Breaking the Losing Streak
Sanchez's pitching was, in a word, seasoned.
With razor-sharp command he was cornering hitters and inducing ground balls with his two-seamer and sinker. It was the kind of pitching that came from experience on the world's highest stage—Major League Baseball—and the hard-earned savvy of long years grinding through the minors.
And then there was the Raiders' catcher, Kim Gyeong-seok. Thirty-five this year. A veteran among veterans who had spent fifteen years alone on the pro first-team stage, and he was helping Sanchez every step of the way.
Thanks to that, our team had managed five hits and two walks through the fifth. We'd reached base every inning except the first, yet two double plays had left us still scoreless.
The silver lining was that I was pretty solid myself today.
Through the third, while working through the order once, I leaned as hard as I could on the knuckleball. Then in the fourth I flipped the script, mixing every pitch except the knuckleball to keep the hitters guessing. Judging by the way they stepped out shaking their heads or glaring daggers at me, it was landing just fine.
By the end of the bottom of the fifth I'd allowed only two hits and had them completely locked down. The score was still 0-0, but the momentum had clearly swung our way.
The only real worry was that baseball never quite follows the flow the way you want it to. Fail to score when you absolutely have to, and you're the one who ends up getting burned. There's a reason they say opportunity comes after crisis.
"This time I'm really going to send one over!"
Kim Tae-seong, leading off the top of the sixth, raised his voice and strode confidently out of the dugout.
That look was reassuring, but somehow it still felt like he kept getting tangled up by the opposing battery. Ever since the game started, the phrase the hitters had repeated most was, "Hey! You can totally hit this!" Meaning Sanchez was more hittable than the starters from our two previous losses… yet the ones who had actually come through with hits were Seo Gyeongmin with two, plus Lee Won-jeong, Jeong Jong-seong, and Na Seung-won.
Except for Seo Gyeongmin, every one of them was lower in the order. Seo Gyeongmin was a pure contact hitter who cleared .300 every year, so set him aside. Lee Won-jeong, Jeong Jong-seong, and Na Seung-won were the type who focused on putting the barrel on the ball rather than hunting the big fly. Or maybe it was fairer to say they never even thought about home runs.
"Haa… His swing got big. That idiot."
Seo Gyeongmin let out a deep sigh.
"Hey. You guys listen up too. Just because you can see it and think you can hit it, you're going for the big one—get on base first, then talk. Got it?"
He spoke quietly, in a hard tone. Even without raising his voice in this noisy stadium, every word came through crystal clear.
Crack.
"Out!"
Kim Tae-seong eventually grounded out to second and trudged back to the dugout. Seo Gyeongmin repeated exactly what he'd just told the others, and the grin that had still been on Tae-seong's face after the out vanished in an instant, replaced by a serious look.
As expected of the captain.
Normally he only showed his easygoing side, laughing no matter what happened, but moments like this reminded you that a captain really was a captain.
Lee Won-jeong, who already had a hit today and had been in the on-deck circle so he hadn't heard the captain's words, still battled tenaciously. After two strikes he choked up on the bat and fouled pitches off, fighting to get the one he wanted.
Crack!
"Yes! Haa… This is driving me crazy."
But the opposing infield was on fire today.
Honestly, this was ridiculous. How many plays like that was one game supposed to produce? It felt like someone was shoving us toward a sweep.
Maybe it was the hot-blooded South American temperament, but the string of highlight-reel plays had clearly fired him up. He threw nothing but four-seamers—four of them—to Jeong Jong-seong and punched him out. Somehow the dugout atmosphere felt like it was starting to sink.
"This isn't going to work."
"What isn't?"
"You're going to have to throw a shutout. Heh heh."
"Sure, why not."
"Ohh~ So it's no big deal, is that it?"
"If I have to, I have to. Not like I've got any real power here."
Trading banter with Ko Mandeok, I climbed the mound for the bottom of the sixth. Leading off was the nine-hole hitter, Hwang Dong-gu.
According to Ho-min's analysis, the twenty-year-old Hwang was drawing plenty of attention, but he still struggled against high-level professional breaking balls. In his first at-bat I'd gone knuckleball-heavy so it hadn't mattered either way, but this time I planned to take that scouting report to heart.
"Strike!"
"Strike!"
"Ball."
I got two strikes with the slider and curve; the splitter he somehow didn't chase, making it 1-2. Neither Ko Mandeok nor I wanted to drag this out, so we went right after him—two-seamer in on the hands.
The pitch I'd meant to keep in the zone drifted a hair too far inside. Not what I'd wanted, but still a ball he should have taken. Only the kid didn't bail out. Hell, it looked like he stuck his gut right into it.
"……"
The home-plate umpire ruled it had nicked the jersey. Ko Mandeok was on his feet in a flash, pointing at the kid's midsection and arguing he'd leaned into it on purpose… but when has that kind of appeal ever worked? Naturally it was denied. Hwang Dong-gu dropped the bat and sprinted to first.
Bitter taste in my mouth. An unexpected free pass. The one hitter I absolutely had to retire, and a tiny command miss had put him on.
The moment leadoff man Jo Sang-won stepped in, he squared to bunt. The Raiders were determined to scratch across the first run right here. In situations like this it was better just to give him the bunt and get the out clean. If luck was with me and it came right back to me or dropped in front of the catcher, maybe we could even look at second.
Crack.
Jo Sang-won laid it down and tore for first. The ball rolled toward third at a manageable speed. That angle meant second was already gone, but first should have been an easy out.
I froze solid from pure shock. I should have been yelling that it was okay… but the error was so boneheaded I just stood there.
Kim Tae-seong was staring up at the sky with a completely vacant look. Seeing that face, I honestly wanted to march over and smack him upside the head. But what could I do?
"It's okay! Hyung~ It's fine!"
I couldn't exactly lose my mind out there. I waved off Ko Mandeok, who was starting to come out to the mound. I already knew exactly what he was going to say, and I already knew exactly how the next hitter was going to approach it.
Bunt again, of course.
Sure enough, the next batter—Kim Min-seok—stepped in and immediately squared around. One of the most irritating players of the day. The guy who had erased two perfect extra-base hits with his glove.
Crack.
Once more the bunt rolled toward third. This time, thankfully, Kim Tae-seong fielded it cleanly and threw to first.
One out, runners on second and third.
Next up was Evan Kawit, the hitter who had already collected one of the two hits off me today. From the bench came the automatic intentional walk. Bases loaded.
And the next hitter was Jo In-beom, the other guy who'd already singled off me. Coincidentally, both of those hits had come on four-seamers.
I half-expected the pitching coach to make a trip out, but there was no reaction at all. Trusting me to handle it? I'd figured he might at least tell me to pitch like I was giving up the run.
"Haa… This is insane."
The moment I saw Ko Mandeok's first-pitch sign, a hollow laugh slipped out.
Jo In-beom looked flabbergasted and exchanged a few words with Ko Mandeok. I was pretty flabbergasted myself—I could only imagine how he felt.
Even I had to admit that pitch was filthy. Painted the outer edge against a right-handed hitter. I thought it might have been a hair low, but the strike call rang out anyway.
And the third pitch.
Crack!
"You crazy bastard. You caught that? Huh? You actually caught that?"
Ko Mandeok kept smacking the back of my head the entire way into the dugout.
"Hey! Holy shit, if it wasn't for you I really… wow, thank you, seriously. I thought I was dead. Ugh…"
Kim Tae-seong was beside himself with excitement too.
"Hajin, nice work."
Seo Gyeongmin's face was full of smiles as well.
"Good. Well done."
Even our usually taciturn manager.
The dugout that had gone quiet came roaring back to life.
And then—
CRAAACK!
My wife just came through big-time.