Exhibition Games

There were two more appearances left in the practice games of the second spring camp. For reasons I still couldn't figure out, Manager Park never once sent me out as a starter in either of them. Everyone already knew about the conversion anyway — what was the point of bringing me in from the bullpen? I never did get an answer.

My second outing, like the first, was two innings. I shut them down scoreless again. The pitches I was allowed that day were the four-seamer, the splitter, and the changeup. Working through an at-bat was noticeably easier than it had been in the first game.

Then, two days later, came the third appearance. For that one, Manager Park green-lit every pitch except the knuckleball.

So the first pitch I threw was a slider.

It was the pitch I'd been dying to throw, and I threw it with full confidence — only to watch it get crushed off the wall for a double the moment it left my hand.

The break was good. The velocity was good. There was nothing to say except that I'd walked straight into a waiting bat.

I got the rest of them out on strikeouts and ground balls and didn't give up a run, but across the three innings I threw that day, it was obvious the hitters had come up looking for the slider.

"Looks like I'm going to have to be careful with the slider this year. Just because they're sitting on it doesn't mean they can hit it — but it still leaves a bad taste."

"Right? Want to start working on a cutter now?"

"…I already told you. Sitting on a pitch doesn't mean you can hit it."

"Heh heh heh."

The second the word cutter left his mouth, Ko Mandeok was already scrambling out of range. He really must have hated the idea.

Our spring camp wrapped on March 1st — a few days earlier than most other teams. Manager Park gave us that extra stretch as personal rest time.

Overall, camp had been satisfying. The training for the conversion to starter had progressed steadily, and I could feel my stamina had genuinely improved.

The one disappointment was that I never once got to hit in a real game.

Even on days I wasn't on the mound, I sat in the dugout ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waiting, just in case — but Manager Park didn't so much as glance my way.

"Guess he's saving me as a secret weapon."

"Secret weapon for what? You only get better by actually doing it…"

"Want me to go tell him? That little Hajin's climbing the walls wanting an at-bat?"

"…Never mind."

Camp was already over. What was the point of saying anything now?

"If you ask me, he won't use you as a hitter in the exhibition games either."

"…Why not?"

"He hid you all through the practice games. Why would he trot you out for exhibitions? He'll sprinkle you in once the season starts, when it actually matters."

"…You think so?"

"Obviously. And not as a starter, either — he'll pinch-hit you when they need a long ball."

"Why not as a starter?"

"You can't play defense. Whose position are you taking? You going to put the captain in the field?"

Everyone already knew that starting this year, Seo Gyeongmin would be spending most of his time as the designated hitter.

He'd manned third base through last season, but age-related stamina issues and the chronic knee injury he'd carried his whole career made it untenable. So this season: DH, with the occasional shift over to first.

What Ko Mandeok was saying was that if I started in the field, either Seo Gyeongmin would have to sit or he'd have to play first — and was that really going to happen?

Even I had to admit it didn't make sense. I couldn't hit a breaking ball. Replacing the captain in the starting lineup? Please.

After spring camp ended, I came back to Korea and walked through my front door — and Ho-min handed me a USB drive.

"What's this?"

"Batter analysis."

"…And?"

"What do you mean, and? Look through it. Just skim it for now. When you start getting starts later, then you memorize the whole thing cold."

"Hah… you've got to be kidding me."

"Kidding you about what? I spent the whole time you were gone with my head in my hands putting this together, and this is the thanks I get?"

"Did you have to give it to me today? Right now?"

"…"

A man comes home after two months of training, hasn't even unpacked — hasn't even changed clothes — hasn't even sat down, and the first thing this guy does is shove a USB at him. Was this creature even human?

"How about starting with something like: Are you hurt anywhere? Have you eaten? Go wash up and rest. You worked hard. That kind of thing, my friend."

"…Go to sleep."

Apparently he had nothing to say to that, because he just walked into his room.

"…Thanks. I'll look at it."

He could've at least made me a meal before disappearing. Bastard.

For two full days I stayed completely off training — just ate and slept on repeat. The camp work had left my body feeling a little heavy, and those two days of rest did a solid job of burning off that fatigue.

After that, I kept the remaining rest days light — just enough exercise to hold onto ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the condition I'd built up in camp.

March 7th. Team training resumed. Two days later, on the 9th, the exhibition games began.

The first game opened with our number-one starter and ace, Michael Len. He threw only thirty-eight pitches over three innings, shut them down completely, and came off the mound looking like he was in excellent shape.

The next day, the new foreign pitcher, Marte, put on a pure heat show — eleven four-seamers to get through the first. Over the next two innings he mixed in the sinker and handled everything without much trouble.

Even accounting for the fact that the opposing hitters' bodies weren't fully online yet, the one-two punch of our foreign starters was more than enough to leave the fans happy.

Then came the third game. The opponent: the Dolphins, the same team that had kicked up a storm with the trade. I was scheduled to pitch that day.

Even so, Manager Park still didn't start me. I was listed as the second pitcher, and I still had no idea why he refused to put me on the mound first.

When I asked Taeseong about it, he just shrugged. The pitching coach waved it off with a vague, "I'm sure the manager has his reasons."

Either way — that was how I found myself walking out in the third inning of the third game, after the starter came down.

"Waaaaaah!!"

The moment I stepped onto the mound, a roar rolled down from the stands. For an exhibition game, the place was surprisingly packed.

Of all people, my first batter had to be Yoon Hyojung.

As he stepped into the box he was saying something to Ko Mandeok, and from the way Mandeok's face twisted, it wasn't anything friendly.

He'd done the same thing in his earlier at-bat — and then he'd gone down on strikes and still come back yapping.

Should I just plunk him…

Yoon Hyojung and I hadn't been on bad terms. Honestly, outside of Ko Mandeok, Captain Seo Gyeongmin, and senior Jo Sangjun, he'd been one of the guys I was closest to. Getting shipped out over that whole mess must have left him bitter.

After running his mouth at Ko Mandeok, he locked eyes with me and glared for all he was worth.

"Come to think of it, he didn't even come say hello before the game."

Usually, even after a trade, guys still walk over before first pitch to exchange a few words, right? The three who'd left our team wouldn't even make eye contact.

"They screw up, get cut loose, and then act like we're the ones who wronged them…"

Ko Mandeok was clearly irritated too. The target he put down was an inside four-seamer — and a high one at that.

A right-hander throwing high and tight to a lefty's hands — from the batter's perspective, it feels like the ball is coming straight for your body.

I nodded and went straight into the windup. My target: the absolute top-left corner of the strike zone.

Whap!

The ball buried itself dead-center in Ko Mandeok's waiting mitt. Yoon Hyojung jerked his upper body back out of the way. Strike.

Exactly what Mandeok and I had planned.

"There he goes again…"

If you're scared, just stand there quietly. Instead he started yapping at Ko Mandeok all over again. Mandeok didn't bother answering — he just quietly put down the slider sign.

"Hmm… not sure I've got the command for this one…"

Mandeok wanted it nicking the outside corner. But what pitcher hits his spot every single time?

"Aagh!"

Pop!

"Ball~"

The pitch that had been flying toward the zone broke hard left at the last second.

Yoon Hyojung flung his bat away and toppled backward in pure panic, landing hard on his rear. Looked like it hurt. Ball, obviously.

Honestly, if he'd just stood still, it never would have hit him. He overreacted all on his own.

"Still — as a junior, I should do the right thing."

I tipped the bill of my cap and gave the slightest of bows.

Then I opened and closed my hand a few times and cocked my head, putting on a little show of whoops, the command got away from me.

"I've done that much. What's he going to do about it? It's not like we're clearing the benches in an exhibition game."

When I saw Ko Mandeok's next sign, I couldn't help snorting. The bastard had his thumb stuck straight up between his thighs.

Yoon Hyojung stopped talking to him after that. Maybe he'd finally caught on — that every time he opened his mouth, the next pitch came inside.

Since he was behaving, I decided to send him on his way cleanly.

First, the splitter.

"Stri~ke!"

A curve that dropped low.

"Foul."

High fastball.

"Stri~ke! Batter out!"

"Nothing to it."

The exhibition games were off to a good start.