I Learned It From Dramas
I am Kang Hajin, a Korean.
From the time I was little, I grew up watching countless dramas at my mother's side.
That thing I'd seen and learned over and over from all those dramas!
Today was the day to put it to use in real combat.
"Argh… my neck! My neck!! I think I just wrenched it!"
The second the second-base umpire called safe and called time, I grabbed the back of my neck and collapsed flat on the ground.
Neck grab, then full sprawl. You guys might not know this. For a Korean, it's practically a passive skill.
The lifelong neck-grabbing technique you pick up from TV as a kid and later get real-world practice with the moment you start driving.
"Aigoo… aigoo… my neck's gone…"
Throw in a little wailing on top of that and it's perfect!
"…You okay?"
"Aigoo… shut up and pretend to worry."
"…You lunatic. You already turned your head to check the umpire earlier, and now you're grabbing your neck and collapsing?"
"I said shut up…"
I casually shoved Ho-min aside as he struggled not to laugh at the sight of me, then groaned and contorted my face as hard as I could.
So far, so good…
But when the team medical staff came over and started asking questions, these people… they were taking it pretty seriously.
With the second-base umpire right next to us, I couldn't exactly say I was fine.
"Hey, hey. Quietly tell them not to pull me…"
I used the Korean-language window.
This wasn't a lead I could comfortably walk away from.
I'd been putting on a whole circus act pitching and hitting myself just to try and scrape a win across two straight games—and I was supposed to come out and watch from the sidelines with my feet up?
Absolutely not doing that crap…
Ho-min leaned in and whispered something into the medical staff's ear.
They looked back and forth between Ho-min and me, then nodded slightly as if they understood, and crouched back down in front of me.
Then they put their hands on the back of my neck that I'd been clutching this whole time and kneaded it a few times.
Gently pulling to the right, gently pushing to the left.
Then asking again, a little louder, if I was okay… as if for someone else's benefit.
"Yeeeees."
"Good."
I wasn't sure this was okay.
If my neck had actually gone out, what were they planning—kneading it a few times and telling me to get up? The acting was pretty sloppy.
At this rate even the people who'd bought it would start getting suspicious…
With the medical staff's help, I very slowly got up off the ground.
I tilted my head this way and that, arched my back, gradually loosening up.
Like I'd gotten better just from lying there a bit.
So I roughly wrapped things up on my end…
But the problem now was that guy.
The one who'd tried to take my head off with his knee and instead got properly smashed by my helmeted skull.
The sound when we collided earlier had been pretty ominous.
Which was probably why he still couldn't get up.
He couldn't grab his knee, so he was clutching his thigh like he was about to die…
"Why the hell aren't they taking him out?"
Anyone could see that guy needed to be rushed to a hospital ASAP, but they were just leaving him like that.
Their team's medical staff was right next to him, but… that didn't look like it was going to cut it…
"You sure you're really okay?"
"Huh?"
Our grandpa manager was looking at me with a worried expression.
How long had he been standing there?
He must have been a step away and I hadn't noticed. I'd only been staring at the sky while lying there grabbing my neck.
"Tell him I can still throw 105 mph."
"Ahem…"
That old man almost lost it.
He knew laughing here would ruin everything, so it was obvious he was trying to cover it with a cough.
Only after I got up did a cart finally start rolling in from way out there.
Matt Ganucci ended up being carted off the field.
"That's what you get for leading with the knee."
Not my fault…
The game that had been stopped for quite a while started getting sorted out.
Everyone who'd come onto the field went back to their positions, and I stayed at second base.
What was unexpected was that the opposing players didn't show any particular reaction toward me.
Their teammate had been carried off and I was still standing fine on the field, yet…
They just glanced over and headed back to their spots.
Honestly, I'd thought there might be a whole scene.
The game resumed.
Runner on second, nobody out, next batter up… and then the coach came out right at the timing for a pinch hitter.
That meant they were using a pinch hitter.
And the player coming out behind him with bat and helmet on was Gordon Perry.
"This is taking another weird turn."
If Gordon Perry comes in at the sixth spot, what happens to Eric, who's batting seventh today?
Offense is one thing, but who wears the mask on defense?
If I carefully guess, Gordon Perry would wear it, I think.
Not as a starter, but somehow I feel like that grandpa manager wants to see the chemistry between me and Gordon Perry too.
Crack!
Maybe because the break had gone on so long and his body had cooled down?
The first pitch from the opposing pitcher came in flat and pushed.
Gordon Perry wasn't the type to miss a pitch like that—he swung right away and dropped a hit into left-center.
A ball that would let me come home comfortably.
And the seventh batter.
"Aha~ like this?"
Another pinch hitter.
Putting a pinch hitter in Eric's spot completely eliminated any other options.
Grandpa manager's pinch-hitting strategy succeeded both times.
Thanks to that, our team added one more run, and the score was now 4–0.
With a slightly more comfortable lead, I took the mound.
The only difference was Gordon Perry sitting behind the plate in the mask, but it wasn't a big problem.
It's not like I'd worked that much chemistry with Eric either.
This was only my second appearance of the season.
I'd never properly worked with Gordon Perry even once, but he was one of the representative catchers of Major League Baseball.
Except for the knuckleball, he'd handle things fine on his own.
After finishing warm-up pitches, Gordon Perry came up to the mound.
Without much talk, he just briefly double-checked the signs again.
Leading off the seventh was Anthony Borden.
Borden, stepping in for his third at-bat today, had gone down on a strikeout and a groundout in his previous ones.
Maybe because he'd been struck out looking on three pitches in the first at-bat, he'd swung aggressively the second time, but thanks to Eric's thorough pitch selection that refused to give him anything good, I'd gotten him out without much trouble.
Borden had seen enough of my pitches.
For the first pitch against this Borden, Gordon Perry called for a splitter.
Honestly, a bit unexpected.
Eric almost never called for the splitter except for the rare times he really wanted to catch someone off guard.
I never thought he'd call for it from the first pitch.
Whoosh.
Gordon Perry cleanly caught the ball that ducked down, escaping Borden's bat.
The moment he received the pitch I threw, the next sign came flying in.
Like he was already fully prepared, he sent it without hesitation.
"Foul."
Borden swung at the outside cutter but fouled it off.
And sure enough, another sign right away.
It wasn't me trying to speed up the pitching tempo. The catcher was making it fast.
"Foul."
The high fastball barely clipped the bat, hit the mitt, and bounced back.
Slightly disappointing.
Then the changeup.
"Batter out."
Borden swung and missed at the changeup that came in on his hands and walked off.
This was a pretty novel experience.
Having the catcher unconsciously speed up my pitching tempo.
Catcher hands the ball back, sends the sign, immediate pitch.
This process connected without a single break.
It was the same after that.
When the next batter and the one after that came up, signs came flying without hesitation and I took them and threw right away just the same.
Except for when a batter called time in the middle, it was the same continuous cycle.
Insanely fast tempo.
Throwing like that, before I knew it the inning was over.
Two strikeouts and a fly ball.
It was a little annoying to think this, but…
"…Not bad."
Honestly, it was really good.
Not that Eric was lacking.
Eric and Gordon Perry just had different styles.
But I got the feeling he had the opposing batters completely figured out.
"Is this that thing that comes from experience?"
Yeah, you really can't ignore experience.
Bottom of the ninth, two outs.
Solo home runs in the top of the eighth and top of the ninth had stretched the score to 6–0.
I'd been about to get a little depressed thinking I'd be the only one scoring again today…
But them hitting late made me feel a bit better.
I came up to the mound to finish today's game with two outs.
I'd only briefly worked with him, but the lead over the past 2.2 innings had been perfect.
"There's a reason they call him one of the best catchers…"
I waited for Gordon Perry's sign to get the last remaining out.
The first sign for what could be the final batter was right!
"…"
Is he crazy?
"I'll throw what you want for now."
He must have some idea, so I'll throw to the sign.
Even though Gordon Perry had never caught my knuckleball even once, he must have his own thoughts about it.
It was a first pitch where missing it wouldn't be a problem, so I threw it without pressure.
Thwack.
The ball that had been fluttering along twisted its body at the last moment as if mocking the batter.
The bat that should have cut through empty air managed to make contact, but the ball rolled and rolled toward the first baseman.
The batter started toward first a little, then immediately gave up.
The first baseman casually fielded it, stepped on first base, and just like that the game was over.
In the end I never found out whether he'd asked for the knuckleball because he could catch it or what.
Gordon Perry approached the mound.
With a single "good job" and a light fist bump, he moved on somewhere else.
I wonder how awkward the two of us looked to everyone else.
Back in the dugout after sharing the joy of victory with the players.
"His knee's gone."
"Huh? What is?"
"…The guy you cracked with your head."
"Ah~"
Well damn…