Nice
When had I first noticed it?
Somewhere around the end of the fifth, I think I already knew.
For one thing, there was no commitment in their swings. Just half-hearted cuts that said, if I'm lucky, maybe I'll foul one off. The kind of swing where connecting would be nice and missing would be fine either way. Watching that, Eric and I naturally refused to give them anything good to hit.
The result: one weak grounder to third off the end of the bat, and two strikeouts. The guy who hit that grounder to third didn't even bother running to first properly. He made a half-hearted show of jogging, saw the third baseman field it cleanly, then just scooped up his bat from the dirt and walked straight back to the dugout.
How was I supposed to miss that?
What am I talking about?
Those guys had already given up on the game.
They were broadcasting I really don't want to be here so loudly you couldn't possibly miss it. And there's nothing more boring than a game someone's already quit on — which was exactly what that team was living through right now.
Greg's grand slam had made it 5–0. Another run in the fourth pushed the score to 6–0. Up through the top of the fourth they'd at least been trying to claw back somehow… but after giving up that extra run, they'd just thrown in the towel.
When the hitters are like that, you'd expect the dugout to at least try to fire them up — but their dugout atmosphere was no different from the guys standing in the box. Not that I couldn't understand it. This was a game they absolutely had to win, and it had slipped away from the opening innings. They knew full well that this loss had sent their wild-card hopes sprinting off into the distance. Of course they didn't feel like playing.
"This is why even pro games need a mercy rule."
"Then your record goes out the window too, you know."
"Ah…"
Right. I was in the middle of another run at it.
Through the top of the fifth, the number of batters I'd faced was fifteen — exactly matching the outs. At this point, the hunger was starting to kick in. Before, if things had fallen apart after going this far, I could've shrugged it off. But the situation was different now. There was a prize on the line. With that weird guy closing in hard, delivering one more big result would only push the odds higher. Plus, I was dealing pretty well today.
And there was another reason my confidence had climbed a notch.
"Feels pretty good, actually?"
Sitting in the dugout, I slowly rolled my shoulder and twisted my body this way and that… and just like Rondo had said, something had loosened up without me even noticing.
"Really? You're okay?"
"Yeah. Smooth. Feels good."
"Is that so… Then is this the start?"
"Might as well ease into it now, right?"
Eric's face lit up with a full smile. Fair enough — he'd worked hard today. Building sequences around breaking balls had taken real mental effort, and he'd been locked in tight catching the knuckleball I'd unsealed. Now that it was over, his expression stayed bright the entire time he was in the dugout.
As the bottom of the sixth began, the defense changed. Ernie Witt, who'd started in left field, came out, and Marlon Gates took his place — a defensive upgrade.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
That frustrated, were they?
I'd still mixed a few in here and there, though.
I planted three four-seamers straight on the leadoff hitter in the bottom of the sixth. Entirely Eric's call. The sudden shift in pitch mix left the batter flustered; he managed one limp swing and had to turn around and sit down. The next hitters were much the same. If the heart of the order had already quit on the game, why would the bottom of the lineup be any different?
Just like that, the bottom of the sixth ended in a clean three-up, three-down.
"How about we just buy a few of those watches ahead of time? It's a pain going out for one every single time. It's not like stocking up drops their value or anything."
"Ooh… that's not a bad idea."
Ho-min had probably been joking, but I honestly thought it sounded solid. They didn't arrive the moment you ordered them, either. Sure, Jack was the one doing the legwork, not me — but stashing a few in advance seemed smart. Like Ho-min said, buying them early didn't tank the value. If anything, it only went up.
Seventh inning. My turn at the plate came around.
Under the old man manager's ironclad orders, I stood in the box, watched the pitches come in, and walked back without swinging. Absolute ban on taking a cut. The absurd part was that even then, I still had to see five pitches. Anyone watching could tell I had zero intention of swinging…
Bottom of the seventh.
Out of nowhere, the leadoff hitter squared around to bunt. He pulled it back the instant the ball left my hand — but the boos that poured out of the stands were massive.
Had that guy actually meant to lay one down?
Probably not. Just trying to rattle me even a little. But it backfired completely. The crowd went so wild it felt like they might actually storm the field. I'm not exactly the fearful type… but even I got a little spooked. The way the whole stadium shook with the roaring curses…
The batter who'd just tried a bunt stance once looked just as startled by how vicious the reaction was. When that many people behind you are screaming they're going to kill you, staying calm would be the weirder response.
Only after the home-plate umpire settled the crowd did the game resume. Completely rattled, the batter froze up, did nothing, and went down looking on strikes. The next two hitters both put the ball in play, but neither got it out of the infield. Another clean three-up, three-down with no baserunners.
The game rolled on into the bottom of the ninth. Final inning, score 8–0.
Their seven-hole hitter stepped in without a pinch hitter.
Tick.
On a 1–2 pitch, the inside offering caught a little bit of the bat and lofted toward left field. It was a high fly with plenty of hang time — the kind you could settle under and wait for.
"Huh?"
But for some reason, Marlon Gates — in as the defensive replacement — was flailing both hands around. From the way he was yelling, he'd lost the ball. Shortstop Carl Janton and center fielder Arthur Burgart saw it and took off running hard. They were a step too late, though. Marlon finally found the ball and even dove for it, but it dropped onto the grass.
"Ahh…"
I scrubbed at my head.
"Tsk… still tough, huh."
I took off my cap and scratched my scalp, trying to shake off the disappointment. What could you do? It wasn't like he'd dropped it on purpose. You couldn't even call losing a ball in the lights a real error.
Just in case, I checked the scoreboard. If it had been scored an error, the no-hitter would still be alive. But there it was, a big fat 1 sitting in the hit column.
"Heh…"
Way out there, Marlon Gates was on his knees with his head in his hands. The kid looked like his soul had left his body.
"Hey!"
I shouted and waved my cap around until he finally lifted his head and looked at me. I nodded, clapped, tried to signal that it was fine — but it barely registered. Center field, right field, the whole infield, even Eric behind the plate — every single one of them had the same posture. Hands on hips, that hollow, gutted look on their faces.
"I said it's fine!"
If it had been a real mistake, I might've been annoyed too. But this wasn't anyone's fault. Just pure bad luck.
I saw someone starting to come out of the dugout and threw a hand up fast. Stay put. Eric tried to come to the mound as well, so I waved him back too.
"What are you coming up for? Let's finish this and go rest."
Only then did a pinch hitter appear.
Tick.
The pinch hitter strode in confidently, swinging the bat hard — and sent my first-pitch splitter straight to the shortstop.
"Out."
"Out."
Double play.
"…"
Damn, that was close.
"Batter out!"
I finished the last batter with a strikeout, and just like that, the game ended as a shutout.
Tampa Bay already had two losses, but they clearly decided a sweep was unacceptable. The next day — the final game of the three-game set — they came out swinging with everything they had.
But the starting battery of Jim Tomey and Gordon Perry met those aggressive Tampa Bay hitters with a thoroughly evasive approach. Jim Tomey threw twenty-two pitches in the first inning alone. He walked two but didn't allow a hit, and got out of the frame scoreless. It stayed the same after that — pure pitch-around pitching. Yet he couldn't just sit back and wait forever; the occasional pitch that nicked the zone kept the Tampa Bay hitters off-balance and confused.
In the meantime, Ernie Witt — starting in left again today — and Gordon Perry, batting right behind him, strung together consecutive hits for a run. When the fifth ended, we clung to a razor-thin 1–0 lead.
The offense left a little to be desired, but the mound work was excellent. He hadn't been perfect, but two hits and four walks without a single run allowed still counted as a job well done.
Then the bullpen took over from the sixth. Patterson, Buxton, and Yua locked down the sixth, seventh, and eighth completely. And then Eun-hyung's two-run homer went off.
Up 3–0, Kyle Biggio came on for the ninth, allowed one hit, and shut them out. Sweep complete.
With this sweep, ten more wins would lock up the division title for us on our own.
And Tampa Bay was basically finished.
On top of that, good news.
"Nice."