Who the Hell Are You?
I had sworn I would show those people who fretted about my stamina while preparing for today's game.
And so far, everything was flowing exactly the way I had planned.
Crack.
The cutter I jammed inside snapped the batter's bat and rolled out in front of me. I casually scooped it up barehanded and tossed it to first. The batter only pretended to run for a moment before heading straight back to the dugout.
After giving up one hit in the first inning, I hadn't allowed a single baserunner through the top of the fifth. With my fastball-type pitches working perfectly in head-on confrontations, the game was flowing comfortably.
Meanwhile, our hitters seemed to have caught a lucky break today, producing balls that found every empty gap with each swing. It was almost pitiful watching the opposing pitcher look so dejected after giving up two consecutive fluke hits. And the defense wasn't helping him either. The pitcher had been shaky from the first inning, and the defense was shaking right along with him—a nightmare situation. As a result, our lineup put up eight runs over four innings.
I also dropped a hit in front of the center fielder in my second at-bat and tossed the bat with satisfaction.
As things went this way, maybe they figured the game was already over… the opposing dugout showed no intention of replacing the starter, leaving him out there even for the bottom of the fifth.
And the leadoff hitter for the bottom of the fifth facing this pitcher was none other than me.
The pitcher's expression as I stood in the box was…
Even from the relatively distant batter's box, I could feel how much he hated having to throw.
Of course, I'd seen plenty of cases where a team that had given up on the season would do this to save arms in a game that was already lost. But there are limits. That pitcher already had nearly a hundred pitches…
"Just throw it right down the middle. Looks like they'll only change you after a few more runs, so I'll help you out."
I tossed the line to the Mets catcher, who had been quiet since the first time I saw him. It was half a joke, but there was a tiny bit of sincerity mixed in. I felt bad for the kid standing on that mound… Having been used as a sacrificial pawn myself before, it didn't feel like someone else's problem.
"Mm…"
This catcher just made some meaningless sound without saying yes or no. I had been prepared for a curse or two to come flying, but as expected, he was the silent type.
After the sign exchange finished, the pitcher on the mound threw the ball.
"Huh?"
What the hell…
CRAAACK!!
I never thought this crazy battery would actually throw a four-seamer right down the middle… I did hit it when it came in, but I was so surprised I couldn't even toss the bat.
"······ Mm…"
Maybe that was the signal? Unable to say okay to my words, he just made that stifled sound.
There was no reason to jog slowly and irritate the opponents in a game like this, so I quickly rounded the bases. As I stepped on home plate, I glanced at the catcher, who averted his gaze and looked away. What on earth was that guy thinking? Was he pissed that they wouldn't change the pitcher? That pitcher… he was a bit pitiful. But still… actually throwing it right down the middle…
CRAAACK!!
"Huh? Again?"
Charles Bedard, who came up after me today, also launched a pitch that was right down the middle over the fence. Did he hear that "Mm…" sound too?
The pitcher who had given up back-to-back home runs was just bouncing the rosin bag on the mound. The catcher…
"The sky sure is clear."
He seemed to be cooling his head while looking at the blue sky. Or maybe praying for rain.
And finally, the Mets' pitching coach came out. At last, the pitcher succeeded in getting off the mound after the torment. Wasn't this thanks to me and Charles Bedard helping out? If we hadn't gone back-to-back, he would have just been grinding down his shoulder for nothing.
"······ Hello. We meet again."
I greeted the catcher I met again, but no reply came. A useless thought suddenly popped into my head about whether his legs might be going numb.
It was the bottom of the fifth now. Yeah. The lineup had gone around once. It wasn't ending. The inning showed no signs of moving on. The starter had come down, and the third pitcher of the day was now on the mound. The guy before this one had also gotten hammered and come down. With one out still after the lineup had gone around once, that said it all.
Standing in the box looking at the pitcher, his expression was exactly the same as that starter from earlier. That "I hate pitching so much I could die" look…
When I first stepped up in the bottom of the fifth, the score was 8-0. How did it become 15-0 now?
"I've pitched in a 15-0 game before too."
I sure went through a lot…
Eun-hyung was on second, and Greg was on first. Both had their feet on the bases and weren't trying anything. Hit and run, or die trying. They weren't taking leads for further advancement anymore.
"Damn. Instead of putting up fifteen runs at once, can't you spread it out to five runs over three games?"
Whenever we put up a huge score like this, I'd somehow shit the bed in my next start without fail. I casually asked for the catcher whose legs must be going numb.
"…Want me to hit a grounder?"
For some reason, I kept getting interested in this silent catcher. Was it because he gave me a pitch down the middle earlier like I said? So I tossed it out casually.
"Mm…"
Again? He's doing this again? I know this. This is him sending a signal. That means yes, right? The catcher accepted the deal. He wants a ground ball.
Thwack.
A sinker that broke a bit early came in slightly low down the middle. Throwing a pitch like this… I said I'd hit a grounder, but isn't this a bit too obvious? If it weren't this situation, I would have swung with full intent. Even though there was no verbal reply, I wanted to keep the promise with the catcher who had sent the signal. Honestly, I really wanted to stop scoring and just end the game soon. How long had we been stuck in just the bottom of the fifth…
So I swung the bat with the intention of hitting a grounder.
Thwack.
Good. It felt like it connected similar to what I thought. The ball that started low bounced next to the pitcher. Now the shortstop would field that ball and…
"······"
The ball leisurely rolled past the shortstop toward the center fielder. The shortstop had shifted slightly toward third, conscious of me, which caused it to get through.
"······ Ah shit. Sorry."
It wasn't intentional.
My game today went until the top of the sixth. There was no reason to pitch anymore, and I was told I'd be replaced as soon as I got the last out in the top of the sixth. Of course I said that was fine. I shut down the game with one hit allowed and no runs, and also recorded three hits in four at-bats including a home run.
When I came back after icing, the scoreboard had changed again. In the bottom of the sixth, our team scored again. Heartless bastards. They finally hit twenty runs in the bottom of the sixth.
"Aren't they going to get hit for that?"
I think they could start taking it easy now. Isn't everyone swinging a bit too hard? If they get pissed and throw a beanball…
But nothing like that happened. From the seventh inning, the game got quite loose. Pitchers taking it easy. Hitters taking it easy. A game where the pitcher roughly put it in the zone and the hitter swung with eyes closed unfolded. The atmosphere was to just finish quickly and go home, and the spectators seemed similar. Not many people watching the game. No boos even if you die. No—rather, applause was coming…
After that boring seventh ended.
Bottom of the eighth.
"Ohho…"
An unexpected player came up to the mound. The hitter who had gotten the only hit off me today. Patrick Sullivan, who had batted second today. The player who had been playing center field all game was on the mound throwing to the catcher.
Finally, a bit of interest sparked in the listless game. Yeah. If the game is boring, you need something like this.
The batter facing that pitcher was Alan Thomas. Even though hitting was break-even and missing was embarrassing, Alan Thomas stepped into the box grinning for some reason.
And.
"Ohhh!!!"
"Strike."
Alan Thomas blankly watched the first-pitch strike. Ninety-one miles per hour. The dugout murmured a bit at the velocity on the scoreboard.
"He throws well."
His pitching form was pretty decent too. He must have pitched before. Usually when a position player comes in to pitch, they just throw with arm strength, but this guy was using his body properly.
Pop.
"Strike."
Another ninety-two-mile-per-hour four-seamer came in. Alan Thomas swung and missed at this pitch. The smile that had been on his face disappeared somewhere.
"That idiot. Just looking at him, he's gonna get wrecked."
Someone's voice from behind. I was thinking the same.
Pooow.
"Batter out!"
Oh dear.
"What was that just now? A slider?"
"Seems like it."
"Hehe. That dummy got completely owned."
Yeah. He got owned properly. He never would have thought a slider would come flying from there. It was an eighty-two-mile-per-hour slider that wasn't particularly fast. From the dugout I couldn't be sure, but the break was probably just average. But a swing-and-miss on an unexpected pitch. Three-pitch strikeout… hehe.
But then…
Thwack.
"Out!"
Thwack.
"Out!"
"······ What is this?"
The first one-two-three inning of today's game had come out. And it was against the two, three, and four hitters. The position player who had put up an incredible pitching performance by getting even Eun-hyung and Greg on fly balls quietly came down from the mound.
"He's the best among the pitchers who came out today."
Yeah. Why is that?
"······ Huh?"
Something weird seems mixed in there?
"What the hell is that idiot again?"