First Day of Spring Training
Gordon Perry.
One of the absolute best catchers currently playing in Major League Baseball, the world's top league.
The reason I finally chose the Red Sox after deliberating right up to the end—after listening to Ko Mandeok—was precisely because of this catcher named Gordon Perry.
At thirty-five this year, he still displayed outstanding hitting ability and defensive skill despite his age. But what made Gordon Perry stand out even more was his game-calling. He was the kind of catcher they said could take any pitcher and never let a game slip away easily; he simply knew how to run one.
"If that were really true, Boston would've won it all..."
It was clearly a bit of an overstatement. Still, he was great enough that people said things like that.
One of the things that elevated Gordon Perry even higher was that he had spent his entire career with only the Red Sox. From his debut until now at thirty-five—just one team. Continuously playing for the Red Sox. For that reason Red Sox fans revered him almost like a god. He was the team captain, too...
"Isn't he seriously cool? Other teams tried insanely hard to poach him, but he kicked every offer to the curb and stayed with the Red Sox. Loyalty, man."
Ho-min had said something like that. After hearing it I'd answered, "Oh~ that's impressive..." and I'd genuinely thought so.
Then:
"But how much does he make with the Red Sox?"
"Huh? Hold on... uh... a little over twenty billion won, I think?"
"······"
Fuck. Is this really staying out of loyalty? It seemed perfectly fair to say he just stayed for the money.
Whatever the case, it was clear this Gordon Perry was one of the best catchers in the majors...
"······ Is he picking a fight?"
The first thing out of his mouth the moment he saw me...
"I'm sure I heard that right just now? He called me cocky, didn't he? Where the hell is the interpreter?"
The club had assigned me an interpreter. I'd clearly met and greeted him earlier, but he was nowhere in sight. Weren't interpreters supposed to stick to you wherever you went?
That was the situation when I met Gordon Perry, and his opening line was already ominous. I was so taken aback I just stared blankly without answering, and the guy opened his mouth again.
"Hey. Can't speak English?"
To the question asked in English I answered in Korean.
"······ I can, you bastard."
"Guess not. Damn it. Hey. Doesn't this rookie have an interpreter?"
Watching him babble in English again, I answered in English this time.
"No. And for you to call me expensive—don't you get paid more?"
The look of surprise when English—stammering, sure—came out of my mouth was quite a sight. It twisted right back into a scowl, though.
Then:
"@#$@%^@$#^%$&%^$#&%^@$%^$"
Ah... I couldn't understand a word of that.
They say the first thing you learn when studying a foreign language is the swear words... Looking at the foreign players who'd learned Korean on our old team, they all started with the curses... Apparently that rule doesn't apply to English. These American bastards talk so damn fast the second they start swearing that you can't catch a single word. Is it because they grew up on hip-hop? The moment they curse they all turn into rappers...
But there was one thing I seemed to catch while the guy was talking.
"Yellow? Are you being racist right now? You nigger bastard?"
"What? Nigger? Are you talking about me?"
Hmm... Was it because I called a white guy a nigger? Or because I said it in Korean? It didn't seem to land hard. He just looked a bit flabbergasted. If someone's being racist it's nigger, right? I didn't know what you were supposed to call a white guy so I just blurted it out. Well...
This guy's height was about the same as mine, but his body was no joke. Especially those exposed arms—the muscles visible over the hairy forearms. And somehow those muscles seemed to be swelling little by little. He was clenching his fists, too.
Hmm...
I didn't think I should cause an accident on the first day, but you can't exactly dodge an accident that's already coming. So I was trying to prepare myself in my own way when, from over there, with a rapid clatter of footsteps, the interpreter I'd greeted earlier came running in a panic.
"D-did you fight?"
"He was picking a fight."
"What?"
"The moment he saw me he said I was cocky and this and that—before I even got a word in."
"Ah... j-just a moment."
He lightly pushed me aside and a torrent of the interpreter's words poured out. Then that nigger's reply came back.
"Y-you said nigger?"
"Yes."
"Whaaat?"
"What do you call white people? I think I heard it once but forgot. But that bastard said yellow first, you know?"
"······"
They started talking again over there.
"But does calling a white guy a nigger even count as a swear?"
Did he hear me? The gazes of the two who were talking turned to me at the same time.
"Continue what you were saying~"
I waved my hand and said it nicely... but the interpreter suddenly sighed.
"Only to me..."
"Ah! Come on!"
"Yes yes~"
The interpreter looked at me like a problem child. Tsk.
Not just the interpreter. The other pitchers watching me from over there had the same look in their eyes. Had I really become a problem child from day one?
"Want me to catch for you?"
While I was turning into something of a loner, a voice came from behind. When I turned, there was a guy with a catcher's mitt tucked under his arm. Probably a backup catcher or someone playing in the minors.
"I haven't even warmed up yet. Can I ask a little later?"
"Oh! Of course."
"Alright. See you in a bit then."
Not all American guys talked trash like that other one, of course. How nice. When the words coming at you are kind, you answer kindly too.
"Uh, where are you going?"
Leaving the two still talking, I left the spot. I should warm up. If I waited for those two the day would be over.
Running alone, I thought it over. What now? I'd come to the team for the catcher and on the first day gotten into it with that catcher? I hadn't picked the fight first, but who cares about that. They'd just say it was the new rookie's fault. That catcher was the team captain and a player who received the fans' love all by himself. On the other hand the rookie was getting cursed at for being paid too much.
"I'm fucked..."
I missed my mom.
After running and wandering around the training ground blankly, I grabbed some random guy and did a bit of catch. I grabbed anyone, but he surprisingly smiled and went along with it cheerfully, so I was a little flustered. After loosening my body and shoulder that way, I went looking for the catcher who'd approached me earlier. Seeing him resting just then, I walked right up.
"Oh! You're here? Shall we go right away?"
"That'd be good if you would."
"Alright. I'm Eric Danson."
"I'm Kang Hajin. Um... if the pronunciation is hard—Kang, Kong, Gang, Jin, Jin. Call me whatever's convenient."
These were all things I'd been called at least once by foreign players who'd played in Korea.
"Kang. Kang. Okay. Not that hard."
"······"
His pronunciation was good? What the hell was Barnett, then?
I finished preparing to throw with Eric Danson. Word that I was throwing must have spread, because people quickly gathered around. The guy I'd done catch with earlier, the ones who'd been watching when I got into it with that nigger, and the nigger himself. Even my interpreter.
"Huh?"
Where the hell had this interpreter bastard been that he was only showing up now? He'd been nowhere the whole time.
"Should I fire him..."
Suddenly the thought of bringing Ho-min around as my interpreter came to mind. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Ho-min could speak English—surprisingly well. He even joked around and everything... He was also well-versed in baseball, so he'd be perfect to take around as an interpreter.
"What pitches do you throw?"
"Me? Um... quite a few."
"Huh?"
Do I have to list them all?
"Four-seam, two-seam, cutter, splitter, two kinds of slider, three kinds of curve, changeup, knuckleball."
"······?????"
He didn't seem to understand.
"Y-you throw all that?"
"Depending on the situation at the time?"
"······ Start with the four-seam first."
"OK."
Honestly, I had no intention of throwing properly today. What crazy guy would throw full power from day one? Moreover, not everyone was even gathered yet—only the pitchers and catchers had come in a few days early...
But because of that nigger guy—that is, Gordon Perry—my mind changed. I should show why the cocky rookie got paid so much, right?
"Let's go light."
"Yeah."
Right. Light for now.
Bang.
"9... 95 miles?"
The spectators looking at the speed gun next to them seemed a bit surprised.
"What's this much."
Bang.
"96!"
Bang.
"97!"
Bang.
"9... 99!"
As I'd experienced before, after taking the medicine my season prep was quite fast. After roughly resting post-season and training a bit, I quickly returned to my good body. In other words, with rest and a month of personal training, my body right now was in a state that could handle the season immediately.
So.
Bang!
"100 miles!"
I could hit 100 miles right away.
"······"
The spectators went quiet. It probably wasn't because they were surprised by the velocity—there had to be plenty of guys who hit around 100 miles here. But throwing it right away on the first day? That was why those expressions.
"Oh my god. $#^@$#%@#$%@$#%@"
The catcher who was receiving my ball took off his mask and started rapping again. What the hell was he saying...
"He says the ball is crazy? It just surges up!"
Finally my interpreter did his job.
"Yeah well... tell him the next ball is coming. Uh... starting with the fastball types."
"······ What? Ah yes."
He was spacing out again, answered late, then relayed it. This wouldn't do. I should use Ho-min as interpreter or something.
Following the four-seam I threw two-seam, cutter, and splitter a little each.
"This time slider. Starting with the one that breaks sideways first."
I said I'd throw a slider and was about to set my stance when suddenly Gordon Perry butted in. Then he stole the spot from Eric Danson, who had been catching well, and sat down—with just the mitt on.
"······ What?"
"He says he'll catch it himself."
"Why?"
"What?"
"Haa... if he's going to catch, tell him to put on the gear and come. No mask—what is he trying to do?"
A moment later.
"He says he doesn't need it."
"Ha!"
This bastard really...
Looking at what Gordon Perry was doing, the thought of giving him a good one was growing vigorously, so it seemed I couldn't be a good rookie.
"Alright. Whatever—he'll catch it somehow. Hey! Coming."
Gordon Perry held out the mitt, waiting for the ball. I focused hard and threw him a good one. The feeling at my fingertips made me sure it had been thrown properly.
The ball that left my hand...
"Huh?"
It fluttered and floated. This way~ that way~ and at the end, however it pleased.
"Aagh!"
The ball must have liked Gordon Perry's thigh. If it had gone a little more inside he might have become a big sister... too bad...