#083 Festival in the Enemy Dugout
Amid the sighs of despair echoing across the entire field over a great record shattered at the last moment, there was one place defying the gloom—a festive atmosphere. It was none other than the New Orleans dugout, the very team that had just suffered the perfect game.
Peter Hudson, caught up in the dugout's infectious energy, stood at first base gesturing wildly with his teammates, exchanging signs with an excited grin.
"……."
Meanwhile, on the mound, Roy Yoo stood with both hands on his hips, a faintly bitter expression on his face. For Roy, who rarely showed emotion up there, this was quite unusual.
It left a sour taste in his mouth.
Should I have just powered through with fastballs?
Roy shook his head, dismissing the thought. Regrets like that were pointless. He'd stuck to his own style, so this was entirely on him.
Of course, he didn't think his approach was wrong.
What mattered now wasn't the perfect game that had slipped away. Roy glanced at the opposing team's leadoff hitter stepping into the box and adjusted his cap. He stole a quick look at the runner on first.
The guy's face was still flushed with the thrill of breaking the perfect game.
Roy went into his motion. The batter took his stance.
The perfect game was gone, but a no-hitter was still alive. When a great record falls, pitchers lose their cool. For New Orleans, this was their golden chance to shatter the no-hitter too.
His face impassive as he prepared to pitch, Roy suddenly fired a sharp pickoff throw to first.
Peter Hudson, who'd been distracted despite the pitch winding up, yelped at the perfect throw and scrambled back to the bag. The first baseman tagged him and looked to the umpire.
Hudson blinked up at the ump too.
"Runner out!"
"Game set!"
The first base ump's call was barely out when the home plate ump declared the game over.
Peter Hudson, caught off base in his excitement, dropped to his knees in front of the bag, clutching his face.
"Game over—clean finish with the pickoff."
"Looks like he got too hyped breaking the perfect game. Hudson went down in the dumbest way."
"The perfect was a heartbreaker, but a no-hitter-no-run is still huge, James. What'd you think of the game?"
"Yeah, Roy Yoo. Young guy pulls off a massive record. Huge for Oakland. He was seen as raw, but this proves his value..."
Michael watched the broadcasters start their postgame analysis, letting out a deep sigh as he muttered,
"So close."
When he'd walked Peter Hudson, Michael had thrown his head back, hands over his face.
"It's still a no-hitter-no-run, right? That's plenty impressive."
Michael nodded at Mac Camry's words.
"Yeah. Plenty impressive."
Heartbreaking to lose the perfect game by inches, but Roy's achievement was undeniably massive.
"Alright, then."
Shaking off the game's afterglow with a light clap, Michael turned serious.
"How do we read today's Roy?"
As the analysts said, this game meant a lot for Oakland. Their biggest issue in the wild card race? The pitching staff.
Two holes in what had been a solid rotation and bullpen last year. Power drop-off, struggling in the wild card hunt.
Wild card "race" was generous—they were barely hanging on.
Thankfully, the bullpen got some relief with Cole Cloud and Chamber Ricky joining. Neither locked down the heart of the pen, but they weren't minor-league bound either.
The rotation, though? Still a problem. Shaky starters overload the bullpen. At this rate, Oakland's relievers wouldn't last to September.
Wild card hopes? Dead.
Cornered like this, Roy drops a no-hitter.
Mac Camry spoke up, eyeing Michael's deep thought.
"From today, looks like the delivery tweaks paid off big. And his stuff's leveled up."
"True."
Michael nodded.
"Question is, does it play in the majors?"
"Today's outing says yeah... but..."
"Guys go nuclear for one start sometimes. Not rare."
Michael shrugged.
Even so, a no-hitter isn't "sometimes." No fresh intel on Roy's upgraded arsenal either.
Well past quitting time, Michael and Mac Camry pondered.
Best move? Watch more starts. Simple, but Oakland's desperation made it complicated. Wild card gaps widen fast—no room for error. They needed starters now.
Michael drummed the table rhythmically, eyes on Roy's MVP interview.
Always exceeding expectations.
Unexpected signing, rocket growth.
"……."
Michael glanced away from the screen to the calendar—Oakland issue, with star pics and schedule.
July 24, Tuesday. Oakland on the road.
"Saturday or Sunday works."
Checking the slate, he muttered low, then slammed a fist on the table with a grin.
"Alright, call him up."
"Call-up?"
"Yeah. We're backed into a corner. No trades to shake things up."
Michael grabbed the desk phone, dialed Nashville Ports, then told Mac Camry,
"Talk to the manager, pick who to send down. Get a flight for Friday join."
Mac Camry checked the calendar.
"Uh... so registering on the roster Friday means..."
Michael shrugged like it was obvious.
"Pitch him against Boston."
No denying the malice in that schedule.
July 25. Morning at the office, Marsha checked sports news on the portal.
No-Hitter No-Run: Roy Yoo. MLB Call-Up Confirmed
20-Year-Old Rookie Graduates Minors in One Year
Cornered Oakland: Can the Rookie Save Them?
Roy's no-hitter yesterday landed him on today's call-up list, drawing fresh buzz.
Call-ups mean the world to players, but league-wide? Routine. Rare for one to blow up like this.
Means he's got real name value.
Roy drew eyes from signing day—not just as Jack Brown's stepson, ex-MLB slugger poster boy.
The big hook? Eating a million-dollar loss to pick Oakland for their farm system.
Turned out smart, but back then? Media called him a "weirdo."
Staring blankly at Roy's profile, someone approached.
"Marsha, hey."
"Hey, Ann."
Her colleague, a female reporter, smiled warmly.
Ann set down Marsha's mug beside her.
"Coffee."
"Oh, thanks."
Marsha smiled back, sipping as she leaned into her chair.
Ann slurped her own, eyeing Marsha's monitor.
"Our mag's got a killer eye for talent, huh."
"Huh? Oh. Gotta credit the VP's pick this time."
Marsha puzzled, then chuckled. The VP had chosen Roy in the prospect draft of five pitchers.
Ann eyed Marsha quizzically over her mug.
"You've seen him a month now. Thoughts?"
"On what?"
"His personality."
Ann grinned curiously. Marsha paused, then said,
"Like him. Polite. Humble."
"Ooh?"
"What’s with the tone?"
Marsha narrowed her eyes. Ann smirked slyly.
"Just—you're stingy with praise usually. High marks for Roy caught me."
"Just facts. No hidden meaning."
Ann grinned wider, steering back.
"Anyway, joining the roster Friday. Timing's suspicious."
Ann muttered thoughtfully. Oakland headed to Boston Friday.
Lined up perfect for a Roy start.
"Eh, feels like Michael GM's petty scheduling."
"Knew it."
Ann nodded knowingly.