Championship Series Game 1
If you asked who the greatest hitter in the history of Korean baseball was, a handful of names used to come up.
It depended on who you asked and what they valued…
Then one player debuted, and three years later everything changed.
Ask anyone now and only one name comes out of their mouth.
Lee Gijun.
The greatest hitter in the history of Korean baseball.
Not only did he dominate the KBO—he crossed over to the majors, put up even better numbers, and people still say he’s getting better.
He was already the best, and then he went to America, banged heads with the absolute elite, and somehow leveled up again…
The man himself is broken.
And I’ve been shutting that monster down this whole time with a little chemical help.
Treating him more carefully than any other hitter. Until now.
CRACK!
“Holy shit…”
That location? Most guys can’t even touch that pitch.
Even if they do, it shouldn’t be a clean hit, right?
He waited on the four-seamer painted in the farthest corner like he’d known it was coming and golfed it.
The ball cleared the wall so fast the center fielder didn’t even take a step.
It was basically a line drive that just kept rising—an absolute laser.
Thank God the bases were empty…
He knew the second he made contact it was gone. He flipped the bat with style and jogged to first without even watching the flight.
“Ah… this is getting annoying.”
Top of the fourth. First hit of the game, first run allowed.
Giving up the first run isn’t the end of the world.
You pitch long enough, you’re going to trail sometimes.
It was only one run, not a crooked number.
What stung was that we’d left runners on in the second when we could’ve scored, and then in the third we wasted a one-out, runner-on-second chance the exact same way.
Especially the third—Eun-hyung came up and still couldn’t bring the runner home. That one hurt extra.
I retired the next hitter on two pitches and walked off the mound.
On the way back to the dugout, Greg came up behind me, clapped me on the shoulder a couple times, then headed straight out to get ready to hit.
What was that? “I’ll knock one in for you, don’t worry”?
Crack.
“Out.”
Yeah… okay, whatever…
Crack.
“Out.”
The heart of the order had nothing today.
I’d been quietly hoping Greg and Ernie Witt would do something…
Five pitches, two outs.
At this rate I was going to be back on the mound before I even sat down.
I watched from the on-deck circle as Gordon Perry stepped in, still looking pissed about his baserunning earlier.
The second he dug in he said something to the catcher and flashed that grin.
That bastard knows exactly how terrifying that smile looks.
Pop.
“Ball.”
First pitch misses. He says something else to the catcher.
“Ball.”
Another comment.
“Strike.”
And another…
Crack!
What the hell did he say to finally force a hit?
Did he threaten the guy into calling the pitch he wanted?
Looked like he was sitting on something inside the whole time.
Of course the umpire was right there, so that couldn’t be it… but damn if I wasn’t curious what he’d actually said.
“Hey… what did our captain just tell him?”
“······”
I never expected an answer anyway.
Rafael Anderson’s first pitch to me.
“Ball.”
Way outside—almost unhittable on purpose.
“Ball.”
Second pitch the same.
“No way…”
“Ball.”
“Ball.”
Two away. Two more so low they nearly bounced.
He didn’t put me on intentionally, but it might as well have been an intentional walk.
“There’s already a guy on first, why would you…”
I stood on first, still half-dazed from the free pass I never saw coming, when—
Crack!
Charles Bedard’s grounder rolled toward third.
“Goddamn it…”
Three straight innings of putting the leadoff man on and still nothing to show for it.
The fifth came and went without either side doing a damn thing.
Just one of those innings that exists only to fill space.
Top of the sixth was more of the same.
Bottom of the sixth started with the three-hole: Eun-hyung.
The entire middle of the order that had been dead all night was due up.
In his second at-bat Eun-hyung had choked up from the first pitch.
It hadn’t worked.
Maybe that was why this time he went back to his normal stance.
Eun-hyung hit .340 this season. Second in the league—close enough to first to sting.
By the numbers, he was due to come through roughly once every three trips.
In other words, it was about time.
Crack.
That’s our Eun-hyung.
Martin J. Silvers—the guy who delivers when it matters.
He never lets you down.
A clean single dropped in front of the center fielder and he was on.
Then Greg stepped in.
Thud.
The fourth pitch drilled Greg’s tree-trunk thigh and caromed away.
“He leaned into that one, didn’t he?”
He spun like he was trying to get out of the way of an inside pitch while casually offering up that massive thigh.
The umpire didn’t even hesitate—pointed straight to first.
The other battery came out to argue, but it was never going to work.
Once an ump makes a call, he’s not taking it back.
Greg’s “hustle” put us in a no-out, first-and-second jam for them.
Fourth scoring chance of the night.
And the best one yet.
“Oh-ho…”
A sign came in from the old man manager.
Anyone watching would have sworn it was a bunt.
The first and third basemen crept in a step.
Too bad for them.
Our grandpa manager had flashed a whole complicated sequence… that meant absolutely nothing.
Just “swing away.”
“Strike.”
First pitch, inside. Ernie Witt dropped the bat head like he was bunting, then yanked it back up.
Looked exactly like a failed bunt attempt on a heater in.
Second pitch.
CRACK!
“Ah…”
He got good wood on it, going the other way.
Only problem was the second baseman laying out and snagging it.
Silver lining: the ball was hit so hard that while the diving second baseman scrambled to his feet, both runners advanced.
Not a hit, but a perfect productive out.
Now one out, runners on second and third.
Gordon Perry stepped in—already 2-for-2 on the day.
“You really gonna pitch to him here?”
First base open, and the guy who’s locked in all night is up. One single and we take the lead.
The pitching coach visited the mound.
The conversation with Rafael Anderson didn’t last long.
Coach said something, Anderson just nodded, and that was it.
Exactly as expected—Gordon Perry never got the chance to swing.
“One out, bases loaded, huh…”
I was starting to regret not taking the Booster.
The way it used to whisper pitch type and location… I missed that feeling more than I wanted to admit.
“Fuck… they always make me pitch and hit.”
Getting sick of having to do everything myself was one thing; actually having to do it again was another.
I grumbled my way toward the box, then a thought hit me.
“It’s only one out…”
Squeeze play? The idea flickered for a second.
Then I glanced at the board and saw the next hitter.
Charles Bedard—who had been completely lost all night.
“······”
I shook the thought out of my head and stepped in.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him… he just looked like he was fighting it today…
I dusted off the old “death stare” skill for old times’ sake.
Just in case.
Hadn’t worked yet, but you never know—maybe today it would finally show me something.
POP.
“Strike.”
Apparently not today.
Two pitches in a row tried to pull the bat out of my hands. I managed to lay off both.
Two balls, one strike.
Crack.
“Foul.”
The sinker I’d been waiting for finally showed up and I still couldn’t square it up cleanly—just fouled it off.
Body felt stiff.
I must have been tighter than I realized.
“Time.”
I stepped out and headed toward the on-deck circle. Charles Bedard handed me the spray bottle.
“Relax. I got my timing back now—don’t worry about me.”
Did I look that locked up from behind?
And was he telling the truth? Had he really found it?
“Okay. I’m going up there swinging free.”
Weirdly enough, those simple words from Charles Bedard actually loosened something in my chest.
I wandered back into the box and gave the bat a lazy, half-hearted wave.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t done that once tonight.
Hadn’t stretched either.
That used to be my whole routine. Had I been so wound up I’d forgotten even that?
I never used to freeze up like this even in the Korean Series…
Everything done. Now I could just wait for the ball with a clear head.
Even if I missed, Charles Bedard said he’d come through…
That was when it hit.
The instant the ball left Rafael Anderson’s hand after the windup—
Curve!
The feel I’d been chasing all night finally arrived.
I hadn’t even been staring him down this time.
Rafael Anderson’s power curve came in on almost the exact same plane as his other pitches.
My bat was already moving toward the spot where it would drop.
CRACK!
It broke farther outside than I expected.
Caught the end of the bat. A sharp jolt ran through my hands.
But the ball still got enough of the barrel to clear the first baseman’s leap.
“WAAAAAAAAAH!!!!”
The run we’d been waiting for all night finally scored.
Two of them, actually.
“Haa… somehow we got it done.”
Almost two hours into the game and we finally had the lead.
Score: 2–1.
Only one run, but being ahead mattered.
And the inning still wasn’t over…
Crack!
“Out.”
“Out.”
“You little shit…”
Said he had his timing back…
CRACK!
Top of the seventh. Third time facing Lee Gijun. The splitter I threw on the third pitch jumped up on me.
This time it was different from his earlier at-bat.
Arthur Burgart tracked it down in a hurry and turned at the wall.
The ball settled cleanly into the glove he’d raised high.
“Out!”
No more damage.