Vs. Lee Gijun
I've said it many times before, but my batting form is extremely simple.
And the same goes for my pitching form.
Once, some so-called expert on a broadcast watched my delivery and heaped praise on it, calling it a form that minimized the risk of injury. He claimed it must have been the product of long, careful thought…
Thought, my ass.
I just found it comfortable throwing this way as a kid, kept doing it, and somehow ended up here.
Ah! Of course, it did change a little after I met the Hooded Woman. Compared to now, it used to have a wilder edge; these days I move my body a bit more smoothly than I did back then. But the basic form is still the same.
The problem is… it's kind of boring.
In Korea, and in the majors too, there have always been pitchers famous for their quirky deliveries. One guy used to spread both arms like a seagull while taking the sign—said he did it because of pain, but the weird stance made him insanely famous. Another would kick his front leg up to his head like a taekwondo strike. There was one who stared at second base before whipping his head around to home plate; I still wonder if that guy's neck is okay. Way back, a Japanese pitcher used to twist his body all the way toward second before throwing. I think there was even a guy who did a little shoulder dance mid-delivery—he really just threw however he felt like it…
I could go on forever. There was even a guy who fell over every time he threw the ball.
I wasn't asking for anything that extreme… but I always wished I had something of my own. You know—my own signature, that kind of thing.
"How about putting your right hand in the glove when you take the sign?"
What the hell was he talking about?
When I take the catcher's sign I lean forward a little with the glove in front of my chest. My right hand usually stays behind my back… and he wanted me to stick it in the glove…
"…What is this? Am I greeting someone?"
Wasn't that the fist-and-palm salute you always see in Chinese movies?
I was an idiot for even asking Ho-min. All that guy ever thinks about is messing around.
I left Ho-min's nonsense behind and talked it over with Eric and Rondo too, but nothing that really clicked came out of it. Creating my own signature was turning out to be harder than I thought.
Surprisingly, Eric and Rondo got pretty into the idea and were racking their brains when Gordon Perry walked over toward us.
He said he wanted a quick word. Since it was before the game I figured it would be about today's matchup and followed him.
"We're going to minimize the use of fastball-type pitches today."
Suddenly this?
"You say you're fine, but the fact is you haven't had enough rest. And today the team wants you to carry the game deep."
That was true enough. We were out of pitchers. We'd wrung them dry. And still we had three losses… damn it.
"So instead of the high-energy fastball stuff, I'm thinking we go mainly with breaking balls. Changeups… and a lot of sliders, too."
"…"
I didn't care.
I'd already promised the old man manager I'd follow this guy's lead. The only thing that worried me was—
"Will it be okay?"
"Of course. I'm not saying we won't throw any. Just that your fastball percentage is high, and we're going to cut that way down."
"…Fine. I'll keep that in mind."
So that was it.
That was why the old man manager had suddenly told me to follow Gordon Perry's lead no matter what. Had he thought I'd refuse this kind of game plan?
Sure, I love blowing hitters away with pure heat. But that doesn't mean I insist on throwing nothing else. Every now and then it's fun to cook them with off-speed stuff for a whole game.
Was he surprised I agreed so easily? A flicker of surprise crossed Gordon Perry's face and vanished just as fast.
My turn to ask a question.
"Same as last time?"
"What do you mean…"
"No resting tempo. Fast."
Catch and throw, catch and throw—just like when we'd worked together briefly before.
"I liked it then."
"Yeah? We can do that."
"Good."
The second the words left his mouth he gave a single nod, spun on his heel, and walked off.
Man… what a charmless bastard. Couldn't he at least say something like "Let's go get 'em today"?
I finished the talk with Gordon Perry and took a short rest. Not long after, the game began.
The stands were packed. When the crowd saw me climb the mound to start the top of the first, every single one of them rose and applauded.
Looking at them, I… honestly didn't know what to do with myself. Waving felt weird…
This was all the old man manager's fault.
In the interview announcing I'd be starting today, he'd hyped me up way too much. Called me an ace who knew how to sacrifice for the team, or something like that. That alone would have been plenty… but then he spent a long time after that talking about me. Just watching the interview, even I would have fallen for the guy he was describing.
If it hit me that hard, how must the fans of this team have felt?
The result was this. In the short walk up to the mound I finally understood exactly what people meant when they said they didn't know where to put themselves.
Whap!
"Strike."
Gordon Perry had called for me to throw the first pitch with everything I had. So much for cutting back on fastballs…
A 102-mph four-seam fastball on the inner half made the hitter jump back in surprise, but the umpire still called it a strike.
"Why's he so shocked?"
Watching the hitter overreact, I thought about another inside four-seamer and waited for the next sign. Normally I would have gone that way, but today we already had a plan…
True to our talk, the moment Gordon Perry returned the ball he flashed the next sign.
After a vicious inside four-seamer, a changeup running away wasn't a bad idea at all.
The changeup diving toward the outer edge completely wrecked the hitter's timing; he swung through empty air.
Two strikes, easy.
Then the third pitch.
"Oh-ho~"
The sign was so unexpected I thought I'd misread it and asked him to show it again. The same sign came back. I'd seen it right the first time.
"What kind of combination is this?"
Not that I couldn't throw it. Pitch sequences aren't set in stone. It was just surprising—though the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a good way to catch the hitter off guard.
So… I quickly switched the grip I'd been holding inside the glove.
A normal windup. My arm came through fast from behind, but—
Whoosh.
The ball left my hand, climbed in a high arc, and dropped neatly into the mitt Gordon Perry stuck out.
"Batter out!"
An out-of-nowhere slow curve left the hitter standing there like a statue for the strikeout. The velocity had dropped from 102 to 87 to 73 mph in three pitches; the look on his face was pure disbelief.
That's what a slow curve does. Every once in a while you float one up like that and the hitter freezes, unable to adjust, and just stands there taking it.
First batter retired cleanly. First pitch to the next guy.
Gordon Perry's fingers were calling for another changeup. He wanted it jammed inside even if it ended up a ball.
"Foul."
Second pitch: slider.
"Foul."
Third pitch: changeup again.
"Ball."
Except for the first pitch of the game, he was completely cutting out the fastball. I hadn't expected him to go this far… he really meant to avoid them unless he had no choice.
Wouldn't the hitter be looking for a four-seamer here? But the sign was another slider.
Tick.
A mis-hit grounder went straight at the first baseman for the second out. The hitter tilted his head and trudged back to the dugout.
"Wondering what the hell's going on, aren't you? Heh."
Two outs, no real trouble. Through all seven pitches Gordon Perry had fired signs the instant the ball came back, no hesitation at all. It almost looked like he was just making them up on the fly. If he was actually calculating that fast in those tiny windows… that was genuinely impressive.
And now the reason I'd wanted to pitch this game stepped into the box. Lee Gijun.
"What are we throwing this time~?"
I half expected another changeup. It wasn't. Gordon Perry wanted an inside cutter.
Even in his mind, Lee Gijun still needed to see velocity.
Crack!
"…Ah, fuck."
It had been a perfect pitch—low and inside, painted. Because it was Lee Gijun I'd been extra careful, thrown it even harder. And he still just swung that ridiculous bat and crushed it…
Luckily the bat had been a little late, or the timing was off; it hooked foul past the third-base line.
"If he can hit a pitch like that, what the hell am I supposed to throw?"
It was just absurd. But that also made it more fun. That thumping heartbeat, the tension—it felt good, didn't it?
Second pitch. I waited, curious what sign would come next. Gordon Perry's fingers showed something unexpected.
"…For real?"
This one was the knuckleball.
Come to think of it, he'd called for a knuckleball the last time we'd worked together briefly, too. The hitter had just swung and died on contact, so I never got to see him catch one.
"Can he even catch it?"
I was a little worried, but if he was calling for it I had to throw it.
The ball left my hand and staggered like it couldn't keep its balance. At the last second it darted down, ducking under Lee Gijun's bat.
Thud.
"Oof…"
What? He couldn't catch it?
It buried itself straight into Gordon Perry's thick thigh. From the look of it the mitt just hadn't gotten there in time…
Then why call for it?
Anyway, was the guy okay? He was still sitting there without moving, so maybe it was fine… Still, this was someone who'd been hurt by a knuckleball before, so I couldn't help worrying a little.
Whether he caught it or not, the bat had gone around and missed, so it was a strike. So far, so good.
Third pitch. Gordon Perry wanted a curve that dropped all the way out of the zone. Lee Gijun didn't even flinch.
One ball, two strikes.
Then, finally, a four-seam sign. But the location… he wanted it high, just clipping the top of the zone.
"He doesn't actually not know, right?"
Just looking at Lee Gijun's swing, some catchers used to assume he had an uppercut and was weak up high like most hitters, so they'd try to get him with high fastballs. Every time one of those pitches came, Lee Gijun would wait for it and crush it. After that happened a few times, pitchers stopped throwing him high heat.
And now Gordon Perry was calling for a high four-seamer. One that would catch the zone, no less…
"What do I do?"
The hesitation was short.
I'd throw to the lead. But… did it really have to be in the zone?
Sometimes when a pitcher throws, the ball just rides a little higher than intended.
The ball left my hand spinning hard and shot toward the mitt. If it stayed on that path it would end up a ball about two baseballs above the strike zone.
But—
Crack!
"…Fuck!"
No way. That high?
I spun and tracked the ball. The high fly kept carrying, carrying. The center fielder kept backing up with it.
"Come down! Fuck, this can't be happening!"
The center fielder's back finally hit the wall. Had my desperate wish gotten through?
The white speck disappeared into the glove he'd stretched high over his head.
"Out!"
That bastard had somehow become even more of a monster than he was in Korea.