MVP! The Car
As the second inning gave way to the top of the third, the third pitcher of the day took the mound.
That guy… the weird one who'd been glued to Lee Gijun's side. Yeah, that one.
I knew who he was.
Rafael Anderson, the Angels' ace starter.
I'd even faced him as a batter before.
Fouled off pitch after pitch until I worked a walk, if I remembered right. Something like that.
The reason I'd found him so strange…
When two people are exchanging greetings, doesn't a normal person wait a second? Give them a little space?
Not this guy. Even while Gijun and I were saying hello, he just kept yammering away right next to us.
What had he been saying? Something about how my batting stance sometimes looked like Gijun's, and asking if I'd been copying him on purpose?
He'd been rattling it off in English, like he figured I wouldn't understand—right in front of my face, talking to Gijun as if I weren't even there.
So I'd said,
"We had the same hitting coach."
His eyes had gone round as saucers.
Was that really so shocking?
Korean pro baseball isn't exactly huge. Of course two guys could share a coach.
I'd wanted to talk with Gijun a little longer, but one look at the way this guy was gearing up to fire off more questions and I'd just slipped away.
No point dealing with the hassle when I didn't have to. It wasn't urgent.
Later I'd thought about catching up in the dugout, but the guy was stuck to Gijun like glue and never peeled off. I gave up clean.
Not a piece of gum. No thanks.
"Don't tell me he tags along even when they go out to eat?"
If that was the case, I was going to have to rethink the whole dinner invitation.
I'd only tossed it out casually—no date set or anything—but still. We'd grab a meal someday, right?
That guy… definitely weird. But he could pitch, no question.
Nothing flashy or signature about his arsenal, but every pitch sat above average. Command was sharp too.
No wonder he was the Angels' ace.
Crack.
Only problem was, the hitters on the other side today were all the big bats from their own teams. He got tagged right out of the gate.
A clean double ripped into the left-center gap.
And speaking of which…
"Everybody's really going for it today. Heh. Works for me."
The opposing batter had smashed that double and then flung his bat with pure joy.
They'd been doing it since the previous inning.
Our team, their team—didn't matter. The second wood met ball, the bat went flying.
Even on a grounder, tossing the bat came before running. The whole game had turned into that.
Was this Korea or America?
"I really want to teach them."
If you just keep the swing flowing and toss the bat technically while you take off, it's fine… but a lot of guys couldn't do it.
So they'd hit, freeze for a beat, fling the bat, and then start running.
That slow…
Pop.
A high pop-up right behind the pitcher.
The shortstop charged in, settled under it, and waited for the ball to come down.
Even on an infield fly, the bat had sailed halfway to the outfield.
"I think the bat went farther than the ball."
All power, no brains…
"Batter out."
Pop.
"Out."
The weird guy had given up one double, but he got the next two outs clean and left the mound.
Bottom of the third.
My last at-bat of the day had come around.
I'd already gone deep once, so depending on this plate appearance they said I could still snag MVP.
The Home Run Derby prize money had been massive, so I'd asked just in case—turns out the actual game MVP got a car.
My interest had started cooling fast… until it hit me that I could just give it to Han Song-yi. A little greed came back.
It wasn't like I couldn't buy a car with cash, but getting one as a prize would make her happier.
There was All-Star appearance money too, but that wasn't really mine anyway.
They wanted it donated? This place sure loved telling you to give away every free dollar that fell into your lap.
My contract already paid a hundred grand for making the All-Star team, so I'd just be happy with that.
I was still turning over MVP and money in my head when the leadoff man, Texas's Rodriguez, went down on strikes.
"I was so busy thinking I didn't even watch how he was pitching…"
I scolded myself, stepped in, set my stance, and waited.
The delivery came quick, and once again I knew the pitch before it left his hand.
Cutter.
Crack!
I snapped the bat out to meet the break.
The second the swing finished, the bat left my hands and spun beautifully through the air.
"Foul."
"Tch."
A little early.
I was picking up the discarded bat and wiping it on my jersey when the sound started.
"Wheee~ wheee~"
Whistles from the stands out of nowhere.
I looked up. A few fans were mimicking my bat toss.
Yeah, it probably looked different from the other guys.
Experience levels weren't the same, after all.
Back in the box, I stretched my arms, gave the bat a couple of loose waggles, and lifted it. The pitcher was already in his motion.
Slider.
Crack!
"Ah, damn…"
Another gorgeous bat flip—another foul.
Once was fine. Twice in a row and having to go fetch the bat was starting to feel embarrassing.
I scooped it up again, stretched, waggled.
Crack!
"Foul."
Maybe I should stop flipping it?
I knew every pitch and still couldn't time them.
Some All-Star special privilege? The system kept feeding me the pitch types today, and yet…
At least the pitcher kept challenging the zone instead of nibbling. I could be grateful for that much.
"Just one more…"
I set up again, silently begging the guy who'd already thrown three straight strikes to give me one more.
Two-seamer!
Craaack!
It wasn't going out.
I flung the bat clean and took off hard for first.
Even at a glance you could tell it wasn't a homer.
But in this big ballpark it had split the outfielders perfectly.
At least a double.
Still, if I wanted to gift Song-yi a car, this might not be enough…
I rounded first and headed for second, sneaking a look at the outfield.
The center fielder was still chasing.
I hit second and never slowed, charging for third.
Come to think of it, I hadn't checked the base coach.
The third-base coach was windmilling his arms like a madman.
Get ready to slide, already.
Ssshhh.
Just as I was about to launch myself, a white line flashed past the corner of my eye.
If I went in straight, I was dead for sure.
I dove left, stretching only my arm toward the bag.
I'd seen guys fold one arm mid-slide and tag with the other…
I couldn't pull that off, so this was the best I had.
My hand touched the base at almost the exact instant the glove slapped my arm.
"……"
The third-base umpire didn't call it right away. He hesitated just a beat.
Then…
"Safe!"
"Yes!"
The third baseman argued, but the call was already made.
In a regular-season game they might have gone to video, but not here.
"This has to be enough for MVP, right?"
A leadoff homer for the first run of the game plus a triple? They had to give it to me.
And I'd started on the mound, thrown, and racked up two strikeouts on top of it.
Now Hitoshi Miura stepped in.
The same guy who'd gone back-to-back with me earlier.
I'd started the bat-flip parade, but he was the one who'd turned the whole game into Bat Flip Day.
"He wouldn't be clueless enough to hit a homer here, right?"
Miura was stubborn.
The at-bat went full count.
Crack!
A well-struck ball flew almost the exact same path mine had taken.
I trotted home lightly and watched Miura run.
Around first, past second, charging for third.
"Die! Fall down!"
If he was safe at third, who knew what would happen to the MVP.
The center fielder's throw rocketed toward the third baseman's glove.
Same as with me—his arm was ridiculous.
Perfect height for a tag, too.
"Tag him! Get him!"
Ssshhh.
"……"
The third-base ump milked it again.
Guy had a flair for the dramatic.
"Out!"
"That's right!"
He'd done it.
That center fielder had come through.
Miura trudged back toward the dugout.
"Nice work, man. I thought you were safe for a second—scared me."
He cocked his head at the sudden Korean.
"You're… pretty good."
Ah… right. Ho-min wasn't the only one who understood Korean.
I'd forgotten.
Back in Korea the headlines poured out again—so over-the-top they were almost embarrassing.
So thick I couldn't even look at the communities anymore.
Praise had limits. This wasn't journalism; it was national-pride television.
If this had been Korea, the All-Star Game would have ended with a team dinner.
Here, everyone scattered back to their own clubs the second it was over.
A few guys did grab a meal together.
Lee Gijun even asked if I wanted to come along…
Then I saw the weird guy trailing right behind him and politely declined.
He never really did anything to me, but something about him just made me want distance.
Having Gordon Perry as our solid backing made the excuse easy.
Gordon Perry said he was taking me home—who was going to argue? Heh.
A little earlier…
I'd let Song-yi herself pick the All-Star MVP prize car, since she'd be the one driving it.
"Why…?"
Sports car or pickup truck.
There was a gorgeous, sleek sports car sitting right there, and Song-yi went straight for the pickup.
Today she was wearing a white dress that showed off her figure perfectly.
Song-yi in that outfit behind the wheel of a massive truck…
"…Might actually work."
The cabin was roomy too. I liked it a lo— ahem.