He Bolted
Looking back, I think I had a hard time with Na Hong-gi too.
It wasn't that I struggled against pitchers with velocity. It was that against pitchers I couldn't calculate, I couldn't calculate either.
When you face a pitcher, you figure the ball is going to move somewhere around the zone so you can prepare accordingly…
Na Hong-gi was exhausting in that regard.
I just couldn't get a read on him at all.
But this Leaf Trent wasn't a calculation problem.
PAAANG!
"…"
A white line streaked past my eyes.
If I hadn't snapped my body back, my skull would have cracked open right then.
"…"
I was torn.
Charge the mound?
Or not?
Do I just take this?
"Hold it… just hold it…"
If he'd been aiming for my head, I would have gone after him.
But the guy who threw it looked even more startled than I was, standing there completely lost, so beating the hell out of him felt a little off.
And after seeing that ridiculous command right from the start, it didn't even look like he was acting.
"That fucking bastard!!"
Ho-min's voice roared from the dugout, loud enough to reach me all the way out here.
Idiot. If you're going to curse, at least do it in English. What's the point if only I can understand you?
I glanced over and saw the guys in the dugout ready to pour onto the field at the slightest signal.
"Sigh…"
I raised a hand, and only then did they settle back into their seats.
"Hey. You come in like that one more time, I'm not letting it slide."
I thought I'd said it clearly enough… but the opposing catcher just went—
"Ahem."
—and left it at that.
I'd expected either a claim that it wasn't intentional or some kind of outburst…
Him reacting like this just made me feel awkward for no reason.
Count: one ball, one strike.
Puh-eong!
The pop of the mitt was clean and satisfying.
The pitch itself came in like absolute garbage, though.
"Ball."
There was nothing I could do with that one.
Even if I stretched my arms out and leaned my whole body over, the bat tip wouldn't have so much as grazed it.
"How the hell do you catch that?"
Baltimore's catcher came back into view.
Standing in the box, I could see it clearly now.
That fastball was coming in like complete trash, yet he was snatching it clean without any trouble.
"You're a good catcher…"
Was that unexpected?
His eyes went round, then he grinned.
Funny little bastard.
Anyway, the count was now two balls, one strike.
A normal pitcher would put one in the zone here. Nobody wants to fall behind 3-1.
Or if they throw a ball, it'd be a chase pitch.
Either way, they'd be throwing something meant to get a strike…
Puh-eong.
"Strike!"
"… You've got to be kidding me."
I was late.
I'd hesitated.
There's no way that comes into the zone, right? That thought left me completely unprepared.
By the time I realized the pitch was coming in, it was already too late.
A 97-mile cutter buried itself perfectly on the outer edge.
"Why do you only throw this well against me?"
That pitch was so good I wasn't even sure I could have hit it if I'd known it was coming.
With stuff like that, no wonder he'd won nine games last year.
"Is his command coming back after facing a few hitters?"
He'd gotten hit hard, but after facing four batters or so, it was possible.
What pissed me off was… why the hell did the feel have to come back on my turn? Aside from the one that nearly took my head off, the other two had been pretty solid.
Tak.
"Foul."
I barely got the bat on a pitch that dropped straight down from the sky like it had no mercy.
I didn't know what they called it over here, but back home we had a saying for curves like that.
"Fuck… that's one hell of a waterfall."
Honestly, it rattled me a little. Watching it on video or from behind was completely different from seeing it in the box.
Both the pitcher and the catcher behind me looked disappointed, so the pitch had probably come in exactly the way they'd wanted.
Especially the pitcher—he was hopping up and down on those long legs, that frustrated.
But wait…
"Look at this bastard."
When I'd first stepped in, he'd looked like he wanted nothing more than to get the hell off the mound.
Now…
"Feeling confident, are we?"
So what, he thought I was catchable now?
Heat surged through me all at once.
This asshole. I'd let the near-beheading slide.
And now the same guy who was too scared to throw inside after that was suddenly full of confidence?
"Hey."
The catcher called out to me. I ignored him completely, crowding the plate and lifting my bat.
Shhh-shhh.
The faintest scrape of dirt.
You might think it was just the catcher shifting position… but catchers who play at this level never make that kind of noise.
And this catcher—from what I'd seen—was a damn good one. A Major League catcher.
Yet he was making amateur noise like that? And it sounded like he was creeping in toward the inner half?
"I'm not falling for it, you bastard."
TAAAAK!
I figured he still wouldn't dare throw inside. Even if his confidence was back, throwing another pitch that had nearly caved my skull in with his own hand wasn't easy.
Plus I'd already taken two outer cutters without swinging.
So I sat on the outer cutter.
It came exactly as expected.
The only problem was it didn't catch the zone.
The ball caught the end of the bat and sent a jolt through my hands.
That powerful pitch hitting the tip meant the ball didn't carry far.
But the placement was perfect.
Chwaaaak!
The ball just cleared the first baseman's glove and dropped fair inside the foul line, then rolled slowly toward right.
The right fielder charged hard and threw to second, but the ball had been too slow.
Safe at second.
"Whew… at least I didn't give them the first out."
A grin crept onto my face for no real reason.
There was a real sense of satisfaction at having done something.
I'd been pissed at being looked down on… and watching the opposing pitching coach climb the mound again made me feel a little smug too.
He'd gotten lit up by the other hitters, but in the end I'd been the one to put a knife to the starter's throat.
The starter trudged off the mound with nothing left.
Then the second pitcher, who'd had to scramble to get loose and come in cold.
A pitcher forced into an unexpected appearance had no chance against Gordon Perry, who was locked in at the plate.
Taak!
A single through the left-center gap.
I watched the ball casually and stepped on home plate.
"Nice hit."
"Yeah."
"Pitcher's settling down too."
"Right."
"So that means you were the only one who completely shit the bed when you pitched?"
"…"
The fifth inning was over.
I'd added another hit in my third at-bat. Driven in a run too.
Our starter, thanks to the early lead we'd given him in the first, had found his rhythm fast.
From the second through the fifth he'd thrown scoreless ball.
Their bullpen, on the other hand, couldn't handle our lineup. After five, the score sat at 10-4.
"Does this team just start at ten runs? Once they get going they make you lose your mind."
"Just shut up for a second…"
I'd been feeling pretty good after two hits and an RBI…
This bastard was making me irritated for no reason even though we were winning and I was producing.
Top of the sixth.
Our starter, who'd ground himself into dust keeping them off the board through five, came out.
And the bullpen war began.
Taak!
Taak!
"Why the hell didn't they reinforce the bullpen?"
Ho-min said it like he genuinely couldn't understand, and I found myself nodding without thinking.
In the three games since Opening Day—excluding the opener itself—our bullpen had been the problem every time.
Even the second game I'd pitched in had nearly flipped if things had gone a little differently.
And the third game we'd lost. The lineup had clawed and scratched to stay in it, but the bullpen couldn't hold.
Hell, even Opening Day we'd given up runs.
And now today.
The sixth-inning reliever came in and immediately gave up two hits.
Pitchers are going to give up runs.
They're going to give up hits. That's normal.
But… there's a limit.
Sure, it was only the fourth game of the season, so you could argue we needed more time to judge…
"The hitters still haven't found their timing yet, and if they're getting hit like this already… once the weather warms up…"
Pitchers get better once it warms up and their bodies come around, right?
Yeah, right…
Taak!
"Goddamn it…"
It was only April, and the pitcher was already pouring sweat after facing just three hitters.
"It's not like he wanted to get hit…"
Ho-min kept grumbling beside me.
I wanted to snap something back at him, but the words wouldn't come. It was frustrating even to me.
Taak!
Three runs in the top of the sixth.
The score was now 10-7, and suddenly anything could happen.
Three runs was a gap you could erase with one good inning.
The only silver lining was that the bottom of the sixth started with Greg Mathis. The four-hole leading off.
Then me, then Gordon Perry who was locked in.
In other words, a lineup that could put the game away.
Taak!
Greg Mathis didn't disappoint.
As the leadoff man he'd probably just been looking to put the ball in play… but the ball nearly carried to the fence.
He settled in safely at second.
Then a pitching change.
"How many pitchers are they planning to use?"
I stood in the on-deck circle staring blankly, waiting for the new arm to come in.
But even looking at his face and the name, I had no idea who he was. I'd heard everything about their staff from Ho-min…
I pretended my bat had a problem and ducked into the dugout to swap out a perfectly good one.
I just wanted a quick word on what this guy threw, but Ho-min came to me first.
"Sinker. Definitely the sinker!!"
Ho-min practically pressed his mouth to my ear as he whispered it.
I didn't understand why he was being so careful about telling me to look for a sinker, but I said I got it for now.
There wasn't time to calmly ask what the hell that was about.
The pitcher threw a few warm-up pitches, and the umpire waved me into the box.
The new arm was small for an American pitcher.
Maybe 5'11"? And on the skinny side.
"Sinker, huh…"
I set up and waited for the first pitch.
A ball that darted away outside in a blink.
The board lit up 100.
"Ball."
"Jesus."
That frame was throwing 100 pretty comfortably. And it had been a quick pitch…
These guys around here threw 100 like it was nothing. Unbelievable.
"Strike."
"Ball."
"Strike."
"Ball."
Full count in a flash.
Four-seam and slider, both exclusively away.
It was about time for one inside… and I was just starting to wonder when the hell that sinker Ho-min mentioned was going to show up when—
The ball left the pitcher's hand and came straight down the middle.
I didn't think for a second it was going to stay honest and ride in over the heart of the plate.
This had to be the sinker!
My bat came through, aimed at the spot where I expected the ball to break.
Just as I'd thought, the ball started to turn toward its destination.
But…
"Ah—it's not coming…"
Whoosh.
"Batter out!"
Strikeout.
My first strikeout since coming to America.
"You son of a bitch. You said look for the sinker. He never threw it! Changeup… fuck… where the hell did that bastard go."
That bastard had bolted.