You've Grown a Lot
Rondo Garcia had arrived.
He was a South American guy who looked ordinary at first glance—a little shorter than me, lean enough that you might even call him skinny. Of course, that was only the surface.
In his prime, back when he was winning Cy Young awards, there wasn't a tougher pitcher alive. From the first inning straight through the ninth he would pound ninety-seven-mile four-seamers, then layer on ninety-five-mile sinkers and ninety-mile splitters like a man possessed.
It wasn't the pitches themselves that made him tough. It was the way he threw them—right at a batter's body, no hesitation, no mercy, just pure, stupid aggression.
That was a few years ago, though. What he'd been like since then, I had no idea. I'd been busy enough just surviving.
Word was he'd taken a serious injury, gone under the knife, and basically burned an entire season on rehab. Whether the old stuff had come back was still an open question.
When Garcia showed up, captain Gordon Perry and Eun-hyung greeted him like old friends. Completely different atmosphere from the day I first walked in. The three of them must have had history; they stood around talking for a good long while in a warm, easy mood.
Once that conversation wrapped, Garcia wandered over to where Eric and I were casually playing catch.
"Hey~"
"Hi."
His English had a distinctive accent—South American, obviously. It felt a little like a Seoul guy trying to parse a thick regional dialect. That was a problem. I was already struggling to follow regular English; this just made it harder.
Luckily Ho-min, who'd been freeloading in the sun off to the side, came scrambling over.
"He says he's been wanting to meet you."
"Me? Why me?"
How did this guy even know who I was?
"Oh—he heard about you from Barnett."
"Huh? What the hell does that—"
"Ah~ aha~ ohhh~ okay, okay."
My so-called interpreter was just standing there happily listening on his own. Only after Garcia finished a fairly long speech did Ho-min finally turn back to me.
"He and Barnett used to be teammates. They're close."
"…… That's it?"
"What else do you want?"
"He talked for ages. And all I get back is that?"
"Ah~ the rest wasn't important."
No—who the hell put you in charge of deciding what's important?
I pressed him again, and he finally spilled it with a look of pure annoyance.
"Other teams were talking trade too, so he was on the fence. Then Barnett told him about you. Said if he wanted a championship, he should come here and do it with you."
"…… You crazy bastard, that's the important part!"
So from Barnett's point of view, if Garcia and I anchored the rotation, a title was actually realistic. And if he was saying that, the rehab must have gone well.
"Wait—players get to choose where they get traded?"
"I guess when you're at his level, yeah."
"Huh……"
I'd gotten one phone call and been shipped out. This guy got to pick his destination.
"Oh! And he asked if you'd watch him throw."
"……"
This lunatic…… No wonder Garcia had been standing there waiting the whole time.
"Tell him let's go."
"Go~"
I should've just said that myself.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
"Ball's nasty……"
"Yeah."
"Velocity's down a little from his peak, but not by much."
His four-seamer was sitting around ninety-three. Sinker about ninety. Splitter a touch slower. I'd thought maybe he was just taking it easy for a workout, but apparently he still wasn't all the way back. Once the weather warmed up, the old numbers would probably return.
Even now, his stuff was clearly better than anything else in the current Red Sox rotation.
Still……
"As a number-one starter, though……"
An ace needs that extra something—that overwhelming presence. I wasn't sure he had it yet. Maybe it was because he wasn't facing live hitters, but from what I saw today, that was my read.
"He wants to know how it looked."
"Tell him it looked good."
"He says, 'A little short, isn't it?'"
"…… What does he want me to say? We just met."
"Right?"
Putting people on the spot like that.
Then Garcia started talking again. I caught enough to realize he was bringing up the changeup.
"He says he's sorry to ask this the first time you meet, but Opening Day's coming so he's just going to say it."
"Say what?"
"Can you show him your changeup?"
"Huh?"
"He wants the grip."
"……"
So that was the real reason. No wonder he'd come over to greet me before anyone else. No wonder he'd suddenly asked me to watch him throw……
"Doesn't he already throw a changeup?"
Almost every pitcher has one, good or bad.
"Barnett told him yours is the best in the world."
"Aigoo……"
When they put it like that, how was I supposed to refuse? Honestly, even without the Barnett story I would've shown him. Teaching a grip isn't exactly hard. Changeup grips are all pretty much the same family anyway.
Garcia studied my changeup grip with real intensity. He asked about the feel of the release, listened carefully, then tried it himself. Since he'd thrown changeups before, the ball came out looking pretty decent. Not mind-blowing, but that was only my opinion. Nobody masters a grip the second they learn it—impossible. I'd pulled it off a few times with chemical help, but that was pure nonsense. What Garcia was showing already put him ahead of most guys.
He left the field looking thoroughly satisfied, tossing over his shoulder that he'd invite me over for dinner sometime.
"Is that the same as when Koreans say 'Let's grab a meal sometime' and never mean it?"
"Beats me……"
The whole thing left me a little dazed. Had I just taught a grip to a Cy Young winner?
"Kang Hajin's grown a lot."
"Yeah."
Even I had to admit it. The scrappy mop-up guy who used to hang on by his fingernails was now teaching grips to Cy Young pitchers.
Spring training was over.
Some preseason show had a segment ranking every team, and they had us third in the AL East—and projected to miss the wild card. The reason they gave was our pitching staff.
Opening Day went to Garcia. No matter how well I'd thrown in exhibition games, it had only been one outing. That wasn't enough to claim the number-one spot. Plus there was Garcia's name value……
I didn't mind much. Ace or number two, it was just a rotation order. As the two-hole guy I might even avoid the other team's ace more often, which would make life easier.
Ho-min was the one who got a little pissed. He'd said out loud that I wouldn't get it, but clearly he'd been hoping.
Back to that ranking show—they flagged our pitching as the weak link. First, they doubted whether a returning Garcia could still look like an ace. Then they listed me as a problem too. Not enough sample size, they said. Some even wondered out loud if I was hurt.
I got that one start wasn't much to go on…… but the way they just threw it out there still rubbed me the wrong way.
"You gonna go rant about it in an interview again?"
"……"
I hadn't decided yet, but Ho-min read my mind like a psychic.
Anyway. After roasting the rotation they moved on to the bullpen—everyone except the closer was "inconsistent," apparently. They wrapped by saying our lineup was strong enough to still finish third.
"Whoever that guy is, he doesn't know jack about baseball."
"That guy? He was a catcher for years."
"A catcher with eyes that bad?"
"…… You seriously don't know him? He was pretty good in his day."
"Who cares. If I don't know him, he was never that big a deal."
I memorized the name. Next time I started and did an interview, I'd make sure to give him a special shout-out.
Opening Day.
The dugout was loud. Usually for an opener people get a little tense, try to lock in. Not here. It felt more like a marketplace.
An MLB Opening Day ceremony wasn't anything special. They tried to make it flashy, but there wasn't much worth watching. A few half-baked events came and went, and finally they got to the national anthem.
"Singing this thing is gonna kill somebody."
After that questionable anthem—I'm still not sure it was meant to be sung—the endless pregame finally ended.
Then Garcia took the mound and started throwing.
Ninety-five-mile four-seamers. Sinkers almost as hard. And then……
"Whoa. That changeup just now was filthy."
A changeup that completely froze hitters. The splitter he'd used so well for years had been replaced by the changeup.
He'd been one of the few non-Japanese pitchers in the majors who threw a real splitter. Now the changeup owned that slot.
Our Red Sox lineup lived up to every word that ranking guy had said—it was terrifying. They jumped all over Baltimore's ace from the jump and knocked him out before the fourth. Eun-hyung in particular went three-for-four with a homer and four RBI. The ball left the bat and was over the wall before you could blink—just…… damn.
Meanwhile our starter Garcia went 6.2 innings with two runs allowed. The outing itself looked sharp.
The season was off to a good start.