Return to the Mound
Even though I play as a two-way player, if anyone asks me what my exact position is, I answer that I'm a pitcher.
Maybe it's because I've been pitching since I was a kid and stuck with it all the way through the pros, but taking the mound just feels a little closer to my heart than stepping into the batter's box.
"Just say you're a baseball player."
Ho-min's suggestion had tempted me a bit, but even now I go around telling people I'm a pitcher.
After the suspension, I'd only played as a hitter for a few games. Not being able to take the mound for longer than expected had left me a little flustered.
But Grandpa Manager just kept telling me to wait. And after all that waiting, the day I finally stood on the mound arrived.
An away game against the Washington Nationals.
The Washington Nationals belong to the National League East Division. They'd racked up win after win early in the season, making it look like they might make some noise this year, but then they started sputtering little by little. Now even a wild card spot was hanging by a thread.
Honestly, you could say it was pretty much impossible at this point.
The reason they were sputtering? Well... nothing special. A combination of slumps and injuries.
Early in the season, their young players had been flying high. But after a month, then two, the scouting reports were complete, and they'd been completely figured out. The usual story. At least the veterans were holding on, keeping them in third place for now.
But honestly, this kind of ranking was the most awkward of all. The wild card was about to slip away, and it wasn't even tanking.
Anyway, for that reason, the players whose names were on today's lineup were all pretty old. Except for one twenty-four-year-old, the youngest, there were two guys in their late twenties. Everyone else was in their thirties.
Among sports, baseball was one with a particularly high average age. On top of that, in this damn Major League, the time spent grinding in the minors was so long... As a result, even in the majors there were teams where the average player age was in the thirties. Twenty-nine was nothing to speak of.
But among them, the one boasting an overwhelmingly high age group was today's opponent, the Washington Nationals.
"Today you're going to be the losing pitcher with seven runs allowed."
"...Bullshit, you cultist bastard."
Ever since the day I'd turned Ho-min into Nostradamus, he'd been spouting curses like that every time he saw me. He must have taken quite a beating.
After nailing the Sabers' game like a maniac that day, he hadn't gotten a single prediction right since. Maybe some baseball-specialized evil spirit had possessed him... He couldn't miss this badly even if he tried. Watching him get even fifty-fifty guesses wrong every single time made me wonder if he was doing it on purpose.
Anyway, seven runs allowed...? Where the hell did that number even come from?
The top of the first ended with our team scoreless, and in the bottom of the first, I stepped onto the mound for the first time in a while.
Leadoff hitter: Miguel Lopez. The only early-twenties player on this team, from Venezuela. One of the guys who'd led the Washington Nationals' early-season winning streak.
But as time passed, everyone else had to give up their starting spots, and in the end only this Lopez had survived. According to the scouting report, he was ridiculously weak against 100-plus mph pitches inside?
But wasn't that true for most hitters?
Anyway. I'd seen it in the analysis, and it fit my usual style perfectly, so the first pitch was pretty much decided. Plus, it was the first pitch of my return as a starting pitcher. I wanted to leave a deep impression.
So what was I throwing?
Obviously an inside four-seamer.
Eric and I were on the same page, so the sign exchange finished quickly. I went straight into my windup and threw the first pitch, aiming to catch the inside zone but drive it as deep as possible.
CRACK!!
"······"
Weak against 100-plus mph inside pitches, my ass? He smashed the first pitch for a double that rocketed off the fence.
Watching that, what floated up in my head was Ho-min's curse: Today you're going to be the losing pitcher with seven runs allowed.
"Maybe I should just fire that guy for real..."
Useless. Completely useless.
Eric raised his hand toward me with his mask off. He was saying sorry... but what was there to apologize for? I'd thought the exact same thing. I waved my hand to tell him to stop and sit down. Only then did he put his mask back on and settle into his crouch.
The next batter stepped in. Unlike the previous one, this hitter's face showed the marks of time. Age had jumped from twenty-four to thirty-four.
I remembered this player's scouting report. 'Severe decline in bat speed.' Meaning the old guy's swing had gotten slow. Looking at the report alone, it seemed like he'd become a has-been. But for that, wasn't his batting average way too good? Over .300?
"Safe."
Seeing the runner on second take a big lead, I casually threw over for a pickoff. I wasn't trying to catch him—just wanted him to shorten the lead a bit... but the runner didn't care at all and stretched it out long again. On top of that, he kept moving his upper body around to mess with my concentration. I checked him with my eyes, but he paid no attention whatsoever.
"What's with this guy?"
This runner wasn't the type to be greedy for steals. He was batting leadoff and was pretty fast, but he wasn't a base-stealing threat. Especially not from second to third. But the way he was acting now didn't seem like it was just to break my focus. It looked like he was really going to take off.
What to do...
Just then, Eric gave me another pickoff sign to second.
Whoosh.
I spun and fired a quick pickoff to second. The shortstop had already come in front of the second base bag.
"······ Safe."
By a hair. Safe. I glanced at shortstop Carl Janton just in case, but he only looked disappointed. It didn't seem close enough for a review. And the runner hopped right back off second again.
"...Ah, whatever. Steal if you want."
Honestly, stealing third wasn't easy. Plus, as a guy who'd played in Korea, my slide step was pretty quick. And my stuff was fast. Eric was decent at throwing out runners too. So... if he wanted to run, let him run, I decided. But I'd throw the ball with full power and speed. That batter's bat speed was slow, right?
POP!
"Strike."
A four-seamer boring in on the hands for a swing and a miss. At the same time, Eric fired the ball to second.
"Safe."
The runner scrambled back and was safe again by a razor-thin margin.
That was when it happened. Carl Janton, who'd caught the ball and tagged, didn't throw it back to me. He just stepped off the base. He didn't make any special move. He simply put the ball in his glove and drifted back toward his position like he was returning to his spot.
But that runner, Lopez, must have had his mind somewhere else, because he didn't realize the ball hadn't been thrown. Judging by how he took his foot off the bag while looking at me.
"Out!"
The instant his foot left, shortstop Carl Janton closed in fast and slapped the glove with the ball against Lopez's body. Naturally the umpire bellowed the out call loud and clear.
Lopez's face was pure bewilderment. And only then did Carl Janton toss the ball back to me.
"@#%$#@%@$#%@!!!!"
Now that he understood everything, Lopez started yelling something at Carl Janton, but the umpire quickly stepped in to stop him. That's what you get for not keeping your head in the game.
The stadium atmosphere that had been heating up from the start cooled off in an instant.
"Out."
"Batter out!"
With the runner gone, I faced the next two batters with a relaxed windup. A groundout and a strikeout finished off a first inning that had nearly gotten dangerous.
"Hey, hey. At this rate, even if you give up seven runs, you won't end up the losing pitcher."
"······"
The seven-run losing pitcher prophecy Ho-min had dumped on me before the game was about to be proven wrong. Because right now, in the top of the third with our team batting, the score was already 5-0. And there were two runners on base.
One out, runners on second and third. And the batter was shortstop Carl Janton, who'd made that beautiful play to get the runner earlier. He'd already gotten a hit in his first at-bat. His condition looked pretty good today.
If Carl Janton just got one hit here, two runs would score. Our team would have seven runs, so even if I allowed seven, it'd only be a no-decision.
Two fouls left Carl Janton in a tough count. But on the third pitch, he golfed a slider that nearly scraped the dirt, meant to lure him.
"Whoa... that's insane..."
A player in good condition really was unstoppable. If he could lift something like that for a hit, where the hell was a pitcher supposed to throw?
Seeing the number 7 light up on the scoreboard, Ho-min quietly slipped out of the dugout. I'd been planning to tease him more... but the guy was quick on the uptake.
Carl Janton scored on Alan Thomas's hit, pushing the score to 8. At this point, there was no way we could lose today's game even if we tried.
I'd given up a hit to the leadoff man in the first, but my condition wasn't bad today. Maybe because of the rest, I still had plenty of strength left in my body.
"Batter out!"
I finished my outing by striking out the last batter in the bottom of the sixth. Two hits allowed, one walk, zero runs. Eighty-eight pitches.
I could have thrown another inning or two, but there was no need. The score had already ballooned to 11-0. No reason to waste energy in a game like this. I'd already given up hits, so the best I could do was a shutout... and I wasn't particularly greedy for complete-game shutouts anyway.
The Player of the Game interview was mine. Honestly I'd thought Carl Janton might get it... but the fact that it was my first start after the suspension must have weighed heavily. Might as well mention him while I was at it.