A Day When the Ball Scratches
I came back to the dugout and dropped myself into the farthest corner seat that had long since become mine alone.
"Body feels a little heavy today, for sure…"
Eric, who had just come over to sit beside me, gave me a look that said what kind of bullshit is that.
"I'm serious. Condition's not exactly great."
"What are you talking about… Every pitch I catch from you right now feels like it's ripping my palm open."
He even held his palm out right in front of my face to prove it.
I was about to answer him when someone else spoke first.
"There are days like that. Your condition's clearly at rock bottom, but somehow the ball just keeps finding the zone."
It was Rondo.
He understood exactly what kind of state I was in right now.
As expected of a veteran. As expected of a Cy Young winner.
"Yeah. That's me today."
"That can actually happen?"
Eric looked like he was hearing this for the first time in his life.
Well… he didn't have that much experience yet either.
"Yeah. But Kang. You know you have to be careful on a day like this, right?"
"O-of course!"
I had no idea. Why did I need to be careful?
I'd automatically said I knew, and now I couldn't exactly turn around and admit I didn't…
Rondo just watched me for a moment, then continued—this time looking at Eric.
"On days like this, a pitcher can get drunk on how well the ball's going and start overdoing it without even realizing. That's when you have to rein him in. You get what I mean?"
"Huh? Uh… so keep him from pushing too hard?"
"Exactly. It can look like he's throwing absolute heaters, then fall apart in a single instant."
"Got it."
Ah… I saw it just now.
That tiny little glance he shot my way.
This veteran ace, this Cy Young-winning old man, had clearly known I was clueless.
"You heard him, Kang. Let's take it easy. Like Rondo said, the ball really did look like it had a ton of life on it."
Weren't you just saying a minute ago that the stuff was incredible?
"Y-yeah. Let's do that."
The good feeling from the top of the first started to settle.
Thinking about it, the ball that had felt great during warm-ups had carried right onto the mound, and I'd gotten a little carried away without noticing…
I'd definitely been excited and just let it rip without holding back.
"How's the shoulder?"
I rolled the right shoulder that had just been firing pitches so happily.
That sensation only I could feel.
Compared to when it was truly dialed in…
"A little stiff?"
"Hmm… I think early on we should lean on the breaking stuff. Throw within yourself and at some point it'll start to loosen up. Perfect timing that you went four-seam heavy in the first."
"What do you think, Eric?"
"If you're good with it, Kang, I'm fine either way."
"OK. Let's go with Rondo's plan."
On days like this, listening to someone with real experience was clearly the smarter move.
Someone who'd actually lived it was always going to be better than a couple of clueless guys like us.
"But Kang. Is this really your first time feeling this?"
What the hell was this guy's problem?
I'd just pretended to know in front of Rondo and now he was asking me like this?
Still, I couldn't bring myself to lie again right here.
Once was enough when the man was sitting right there sharing his own experience.
And he already seemed to have figured it out anyway.
"Yeah."
"Come on, a guy like you…"
He must have forgotten something he'd heard before.
These days I was flying as a starter, but he'd clearly blanked on the fact that I'd spent more years as a mop-up guy than as a starter.
As a mop-up pitcher I'd almost never thrown at full strength, so whether my condition was good or bad that day never really mattered.
Throw it easy this way, throw it easy that way—what was there to notice?
"My starter experience is still short, and… back then my career had nothing to do with condition at all. I told you about it once, didn't I?"
"Ah! Right… I remember now."
Could've remembered a little sooner.
Our half of the first ended scoreless, and I climbed back onto the mound.
Maybe because of the dominant first inning, the crowd noise was louder than usual.
As the leadoff hitter stepped in, Eric's first-pitch sign was a curve.
Tick.
"Foul."
Just nicked off the end of the bat.
Then the changeup that followed.
Tick.
"Out."
A grounder rolled softly to short. Carl Janton fielded it cleanly for the out.
The next hitter got the same treatment.
Curve and changeup, with a four-seamer mixed in just to show it.
"Batter out!"
He walked back looking puzzled at a pitch mix that was completely different from the first inning.
Then the next hitter.
Eric even put down a knuckleball sign for the first time in ages.
A pitch I'd basically sealed away by now…
Apparently he figured a day like today was fine for it, because two knuckleball signs came in a row.
Tick.
"Out."
The final changeup got mishit into another grounder to short.
"Whew…"
Was I still a little tense because of what Rondo had said?
Just a little, maybe.
The way a small sigh slipped out the moment the last out was recorded said as much.
The ball was definitely working today.
The curve, the changeup, even the knuckleball.
The break felt a little sharper than usual, somehow.
"Wonder when it'll loosen up…"
I rolled the shoulder again. Still not there yet.
That same slight discomfort from earlier was still hanging around.
"What are you doing? Get ready."
"Huh? Oh…"
Right. I had to hit too.
I'd completely forgotten for a second because of how I was feeling…
Ernie Witt, starting in left field again today, stepped in as the five-hole hitter.
On days I pitched, it was usually me or Charles Bedard batting fifth.
Every now and then when Gordon Perry was catching me, he'd take the five-hole himself, but that was rare.
Having Ernie Witt in the middle of the order as a starter definitely gave the lineup more weight.
Today's lineup:
1. Arthur Burgart (CF)
2. Alan Thomas (3B)
3. Martin J. Silvers (RF)
4. Greg Mathis (1B)
5. Ernie Witt (LF)
6. Kang Hajin (P)
7. Charles Bedard (2B)
8. Eric Danson (C)
9. Carl Janton (SS)
Damn. That felt solid.
And if Gordon Perry came in too—sorry, Eric—it would be even more perfect.
On days I only hit and didn't pitch, Gordon would be in the lineup as well. That version was only two days away.
Crack.
"Oh, shit!"
The pitcher exploded the second the ball was hit.
You'd think he'd just given up a home run.
It was only a single that dropped in front of the right fielder…
You could tell from the moment he took the mound in the first that he'd come out with a plan…
They'd lost yesterday, so he was clearly locked in to take this one no matter what.
Still. Getting that worked up over a single…
I tossed the practice bat I'd been holding in the on-deck circle and walked slowly to the plate.
Unlike when I was on the mound, I was actually a little excited to step in right now.
This body of mine.
Condition felt off, yet the ball was sticking to my hand like glue—would that carry over to the batter's box too? That little spark of curiosity.
Craig Gibson. Left-hander. Two-seamer up to 95, plus slider, cutter, changeup, and a decent curve.
Tampa Bay's number-two starter with thirteen wins already this season.
Looking at the numbers alone, you could call him their actual ace without much argument.
A good pitcher made it even better, I figured.
If it had been some wild thrower, I wouldn't have been able to properly gauge how my swing felt today.
First pitch—if it looks like it's coming in the same spot, I'm taking a full cut.
I watched the ball leave his hand and immediately crossed the curve off the list.
It was coming toward the zone.
Now I had to choose.
This guy almost never threw a straight four-seamer.
So was it going to break in, get reverse spin, or drop?
I had to decide where to put the barrel.
I went with cutter.
No deep reason. It just looked too honest, too right down the middle, so I ruled out the two-seamer.
His two-seamer didn't have some ridiculous tunnel anyway. No way he was throwing it dead center.
So either it ran in or it dropped…
Would he throw a ball on the first pitch?
That simple thought made it a cutter.
I wanted to start by putting the first pitch in play.
And that simple thought landed perfectly.
CRACK!
The feel off the bat was clean as hell.
No sense of getting jammed, and the sound was pure.
So I flipped the bat with a nice little flourish—
And jogged toward first, watching the ball.
Except Ernie Witt was already sprinting full speed.
What? Did he think it wasn't going out?
Come to think of it, the ball was hit hard but looked a little short… and a little low…
Like it might not clear the massive wall behind left field in this park…
"Ah, fuck!!"
I started pumping my legs hard too.
Clang!
I prayed for it to go over, but the ball slammed into the giant wall without mercy, bounced hard, and came back onto the field.
Luckily I'd kicked it into gear in time and made it into second standing up.
I stepped on the bag and gave a little nod.
Trying to look casual.
If I sold it like this, maybe people would think the slow start was just to build momentum… yeah, right. Nobody was buying that.
"Embarrassing as hell…"
I'd even flipped the bat all cool.
Unlike me, Ernie Witt had been flying around the bases from the jump and scored.
Craig Gibson on the mound was throwing another tantrum.
Heaving the rosin bag for no reason.
"What a temper."
One run and he's losing it like that…
"A pitcher needs to keep his cool."
I muttered it to myself in Korean, and the opposing shortstop must have heard, because he stared straight at me.
Our eyes met. Standing there silently would just feel awkward, so I flashed a big grin and tossed out a line.
"What? You got a problem?"
I was smiling when I said it, and he still furrowed his brow.
Then he just walked back to his position without a word.
"This whole team's got some attitude…"
I was smiling when I talked to the guy, for crying out loud.