The Last Game with the Savers

Barnett. Once a name that had carried weight as a starting pitcher in the majors, he was no longer the pitcher he had been when he first joined our team.

His velocity had dropped well off his peak, and the bite had gone out of his breaking stuff. Even so, he was still regarded as a successful stopgap starter.

The interesting thing about Barnett was how he somehow always managed to grind his way through. Watch any of his starts and you would see him give up a fair number of hits. Walks, too, more often than not. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And yet the strange part was that he almost never allowed hits back-to-back.

Some people chalked it up to craftiness born of experience… but honestly, I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. If craftiness could get you out of trouble, wouldn't it have been better not to give up the hits in the first place?

I had even asked him once, thinking I might learn something — how exactly did he do it? Judging by the way he rambled, he clearly had no idea himself.

Anyway. That was Barnett.

When he gave up a hit to the leadoff batter in the top of the first today, I didn't think much of it. I figured he would work his way out of it on his own.

But then…

Thanks to Jeong Jong-seong's baffling mistake, the leadoff runner stood on second with nobody out. Barnett managed to get the second batter on a fly ball, but then—

Crack!

"Ah… that one's in."

A single dropped in front of the center fielder, and just like that, one run was across. Without Jeong Jong-seong's error, it probably would have been first and second with one out. Instead, this was what we got.

Even then, Barnett's expression stayed calm. But when a one-bounce curveball in a 1-2 count caromed off Jeong Jong-seong's blocking attempt and kicked sideways, trouble found them again.

Failing to deaden the ball out in front of him was one thing — losing track of it entirely after it kicked sideways was another. While Jeong Jong-seong whipped his head left and right hunting for the ball, Evan Kawit, the runner on first, slid into second.

Barnett bellowed, trying to point out where the ball had gone, but Jeong Jong-seong either didn't hear him or simply took too long spinning in circles. That was the whole of it.

Barnett let out a long sigh. Jeong Jong-seong dropped his head.

"He was wound way too tight before the game even started."

"He was so good yesterday — why freeze up now…"

Ko Mandeok, watching from the dugout, sighed right along with them. The kid was a threat to his own job, sure, but they were close personally, and you could tell it stung him to watch.

Fortunately, Barnett induced back-to-back groundouts from the next two hitters and kept any further damage off the board.

Then came the top of the second. The catcher's mask had switched over to Ko Mandeok.

With his trademark pitcher-leading style, Ko settled the game down. Through the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth — he kept the innings clean and steadied the mound.

The problem was the bats.

Our lineup was completely locked down by the Raiders' starter, Juan Sanchez, managing just a single hit on the day so far. The longer the game dragged on like that, the more that first-inning run we never should have given up started to ache. Jeong Jong-seong, already hanging his head, looked paler by the inning.

"Don't sweat it, kid. Hyung'll go deep for you."

Lee Won-jeong, in the lineup as the DH today, clapped Jeong Jong-seong on the shoulder and tried to cheer him up — though Lee himself had already struck out twice.

Crack!

"Get foul! Foul! Hook!"

Top of the sixth. Gwak In-heon, the Raiders' five-hole hitter, got hold of a pitch Barnett had painted just off the outside edge. It was a ball, barely out of the zone, and he still went the other way with it. The ball carried farther than anyone expected, tracking toward the right-field foul pole.

Everyone in the dugout willed it foul.

Clang.

It kissed the pole and dropped back into fair territory. The first-base umpire's finger spun lazy circles in the air.

Score: 2–0.

That was when Manager Park sent me to the bullpen.

I had already been thinking I might pitch today, so heading out there wasn't strange in itself. What caught me off guard was being told to get loose while we were still trailing.

Bottom of the sixth.

Crack!

Choi Min-gi led off and dropped a single into right-center, reaching first. Our captain's hit was the team's second baserunner of the night, and a little life started to stir again through the stands that had gone quiet.

And then Manager Park, who had been watching all game without moving, finally made his move.

The next hitter, Na Seung-won, laid the bat flat the moment he stepped in. Seeing the bunt stance, the Raiders' first and third basemen crept in a step. As Sanchez's arm started ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back on the mound, the runner on first broke. And in the box, Na Seung-won stood the bat back up.

Crack.

Lucky for us the shortstop had shaded toward second against the bunt. Next up, Jo Chang-jun showed bunt again — and this time he actually laid it down, moving the runners to second and third.

One out, runners on second and third. The hitter was Go Yeong-su, a former Raider himself. He was aggressive from the first pitch.

"Foul."

"Foul."

"Foul."

Three straight fouls. Then two balls. Another foul, another ball — full count.

Sanchez's real weapon is actually his curve, Go Yeong-su had told us. A pitch he threw fewer than five times a game, and he still called it his best. He had said that whenever Sanchez got a strikeout chance in a jam, he always went to the curve — and that was the pitch you had to sit on.

And just as he had said—

CRACK!

The stadium nearly tore itself apart. From the Raiders' dugout, the pitching coach was on the mound before the echo had even died. Without much of a conversation, he took the ball and sent Sanchez to the showers. Kim Hak-yeong, their setup man, came on in his place.

He struck out Park Jeonghun. Worked carefully against the captain and walked him. Then got Shane to bounce one to the second baseman for a double play that ended the sixth.

Frustrating. I had been half-hoping I might pinch-hit in Lee Won-jeong's spot in the six-hole.

Our side sent Oh Gyu-shin out as the second pitcher in place of Barnett. The seventh went scoreless for both teams. After Oh, Min Gyeong-hak came on and shut down the eighth.

Bottom of the eighth.

Starting from the top of the order, a walk and the captain's double put runners on second and third with two outs. Shane stepped in as the five-hole hitter. The Raiders' answer was an intentional walk, loading first base — they wanted to take their chances with Lee Won-jeong.

And the mound changed hands again: closer Im Jong-hoon.

That was when Manager Park finally called for me. Not as a pitcher. As a hitter.

Im Jong-hoon, the best closer in the league, opened with a two-seamer low and away. It clipped the edge of the zone for a strike. For a guy who was essentially a two-pitch pitcher — four-seamer and slider — to lead with a two-seamer he almost never threw was a perfect sucker punch.

I waited him out.

From the moment I walked into this at-bat, I had been hunting one pitch and one pitch only: Im Jong-hoon's slider. That thing that broke diagonally and dropped hard right in front of the hitter. That was what I wanted.

The reason? I had never hit it. Not once.

Im was a closer and I wasn't in the lineup every day, so we hadn't faced each other much. Four at-bats over two years. I had two hits off him — both on four-seamers. Every slider had been a swing-and-miss, or a foul ball if I was lucky.

I knew I was weak against his slider. So did they. And knowing that, there was no way they were going to throw me a four-seamer and leave the slider in the bag. So I had come in sitting on it from the jump.

The two-seamer on the first pitch had rattled me a little, sure…

"Ball."

On the second pitch — a four-seamer up and in — I gave a little flinch. I had zero intention of swinging, but I didn't want to just stand there staring either and tip them off that I was waiting on the slider. Call it a little theater on my part.

Whether it worked or not, the third pitch was finally the one I had been waiting for. A slider starting outside and diving down toward the middle-low part of the zone.

Strangely enough, the instant it left his hand, I knew. The same way I had known Kwon Jong-jin's curve not long ago.

So I swung with everything I had.

CRACK!

"WOOOOOOOOAH!!!"

"AAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

The second the ball left the bat I flung the thing straight up into the air. I threw it so hard I had no idea where it landed, then just stood in the box and watched the flight. With a hollow thunk, it disappeared into the crowd in the home-run seats.

Only after I saw it land did I start the slow walk toward first, turning to look up at the stands. Our fans were going so completely insane I half-wondered if the stadium might come down. Last season's championship had been on the road, so I had never really gotten to feel this. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Now it was right in front of me.

Without thinking I raised a hand toward them, and the roar that came back made everything before it sound like a whisper.

Around second, past third, and when I stepped on home plate, the three runners who had scored ahead of me were waiting. The captain already had tears shining in his eyes.

Walking into the dugout with the three of them, every face was flushed red and locked on me. I braced myself for the beating I was about to take — and then, one by one, every player on the roster came over and pulled me into a hug. Through the whole team, and finally Manager Park himself.

"Good work."

It was the plainest praise in the world, and somehow it filled me up completely. I still don't know why.

The ninth-inning mound went to Kang Chanjung. With a four-run lead, Manager Park clearly saw no reason to send me out after I had already thrown yesterday.

And I had warmed up so hard, too.

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