t reached six innings, getting pulled early. 8.2 innings, 6 runs—his worst since switching to starter.
Not a slump or conditioning issue. Side effect of mechanics tweak.
Feels like it’s clicking in games now, though.
Into his motion, Roy zeroed in on the batter.
Shoulder feels loose today. Go all out?
Planting his left foot, he lifted his right. Twisting, arms pulled back to his left ear, loading power—then stomped the rubber, whipping his left arm forward.
The ball rocketed through the zone, slamming into the mitt.
Thwack!
Tyrone blinked at the heavier impact vibrating through his glove.
Feels way more loaded than usual?
As Tyrone pondered, a murmur rippled from the stands. Eyes fixed on the scoreboard.
The velocity readout blazed: 98.