Should I Just Bunt?
The first game against the Yankees generated an enormous amount of talk.
From what Ho-min told me, the communities were flooded with more than twice the usual number of posts…
Ah! I'm talking about the Korean communities.
I don't really look at the American side much these days.
The reason being… there's no need anymore.
American reactions get posted on the Korean side in full. No point looking at both and reading the same content twice.
The thing that drew the most comments was the bat flips Gordon Perry and I put on. Especially the paddon I showed—no different from the ones back in Korea—that one got people talking nonstop.
Interestingly enough, the American reactions weren't all that bad either. Sure, there were a few opinions that it was unnecessarily agitating the pitcher, but honestly far fewer than I'd expected. More fans were just marveling at the way the bat flew… Some people even analyzed the trajectory and the spin as it spun through the air. Why the hell they'd bother calculating something like that, I have no idea.
According to Ho-min it was because the Yankees have so many enemies… but isn't our team pretty much the same?
The funny part was that Daniel Cruz was catching a ton of heat. I hadn't done it aiming for that, but… countless posts compared Daniel Cruz—who plunked the next batter after giving up back-to-back homers—with me, who got my revenge through a relentless stream of inside pitches.
"I thought a lot about drilling him too."
It's true. I considered throwing one he couldn't even dodge several times. I gave up only because if I somehow blew the game doing it, the problem would get a lot bigger.
With the fans' reaction to the last game so positive and my own performance at its peak, I watched the second game against the Yankees from the dugout in a thoroughly satisfied mood.
Our team seemed to carry over that good batting feel, scratching across the first run right in the opening inning. Then Joe Greinsky took the mound. As the weather warmed up his stuff had been climbing steadily, and today he showed another clean start. Especially the way he retired the second batter with three consecutive inside sinkers—that was pretty impressive.
He held them to two runs over six innings, and our bullpen, fresh from yesterday's rest and full of energy, locked down the remaining three cleanly.
Then came the third and final game of the series. Having taken the first two by fairly comfortable margins, the dugout atmosphere was sky-high. Me and Gordon Perry, who'd each launched two homers in Game 1, plus Eun-hyung and Greg, who'd also gone deep in Game 2—all of us stepping up again. Since I was the DH this time, the lineup that had me batting sixth moved up a spot. So the order of Eun-hyung, Greg, me, and Gordon Perry was complete. A crazy lineup that had already mashed six home runs across two games. We headed into the contest aiming for the sweep.
Crack.
"Out!"
It was well hit, but…
"Ha… this is driving me crazy for real."
Top of the fifth. In my second at-bat I made solid contact, only for the ball to scream right at the second baseman. I didn't even get halfway to first.
Score so far: 0–1. Even though our number-four starter Jim Tomey was pitching well—one run allowed through four innings—we were still trailing. The reason was the opposing starter, Randy Arias. A guy sitting on three wins and a mid-to-high-five ERA so far this season. Honestly I hadn't paid him much attention before the game. Not just me—everyone expected today's contest to turn into a slugfest. Randy Arias and our own Jim Tomey had similar numbers, after all. Most people figured neither starter would be able to contain the other team's lineup…
Yet Jim Tomey was working through jams and pitching a gem with just one run allowed. And the opposing starter Randy Arias…
"Batter out!"
As of the end of the top of the fifth he had faced through the sixth batter. What that means… yes. He still hadn't allowed a single baserunner.
Pitchers have those days sometimes. The so-called "on-fire" days where they throw far better than their actual ability. Even a guy like Na Hong-gi, who lives off garbage command, turns into Maddux for about one game a year. No… that might be stretching it a bit. Anyway. Today was clearly that kind of day for Randy Arias. His slider was completely unhinged.
Eun-hyung got punched out on one and looked so dumbfounded he secretly brought the ball back to the dugout to inspect it—checking for scuffs or anything, he said. That's how insane the movement on today's slider was. Thanks to our lineup swinging aggressively from the jump while our bats were still hot, his pitch count stayed light. At this rate he might not even hit a hundred by the end of the ninth. And like the ball I'd just hit, the occasional well-struck ball was finding gloves, so luck was riding with him too.
"It's not going our way… just not going…"
"This is baseball."
"What kind of 'this is baseball' crap is that."
"If we already took two games, we can afford to generously give them one, right?"
"…… Why don't you just go over there and cheer for them?"
"What did I do?"
It was nothing special, yet somehow it still pissed me off. What could I say that would make that bastard flinch?
"…… I don't think I need a translator anymore."
"Red Sox fighting!!"
Crazy bastard. A translator cheering in Korean. Wait… is that even English?
Crack!
"Ah…"
Bottom of the fifth. Another ball sailed over the fence and dropped. Judging by how crushed Jim Tomey looked, it must have been a mistake pitch. Now 0–2. One more run of separation, but still a score we could flip with a single rally.
But then…
Crack!
Buxton—who'd been worked like a dog lately exactly the way he'd wanted ever since hearing "as long as you throw a lot the role doesn't matter"—got tagged for another homer in the bottom of the seventh, and the gap stretched by one more. At least he retired the next hitters cleanly to close the inning. Score difference now three runs. We had only two chances left.
Greg Mathis~
Top of the eighth, Greg stepped in as the leadoff hitter. The cleanup man leading off the top of the eighth. Yes—we still hadn't put a single runner on base. Randy Arias was having the game of his life. Our hitters had started approaching their at-bats more carefully as the game wore on, yet still couldn't crack him. That insane slider. It wasn't particularly fast, but how to put it… like it vanished right in front of your eyes? A pitch that seemed to break right at the batter, one you simply couldn't track with your eyes. We tried looking for other pitches, but those weren't at their usual level either.
Whoosh.
"Strike."
It came in again. That crazy slider. Thinking it was a fastball boring in, he swung—only for the ball to snap mercilessly sideways. The gap between bat and ball was huge. Watching Greg shake his head, it looked like the pitch still had plenty of life. Well… his pitch count wasn't that high yet…
Crack.
On the third pitch Greg stuck the bat out and flied out to the first baseman. Then it was my turn.
"Fuck… this is ridiculously pressuring."
I really felt like just laying down a bunt right then and there. I never noticed when I was the one doing it, but now that I was on the verge of being perfect-gamed, the weight was no joke.
"At least show me something."
I'd been staring like a madman since the first at-bat. Stared so hard my eyes nearly popped out—and still nothing. With Daniel Cruz I could read every pitch the moment he threw… so why did this guy never show even once? I couldn't begin to grasp the reason.
Crack.
"Foul."
Almost died on the first pitch. I swung expecting a slider on the outside offering, but it was a changeup that dropped weakly. Good thing the first baseman was playing back—if he'd been a step closer it would have been snagged before it left the line. I steadied my startled heart and faced the second pitch. It came in a little more inside than the previous one. If it kept that path it would catch the heart of the plate—and that ball was way too visible. No way he throws something that honest down the middle in a perfect-game situation. So this time it had to be that unhinged slider of his. I predicted inside right away and turned on it.
Crack.
Changeup… consecutive changeups. The ball, mistimed on a bat that came through too early, rolled toward third. No foul. At least the ball was moving slowly—that was the one bit of luck.
Thud-thud-thud.
Watching the third baseman charge hard, I sprinted like a man possessed toward first. A little past halfway the base came into view. Hadn't someone said just running is faster to first? I'd also been told never to slide into first because of the injury risk… but in that moment nothing else existed. Only the thought of reaching that white bag as fast as humanly possible. I drove off the tip of my right foot and launched my body.
Swoosh.
The base brushed my fingertips. And clearly after that came the bang of the ball slamming into the glove. It was only an instant, but I could tell the difference with absolute clarity.
This was safe.
Yeah… I broke the perfect—
"Out!"
Huh?
"Oh fuck! No! No, I said no! Challenge! Video review, please!"
At the first-base umpire's out call I waved my arms frantically, then gestured toward the old man manager. Asking him to challenge right now.
"Hey!"
Our old man manager exploded out of the dugout. Just like I had, he signaled for a video review.
"Kang. You okay? Body's not hurt anywhere?"
The base coach finally checked on me. Only then did I twist and turn, testing for any discomfort. Even I thought I'd launched myself pretty far.
"My stomach's a bit…"
It hurt. Had I landed on my gut? Felt like someone had punched me square in the belly… At least it wasn't bad enough to need a substitution. That was something.
The review finished quickly. It was obviously safe, after all.
"Safe."
The umpire's arms spread wide, and cheers from the away fans erupted. Game result or not, they seemed satisfied just that the Yankees' perfect game had been broken.
"Huh? They're just continuing?"
The perfect was broken. And it was a perfect broken in the eighth by a number-four starter having the game of his life. You'd think the pitching coach would come out at least once… Yet even after the call was overturned, the game simply rolled on.
Then Gordon Perry stepped into the box.
Crack!!
Had giving up that lucky hit loosened the tension? That insane slider he'd shown all night suddenly reverted to its ordinary self. No way Gordon Perry was missing a pitch like that. Score now 2–3. Belatedly the Yankees' pitching coach climbed the mound, but the momentum had already flipped.
Crack!
""""Wooooaaaah!!!""""
For whatever reason they kept riding Randy Arias without making a change, and he finally allowed consecutive hits that tied the game before he was pulled. Yua came on and shut down the bottom of the eighth. The new opposing pitcher locked up the top of the ninth. And Yua, back out after the eighth, closed the ninth without allowing a run.
The game headed into extras.