Fenway Reunion
July 27th. Friday. A taxi pulled up to the taxi stand in front of Fenway Park, the home stadium of the Boston Red Gloves.
The taxi door opened, and a fit middle-aged man stepped out. Dressed in a suit, he headed toward Fenway Park with the confidence of someone intimately familiar with the surroundings.
Just then, a young boy passing by came running up to the man.
“Jack Brown! You're Jack Brown, right?”
The boy stood in front of Jack, his face flushed with excitement. A man who appeared to be the boy's father approached, recognized Jack's face, and looked stunned.
Jack, accustomed to such reactions, smiled warmly and said, “That's me. What can I do for you, kid?”
“Could I maybe get an autograph?”
Jack accepted the boy's eager request with a matter-of-fact nod. The boy took money from his father and dashed off to a nearby shop to buy a baseball for the signing.
In the meantime, the father extended his hand for a shake. As they shook hands, the boy returned with the baseball and held it out to Jack.
Jack signed it for the boy, posed for a photo with him, and then headed straight to the front office.
Entering the front office, Jack was guided by a staff member directly to the general manager's room.
Bens, who had been reviewing work in his office, spotted Jack coming in, stood up with a delighted expression, and offered a handshake.
“How have you been, Jack?”
“I've been great.”
Jack had visited Fenway Park several times this season as well. As a legend of the Boston team, he had participated in a few stadium events.
When Jack sat in the seat Bens offered, a secretary promptly brought coffee. Sipping his coffee, Bens said to Jack, “Congratulations on your son's big moment. Must be proud.”
“Proud doesn't even cover it. I never imagined he'd rise this fast.”
Bens burst out laughing at Jack's wry smile and shrug.
“Well, he's got a legendary father, hasn't he?”
“Eh, I didn't really do much.”
Straightening up after his response, Jack gazed out the window at the vast Fenway Park and murmured, “I debuted here too, you know. It's a strange feeling thinking Roy might debut here as well.”
“In a different uniform, though.”
Bens's slightly uncomfortable tone drew a chuckle from Jack.
“Just take it as some childish rivalry.”
Boston had been keeping a close eye on Yoo Min-hoo since his middle school days in the senior Little League. He had stood out even then, and by high school, he was among the top rookies in the league.
They had watched his trajectory after his left shoulder injury, and when he successfully rehabbed in Korea, they tried to sign him—only to fail spectacularly.
“Anyway, let's drop that topic.”
Jack changed the subject, and Bens nodded in agreement.
“Didn't your family come with you?”
“They'll arrive tomorrow. I came a day early.”
Jack's visit was purely to witness his son's Major League debut—nothing more. But considering Jack's stature in Major League Baseball, it could turn into quite the special event.
Boston had even prepared outdoor seats with perfect camera angles for the Jack Brown family.
After a brief meeting with Bens, Jack turned his gaze back to Fenway Park. The smallest and oldest stadium in the Majors. What captivated his eyes most now was the Green Monster—the left-field wall that had tormented him endlessly during his playing days.
“Back in my playing days, I hated that fence so much. Now, looking at it, it suddenly seems pretty cool.”
“Every hitter thinks that eventually.”
Bens laughed as he replied.
His call-up to the Majors had been confirmed on Tuesday, July 24th, but Yoo Min-hoo didn't leave Nashville until Thursday night, July 26th. Official roster registration would happen on Friday the 25th, so he'd join the team then as well.
In the meantime, Yoo Min-hoo focused on conditioning and rest.
Tyrone had boisterously promised to follow soon after seeing Yoo Min-hoo off to the Majors first, but he clearly regretted the parting. Separating from Tyrone, his battery mate since debut, was bittersweet for Yoo Min-hoo too.
Arriving in Boston on the 26th, Yoo Min-hoo headed straight to Fenway Park.
In the staff room next to the visiting team's clubhouse at Fenway Park, Oakland's GM Michael and manager Trevor were discussing the three-game series starting today.
Boston, who had been knocked out by Oakland in last season's Wild Card tiebreaker, was solidly holding first place in the American League East this year.
The team racked up wins with a flashy lineup, led by Tony Weld—who was in the home run race with 19 homers—and their fearsome cleanup trio, considered the best firepower in the AL.
Their pitching staff wasn't as dazzling as the bats but still ranked mid-to-upper in the league. Overall, they had the edge over Oakland.
As the two talked, the door opened.
Michael turned, lit up with a welcoming smile, and stood.
“Ah, there you are, Roy.”
His face beaming, he strode over to Yoo Min-hoo, grabbed his hand for a shake, and said, “Tough flight, huh?”
“Business class, so it wasn't too bad.”
Michael let out a hearty laugh, then stood and introduced Trevor, who was approaching.
“This is our manager, Trevor Wyndham.”
“Nice to meet you, Roy.”
“Nice to meet you too, Manager.”
After the greetings, Michael asked curiously, “Roy, have you seen your father yet?”
“Not yet. He told me to head to the team first.”
Yoo Min-hoo already knew Jack was at the park.
Michael nodded at his words.
“You'll meet the team players now, then. Let's head to the clubhouse.”
Trevor led Yoo Min-hoo out of the staff room. Watching them go, Michael smacked his lips lightly.
Calling up Yoo Min-hoo had been his decision alone, but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt.
It was about the potential “Rookie of the Year” title Yoo Min-hoo might claim.
With his current skills, it would be tough to post standout numbers right away in the Majors.
A disastrous rookie year wouldn't matter—he could head back to the minors and try again next time.
But mediocre results that kept him from being demoted? That would cost him the Rookie of the Year shot.
'A guy who could really contend for it...'
For a rookie pitcher to qualify for Rookie of the Year, they needed 50 innings pitched or 45 days on the roster. Once nominated, they couldn't qualify again the next year.
If his skills sharpened further by next season, maybe—but right now, it was hard to see Yoo Min-hoo putting up competitive numbers.
'Tch. Well, personal awards take a backseat to the team's urgent needs.'
As GM, Michael had to prioritize the franchise over any one player.
Walking down the corridor, Trevor said to Yoo Min-hoo, “Honestly, I didn't expect to see you this soon. Figured September at the earliest.”
“I thought so too.”
Yoo Min-hoo spoke frankly. He hadn't dreamed Michael would greenlight his call-up the very day he no-hit, no-run.
Trevor eyed him and continued, “Most rookies come up buzzing with excitement. You're pretty calm.”
Yoo Min-hoo gave a wry smile. “Guess I'm still in shock. Doesn't feel real yet.”
Trevor chuckled. “Pitch in a game, and it'll hit you.”
They reached the clubhouse amid the small talk. The players resting there spotted Yoo Min-hoo with the manager, whistling and cheering playfully.
“The no-hit, no-run monster rookie!”
“Finally here~!”
Trevor clicked his tongue softly at their teasing welcome.
“You know Cole and Chambers already, so ask them if you need anything. Your uniform's in the locker room.”
He patted Yoo Min-hoo's shoulder and left the clubhouse.
“Hey, rookie. Your locker's this way.”
Team captain Heison Lawson grinned and pointed to one.
Major League lockers were assigned by performance. Naturally, the rookie's was in the corner.
“Thanks.”
Yoo Min-hoo thanked Heison and set his bag down there. Opening the locker door, the first thing he saw was Oakland's gray road uniform.
He reached out and lifted the jersey top.
'All that struggling just to wear this.'
Recalling his pre-regression life, Yoo Min-hoo smiled bitterly and checked the back.
YOO 21
“Whoa, nice jersey number.”
Heison whistled approvingly.
The number didn't hold huge significance, but 21 meant a lot to Yoo Min-hoo.
“Lucky no one on the team uses it.”
“Yep.”
Heison chuckled and lightly clapped his shoulder.
21 had been the number his stepfather, Jack Brown, wore during his playing days.