#095 "National Team?"
Director Park Sung-tae's words left Yoo Min-hoo looking a bit flustered as he echoed them back. Park Sung-tae nodded gravely, meeting his gaze.
"I know it might sound sudden."
"Yeah, it does."
Park Sung-tae nodded again, his expression one of understanding. Yoo Min-hoo took a moment to collect his thoughts before asking, "But why bring up the national team all of a sudden?"
During his teenage years, Yoo Min-hoo had never once represented Korea. It wasn't a matter of skill—he'd been a renowned player since middle and high school, with talent on par with those selected for the U.S. national team. But his Korean nationality had kept him off any roster. Korea had plenty of standout youth prospects of its own; there was no reason to include an obscure pitcher from across the Pacific in their international lineup.
With no prior connection to the national team, Park Sung-tae's sudden proposal felt bewildering—and intriguing.
After a brief pause, Park Sung-tae spoke up. "I suppose I'll have to explain the whole story."
He let out a wry sigh before continuing. "Truth is, I got the offer to be the national team's hitting coach this year."
"Congratulations."
Park Sung-tae burst into laughter at Yoo Min-hoo's response. It wasn't surprising—he'd been a star from his pro debut, a regular major leaguer who'd maintained a .300 batting average over full seasons. He'd also represented Korea for years, and from what Yoo Min-hoo had observed over the past year, his coaching skills were top-notch.
"The new Korean national team coaching staff is around my age. Normally, you'd expect more seasoned veterans in those roles, but..."
Park Sung-tae trailed off before turning to Yoo Min-hoo. "Min-hoo, did you catch last year's World Baseball Classic (WBC)?"
"Yeah."
In North America, the WBC didn't carry much weight, internally because Asia and Latin America fielded their top pros while the U.S. often skipped its stars, and externally due to clashing with popular U.S. sports events that overshadowed its commercial appeal. Yoo Min-hoo hadn't followed closely, but he knew Korea's result: bounced from prelims. Their second straight early exit after the 2013 tournament. From third and second place finishes before, it was a shock.
"Min-hoo, you live in the States, so you might not get it, but in Korea, Taiwan, and Japan, international tournaments like the WBC mean everything."
Park Sung-tae smiled bitterly and went on. "Two straight prelim flops in the world's biggest baseball event? Public opinion tanked."
The major international tournaments now were the WBC, Premier 12, and the Olympics, reinstated for Tokyo 2020. The Olympics weren't pure baseball, and of WBC and Premier 12, the WBC held "world championship" status. No wonder the team faced backlash.
Yoo Min-hoo didn't know it, but Korea's Asian Games squad had also settled for bronze—medal-worthy, but a letdown after bold gold talk. Trailing powerhouses Japan was expected, but losing ground to weaker Taiwan stung.
WBC prelim exit, Asian Games bronze. Criticism poured in, zeroing in on the team's aging roster. Japan and Taiwan leaned young, in their early twenties on average; Korea's hovered in the early thirties. The golden generation's decline stalled turnover, leaving the same names for nearly a decade. Sure, the best wore the uniform, but it meant opponents knew every strength, weakness, and tactic inside out.
"Bottom line: Korea's national team needs a full generational shift. In our staff meetings, we decided to build next year's Premier 12 core around early-20s players."
It wasn't about quick wins but the long game. Korea's aging had come from safe, result-driven lineups over bold experiments. Youth-only rosters were risky, but blending in proven talents eased that—like Yoo Min-hoo, Lee Ho-seok, and Kim Yong-soo.
Yoo Min-hoo, just 20, had nailed a major league debut. Lee Ho-seok was a strong Rookie of the Year and Gold Glove contender. Kim Yong-soo missed MLB this year but dominated Triple-A, ready for the show.
Yoo Min-hoo scratched his cheek, nodding as he processed it all. National team. The explanation helped, but it still felt surreal—totally out of left field.
"No need to decide now. Just letting you know you're on the candidate list."
"Got it."
Park Sung-tae nodded, clapped lightly, and stood. "That's enough for now. Let's check on the kids' training."
Yoo Min-hoo nodded and followed him to the practice field.
Stove league season—the time for contract talks and player moves—was critical for teams and players alike. Fans fixated too, as stars joined or left. But for rookies like Yoo Min-hoo in their debut year, it barely registered. Oakland wouldn't trade a prize like him, and with three years of service time left, no arbitration eligibility yet.
Free to ignore it, Yoo Min-hoo focused on training through winter. Come March, Arizona.
"Hot as ever here."
Michael, Oakland's GM, muttered gazing at the sun. The Cactus League spring camp in Arizona drew them yearly. From the dugout at their camp home, he watched players slather sunscreen, frowning.
"What kind of ballplayers fuss over skincare like that?"
Heison Lawson shot back from first base. "GM, my skin's precious. Aging every day—gotta take care."
"You're already ancient. What skin?"
Laughter rippled through the dugout. Michael shook his head, eyes shifting to the field. Not everyone lounged; only the locked-in 25-man roster guys joked with the GM. Most invitees sweated on the grass.
Spring camps started with 50-60 players. Coaches and scouts cut the weak links to minors as it progressed. For roster spots, it was training; for others, survival. Minor leaguers got no numbers, fueling their desperation—this was their shot to shine for the majors.
Arms crossed, Michael scrutinized plays. No player himself, years in MLB front offices honed his eye. Even Oakland and rival scouts respected it.
His gaze locked on number 21: Yoo Min-hoo. Smirking, Michael approached.
"Hey, Roy. Good winter?"
Spring camp day one—months since they'd chatted. Yoo Min-hoo gripped Michael's outstretched hand, nodding.
"Nothing to complain about."
Michael nodded, clapped his shoulder. Yoo Min-hoo spoke up. "GM, got something to discuss."
"Shoot."
Michael looked puzzled at the abruptness. "It's about the Korean national team."
"National team?"
Michael's brow furrowed.