First Start
I still didn't really understand the Red Sox as the massive organization they were.
It never even occurred to me that fans would be hanging around during spring training.
But I can say with confidence that this wasn't entirely my fault. Quite some time had passed since I'd joined spring training, and the roster had already been cut way down—yet not a single person had approached me until now. How was I supposed to know who was a fan and who wasn't?
Now, though, I knew for sure.
After that one scrimmage, people started coming up one by one asking for autographs, and within a few days the numbers had exploded. Especially the little kids, running over with balls or scraps of paper clutched tight in their small hands.
"Wow… the internet effect is insane."
"…"
"So you're a big star now?"
"Ahem… ahem… let's just go."
"Glad to hear it."
"Yeah. I think I'm starting to get a feel for things."
"You haven't even faced a real pitcher yet and you're talking about feel."
It was the last day of February, and we were heading out after the game.
Today I'd hit my first home run since coming to America. I'd been getting hits well in my previous at-bats, too. Honestly, the pitchers who'd come out weren't anything special, so it hadn't been that hard. They felt a lot like the foreign pitchers I'd faced back in Korea. The only thing that had been frustrating was that I hadn't gotten a big hit—until today.
Five games in February alone. I'd appeared in four of them: eleven plate appearances, nine at-bats, four hits, one home run, two walks. A solid start. Though those were just my batting stats.
"When's your manager planning to put you on the mound?"
"Beats me."
"Didn't Manager Park used to keep you under wraps like that too?"
"Yeah, kind of…"
"What is it? Is there just something about you that makes people want to hide you away?"
"…"
It was a little weird to me, too. Why weren't they putting me on the mound? Even if it wasn't for long innings, they could at least send me out for a short stint. Weirdly enough, as a batter I'd gone out in every game except one.
"Maybe they're trying to get me comfortable as a hitter first?"
That was about the only thing I could think of.
Time passed, and March was already halfway gone.
"Kang!"
"Kaaang!"
"Kang! Can I get your autograph?"
Today the kids were swarming me again, thrusting this and that at me with their little hands. I signed everything diligently before I finally managed to break free and climb into Ho-min's car.
"Today was a real spectacle. Heh heh heh."
"Don't talk to me. I'm irritated."
"Wow… I really didn't think you'd mess up that bad."
"Shut up already."
I hadn't started today. I'd figured I was getting a day off, but out of nowhere I was sent up as a pinch hitter in the ninth. That much was fine, but… the player I replaced was the left fielder.
I'd assumed they'd put in a defensive replacement. Instead, Grandpa Manager sent me out to left field.
I went out in a daze and completely misjudged the landing spot of a ball hit my way. I'd taken a wrong first step, so there was no way I could catch it. Making an error the moment I stepped out there—I was so flustered. At least the score difference was big, and no more balls came my way before the game ended, so no one said anything. I was just a little wounded, that was all.
I'd been in a good mood lately with my batting feeling sharp… That feeling of plummeting into the abyss the instant you make an error…
Ho-min must have noticed my face darken a little, because he quickly changed the subject.
"I hear you're finally getting on the mound?"
"Yeah. That's what they say."
"Against the Yankees?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa~ The manager really set up your debut perfectly."
After today's game, Grandpa Manager had informed me of my pitching appearance. The start I'd been waiting for so long. In three days. Against the New York Yankees. I was allowed sixty pitches. Whether I gave up ten runs or threw a perfect game, I was done at sixty.
"How's the body?"
"No reason it wouldn't be good. I've rested that much."
"Condition?"
"I've been preparing the whole time, so…"
Honestly, Ho-min keeping talking to me was a little annoying. How do I put this… I'd never even imagined I'd feel this way, but… even though it was just a spring training game, I was a little excited at the prospect of finally taking the mound officially in America. And the fact that it was against the New York Yankees of all teams made it even more thrilling. I wanted to savor this feeling a little longer, but with him constantly talking next to me, how could I not find it annoying? I could tell he was doing it for my sake, though, so I couldn't exactly tell him to shut up. I just had to listen and let it wash over me.
Three days passed quickly.
I didn't do anything particularly special over those two days. Just quietly did what I always did. And then today, the day of. With Eric's help, I prepared for my start the way I always did.
"Is this really enough?"
"This should be plenty."
Eric seemed to think my starting preparation was way too light. Maybe because I'd just done a little running and some long toss and called it done… But this was how I'd always done it. Preparing hard before a game versus just lightly loosening up the body. The latter seemed to suit me better.
Spring training was almost over now. The players still remaining were ones I'd be seeing in the regular season too. So I had a pretty good sense of who would be coming out. Based on that, Ho-min had put together analysis materials. Even though people knew him as my interpreter, it was like that wasn't his real job—he'd produced Yankees data and passed it to me and Eric.
Eric looked pretty surprised looking at Ho-min's materials. The content was more solid than expected. So he combined the information he already had with Ho-min's data and thought about how to approach today's game.
"You're really going to leave everything to me?"
"Yeah. We already settled that a while ago."
"But…"
"If something really feels off, I'll say so, so just handle it for now."
"… Alright."
Was it because this was a Red Sox–Yankees game? Even though it wasn't a regular-season game, the stands were packed.
"Hmm… nice."
Back in Korea I'd always pitched in such noisy, chaotic environments that this kind of atmosphere actually felt more familiar to me.
Today I was going out as the starting pitcher and batting seventh. I hadn't expected to bat as well. Grandpa Manager had just put my name in without a word.
"He's really not very considerate, is he."
It's my first start—would it kill him to say something?
"Are you always this talkative before games?"
Ho-min looked at me curiously as I muttered to myself. Come to think of it, this was the first time he was watching one of my starts from the dugout. He'd always only seen them on TV or from way up in the stands.
"Shh. It's rude to talk to the starting pitcher like that."
"… Really?"
Of course not. There were pitchers who genuinely hated anyone talking to them on their start day. But I wasn't one of them. I even hated how awkward it got when everyone went quiet just because I was working on a perfect game…
The game started with our team batting first.
The Yankees' starter today was Daniel Cruz. He'd been the Yankees' number-three starter last season and won twelve games. The number-three starter for the championship-contending New York Yankees. Even though they'd lost the World Series to the Dodgers, he'd played a big role in the close series that went all the way to the final game. And he'd also been a starting pitcher when the Yankees won the championship the season before that. In short, he was a really good pitcher.
Of course, some fairly well-known pitchers had come out before this too. But they hadn't been fully ready physically yet, so they hadn't been that threatening. I'd gotten a lot of hits off them. Those pitchers hadn't paid much attention either.
But this Daniel Cruz was different. From the first pitch he jammed in a ninety-seven-mile-an-hour two-seamer and quickly retired three batters before coming off the mound. Especially the changeup he threw to get our team's star Eun-hyung out on two pitches was incredible.
And now it was my turn.
I pulled my cap down, glove on my left hand, and headed for the mound.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap.
I was on the mound, casually tapping the rosin bag, when applause suddenly broke out out of nowhere. I lifted my head from where I'd been looking down and looked around before realizing the applause was for me. Applause when I hadn't even thrown a single pitch… what was this?
It was a little absurd, but I couldn't just stand there after receiving applause, so I grabbed the brim of my cap and gave a slight nod. The applause got a little louder, and some cheering mixed in too.
What happens if I give up a home run on the first pitch?
A useless thought that floated up for no reason. I shook my head to clear it and threw a few warm-up pitches to Eric. The feel at my fingertips was good.
The Yankees' leadoff hitter was Hitoshi Miura. As the name suggested, he was a Japanese player. Sometimes good players get nicknames like "so-and-so's successor" or "the second so-and-so"… This player had been tagged with Japan's most famous hitter, Ichiro. The second Ichiro.
Actually, Japanese hitters who hit well and ran fast had often gotten Ichiro's name attached over the years. It was just that none of them had carried it all the way through. But this player was genuinely becoming like Ichiro. He'd stood out from his first arrival in America, had several successful seasons, and last season had even been in the race for most hits. He'd finished a close second, unfortunately. Thanks to that, he was becoming a beloved player the Yankees fans absolutely had to protect—and that was Hitoshi Miura standing in the batter's box right now.
Ho-min had said this guy was incredibly strong against fastballs. But Eric wanted a four-seam fastball for the first pitch. And he was holding the mitt right down the middle.
Like Jong-seong…
This was the kind of thing Jeong Jong-seong used to do well. Since I'd decided to leave today's game to Eric, I just nodded obediently.
The four-seamer thrown right down the middle, just as Eric wanted. The batter's bat twitched but didn't come out.
"Strike!"
The home-plate umpire's clenched fist shot up.