#085 Oakland Lineup

Sunday evening, July 29th. Boston fans were pouring into Fenway Park. It was the final game of a three-game series between Boston and Oakland. Today, a sellout crowd of 37,000. Just one of the 161 games in the major league season, but this matchup held a slightly different significance for the Boston fans.

Boston's starter today, right-hander Jane Carlos, was the team's fourth starter. With a season ERA of 4.78, he'd already pitched 87.2 innings as the midpoint of the season approached. Considering he was twenty-seven this year, there was still plenty of room for growth as a starter.

The ceremonial first pitch ended, and the game began. On the mound, Jane Carlos warmed up with practice tosses. Ella, seated in the infield seats with a clear view of the field, glanced over at her father, Jack.

Even after the game started, Jack was fielding nonstop autograph requests from the surrounding Boston fans. And Ella knew well that he rarely turned them down.

After watching Jack for a moment, Ella turned back to the field and muttered softly.

"The Oakland hitters better score some runs big-time."

Kim Mi-hyun, sitting beside her, burst out laughing.

"Aren't you a Boston fan, Ella?"

Ella grinned sheepishly.

"Only when Roy's pitching—for Oakland."

She stuck out her tongue just a bit, looking adorably playful.

In the meantime, the game kicked off in earnest.

Leadoff hitter, lefty Wayne Niss. At twenty-eight this year, he was in his second major league season—a classic contact hitter with solid hitting skills and baserunning instincts, though lacking power.

Wayne Niss stepped into the box and eyed Jane Carlos. His fastball topped out at 96 mph, with a two-seamer and changeup as his main breaking pitches, and a curve that was sharp on velocity drop—his signature weapon.

From the dugout, Yoo Min-hoo watched silently.

Col Cloud, sitting beside him, glanced at Yoo Min-hoo and said,

"Roy, you don't look nervous at all."

"I'm plenty tense."

Yoo Min-hoo chuckled, but as Col Cloud said, there wasn't a hint of it on his face. Col shook his head at the sight.

When Yoo Min-hoo had been called up to join Oakland, Col Cloud had welcomed him most warmly. After adopting the cutter (cut fastball) that Yoo Min-hoo recommended, Col's pitching style had transformed dramatically, and his performance had soared.

Col hadn't matched his Triple-A dominance right after his own major league call-up, but he'd carved out a solid role as a reliable bullpen arm in the majors. He credited Yoo Min-hoo's advice for getting him there.

As the two chatted idly, Wayne Niss swung at a curve from Jane Carlos and struck out, heading back to the dugout.

The next batter, righty John Wheeler, stepped up—but grounded out to a two-seamer on the third pitch.

Cleanup hitter Ryan Fetid smacked a first-pitch single to reach base, but Heison followed with a strikeout, ending the inning.

The teams switched sides.

Yoo Min-hoo, who'd been sitting quietly in the dugout until then, stood and grabbed his cap and glove.

The announcers and caster briefly discussed Yoo Min-hoo.

Reporters snapped photos as he climbed the mound. Among them were Korean journalists dispatched for the occasion.

News of Yoo Min-hoo's major league call-up had been a big deal in Korean baseball circles. With so many eyes on his debut, Yoo Min-hoo paused midway up the mound.

He'd climbed countless mounds in his baseball career, but today this one felt different. After a brief hesitation, he stepped onto the dirt.

Standing atop it, he took in the view.

'Major leagues.'

This was the dream stage he'd chased for so long—the ultimate goal of his past life. Stepping on the mound made it real all over again, drawing a wry smile.

'Took a while.'

And now, it was his new starting point.

The old Yoo Min-hoo had known he could never be the best. His talents had been too meager for that dream.

But not anymore.

As he steadied his emotions with a deep breath, catcher Bill Russell approached.

"Hey, Roy. No nerves—let's just do some easy warm-up tosses before we start."

Yoo Min-hoo nodded.

At thirty-five this year, he was a seasoned veteran catcher. No flashy career, but his steady survival in the majors spoke to his elite ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠skills behind the plate.

Yoo Min-hoo began his practice pitches toward Bill Russell at home plate. The ball thudded crisply into the mitt.

'Felt it in pre-game warm-ups, but damn, this ball's got bite.'Bill Russell thought as he caught Yoo Min-hoo's pitches.

Topping out at 98 mph, what stood out most was the movement. His grip strength—over 80 kilograms—generated spin that gave his fastball exceptional vertical rise.

A fastball with great vertical movement doesn't drop as much as average ones, arriving higher than hitters expect. That alone made it a weapon.

When maximized, it became the rising fastball—an optical illusion where the ball seemed to climb, though it just fell less.

Practice tosses done, Yoo Min-hoo shook out his arm.

Meanwhile, Boston's leadoff, righty Dave Aaron, entered the box.

If Oakland's Wayne Niss was a classic contact leadoff, Dave Aaron was the prototypical five-tool table-setter: hitting, power, and game-changing speed on the bases.

The play ball sign dropped. Yoo Min-hoo set his motion.

Staring blankly at Dave Aaron, he went into his windup and unleashed with everything he had.

Whoosh!

Thwack!

"Strike!"

The pitch rocketed in low and away, earning the call. Dave Aaron stepped out, took a light swing, and muttered inwardly.

'Ball's nasty.'

The board ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flashed 98 mph, but it played tougher than that.

Major leaguers were all minor league conquerors. The joke went that there were no non-geniuses here—most had heard "you're a prodigy" endlessly in their amateur days.

But talent varied, and even among major league geniuses, few graduated from the minors in just a year.

From that view, Yoo Min-hoo was an elite—even by major league standards.

Dave Aaron had to admit the first pitch showed why.

But no reason to shrink from an elite foe.

Dave Aaron reset in the box. Yoo Min-hoo fired another fastball—high inside this time.

Crack!

He swung without hesitation. Despite the tough spot, precise technique sent it soaring to left—but it hooked foul down the line, out of the fielder's reach.

Two strikes.

The count was ahead, but that ball had been dangerous.

Graduating the minors in a year was impressive. But as a major leaguer, Yoo Min-hoo was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠just getting started.

"Hmm."

Yoo Min-hoo exhaled softly.

Tough location, first at-bat of the game, only his second pitch seen—and the guy had the timing dialed already.

'Levels are different, alright.'

He caught the return throw from the catcher, thinking it over. Triple-A was just one step below, but the gap felt vast.

Adjusting his cap, rubbing rosin on his fingers, Yoo Min-hoo shook off his hand.

'But I'm feeling that level gap in my bones.'

His eyes gleamed.

No need to feel pressured by it now. He'd always been the underdog facing superiors.

Gripping the ball, he set. Windup. Teeth gritted, he whipped his arm with full force.