Exhibition Game
Back then… or more precisely, right after I’d broken into the pros and just gotten called up to the first team.
I’d climbed the mound, thrown a pretty solid outing, and as I walked off, a ridiculously arrogant thought crossed my mind.
“Pro ball’s nothing special, huh?”
Just a fastball barely cracking the low 140s, a handful of half-baked off-speed pitches, and control that was considered my only real strength. When I used those to mow down hitters making big money in the pros far more easily than I’d expected, that thought just popped up.
Of course, it got wiped clean the very next start when I got absolutely shelled.
Why am I bringing this up all of a sudden…?
“These guys are really the national team? They’re nothing special…”
Because today I was feeling exactly like I had back then.
This wasn’t confidence, though. Normally when I threw thinking I could get hitters out, that was pure confidence. But this… pity? Frustration? Emptiness? Something along those lines.
I’d decided to give it a real go, and since I was only throwing about three innings anyway, I was going full throttle from the start… but still.
“Strike!”
“Strike! Out!”
“Strike!”
“Strike!”
“Strike! Out!”
Six four-seamers and not a single swing? Come on. Sure, every one of them clocked around 160, but these guys were pros. National team, no less. And they just walked back with those dazed looks without even taking a cut?
Suddenly all the air went out of me.
The next batter—the three-hole guy coming up with two outs—at least swung for the first time all day. Go Yeong-su, left fielder for the Raiders. Usually batting sixth or seventh for them, sometimes as high as fifth… and this guy was the national team’s three-hole? Wasn’t this just openly advertising that the national team’s lineup was worse than the Raiders’? It meant they didn’t have anyone better to put there.
“This is seriously boring.”
As I took the sign and got ready to pitch, my eyes naturally drifted to the national team dugout. Manager Min Gucheol over there had his face all scrunched up, saying something heated. Next to him, two players with their heads hanging low. I could guess the situation. Obvious enough. Felt a little sorry for them for no reason.
“Let’s just finish this and rest. Sigh.”
Suddenly everything felt like a chore.
Strike is called. Once again he gets the strike, making it eight consecutive strike calls in the first inning.
Right now Kang Hajin is challenging them head-on with every pitch. Yet looking at those eight pitches, there’s been only a single swing-and-miss. The national team hitters need to attack more aggressively.
Could it be they just can’t catch up to the velocity?
Even so—sure, almost no one throws 160 in the domestic league, but other countries are different. Especially in the States, the minors are overflowing with guys who can throw 160-plus, aren’t they?
That’s right. Exactly.
They have to try even if it’s hard. You only learn how powerful it is and how to attack it by swinging the bat. Just watching like that, you can’t do a thing!
Come on, our hitters, dig a little deeper—ah… third pitch is a strike as well. 161 right down the middle, just a touch high, and he’s struck out. Three consecutive three-pitch strikeouts. All Kang Hajin needed was nine pitches. Nine fastballs.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” I grumbled to Ko Mandeok as I came off the mound.
“Why?”
“It’s no fun.”
“You crazy bastard. You throw for fun?”
“No, but this is just…”
Then a laugh came from behind. I turned to see Kim Jongsu of the Falcons.
“When we face each other on other teams I want to kill you. But on the same team, it’s reassuring. Huh? Heh heh heh.”
“Ah…”
“Those guys’ confidence is shot, that’s why.”
“……”
“You and Jongjin both should’ve been on the national team. But both of you are the opposing pitchers today. Of course they don’t want to play. Heh heh.”
“Even so. They didn’t even look like they wanted to swing.”
At my words Kim Jongjin looked at me like I was absurd and continued.
“…From where I’m standing they just can’t hit it? You throw that vicious stuff and then complain they don’t swing?”
“He’s always like this. A little unhinged.”
“Khuhuhuhu.”
Ko Mandeok and the guy were having a blast.
The national team’s starter was Ki Chan-su, the sidearmer from the Hawks. A pitcher with a two-seamer that touched 148 and a good slider. But whether from fear or control issues, he’d often fall apart pitching scared. A guy like that in the domestic league wasn’t going to magically change just because he made the national team.
“Ball.”
He started by walking the leadoff hitter Jo Junggeun. Next up, Oh Juyeong. Our manager today, Oh Jeong-geun, put on a play right from the start. Oh Juyeong took the first pitch for a ball, then another ball on the second. With the count against him again, as Ki Chan-su prepared for the third, a sign came from the dugout and the speedy first-base runner Jo Junggeun took off.
And then…
Tick.
Oh Juyeong lays down the bunt! The runner from first already broke and is already at second! Batter-runner safe at first—! The third baseman can’t even throw!
They weren’t prepared at all. Oh Juyeong shows squeeze bunts fairly often even in the league, yet they were defending way too casually.
Crisis for the national team right in the first inning. Starting pitcher Kang Hajin steps into the box with a bat.
Ki Chan-su has to be careful. Kang Hajin never misses a mistake pitch. One wrong move and the game could flip right here.
Ki Chan-su was already dripping sweat. Nothing was going the way he wanted. He kept sighing and taking it out on the rosin bag for no reason.
“Take it easy.”
The moment I stepped in, Lee Giho—wearing the mask today—spoke up. One of the few Dragons guys I actually thought was decent.
“Good to see you.”
I’d already given him a quick nod earlier, but I greeted him again.
“Haa… why didn’t they pick you.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons. He’s a great manager, after all.”
“Haa…”
After the short exchange I settled into the box. Oh? Look at this guy. Ki Chan-su kept shaking his head over and over. Another sigh drifted from behind me. What the hell did he want to throw so badly?
Ki Chan-su. The sign exchange is taking a while.
Looks like Ki Chan-su has a pitch he really wants to throw.
Ah! He nods. Sign exchange complete—Ki Chan-su—ah!
……!!
Kang Hajin hastily ducks out of the way. Thank goodness. Ah! No—Kang Hajin!
He’d shaken his head so much I’d half expected something special. At best it was going to be a two-seamer, slider, curve, or changeup… but the ball came screaming straight at my shoulder. Close enough it could’ve caught my face. I jerked back hard and ended up on my ass.
My mood hadn’t been great to begin with…
“Hey! No! It was a mistake! A mistake!”
“Kang Hajin! Drop the bat! Drop it!”
I was dragging the bat along the ground and heading for the mound when Lee Giho and the home-plate umpire both grabbed me. At the same time our dugout emptied—players pouring out.
“You son of a bitch, you crazy?!”
“You psycho throwing that kind of pitch in a practice game? Hey!”
Ko Mandeok was first out of the dugout. Jo Junggeun, who’d been on second, sprinted straight for the mound too. Then the national team dugout spilled out in a rush. I was basically being hugged by Lee Giho and couldn’t go any farther.
“Sunbae. You think I can’t tell? That wasn’t a wild pitch. Did you call for it?”
It absolutely hadn’t slipped. He’d aimed at me. I still couldn’t understand why anyone would do that in an exhibition game, but I was certain. One of three reasons: Manager Min Gucheol ordered it, Lee Giho called it, or Ki Chan-su did it on his own.
But would Lee Giho really do that? In a game like this? Or Ki Chan-su alone? A twenty-five-year-old just making his first national team, already tense as hell? I strongly suspected Manager Min Gucheol, but even that felt weird. Would Ki Chan-su throw at someone just because the national team manager told him to? National team manager or not—following orders that far? It didn’t quite add up. I had no idea.
“Haa… fine. I’ll stop, so let go already.”
“The bat. Drop the bat first.”
Only when I finally released the bat I’d been gripping did Lee Giho let me go. The umpire warned me that was enough and went up to the mound to break up the crowd. He gave Ki Chan-su a light warning too, and that was the end of it. No point ejecting anyone in an exhibition game; this was the best they could do.
As both teams’ players filtered back, Seo Gyeongmin and Kang Chansu came over, each gave my shoulder a single pat, and walked off. No words—just that one tap—and somehow it cooled the heat still boiling in me.
Ko Mandeok I could understand, but Jo Junggeun honestly surprised me a little. I never expected him to react that fast… Up till now I hadn’t thought much of him, but suddenly my goodwill was stacking up.
I gave Jo Junggeun a smile, then locked eyes with Ki Chan-su. He quickly looked away. That sealed it for me. That guy wasn’t the type to randomly throw at someone in a game like this on his own.
“Man… you two are exactly the same, aren’t you, sunbae?”
He had to know what I meant… but Lee Giho gave no answer.
“Give me a good one.”
“……”
CRACK!
Lee Giho really did give me a good one. A weak two-seamer right down the middle. I absolutely crushed it, and the ball was over the wall and into the seats in a heartbeat. I stood in the box watching the whole flight, then flung the bat toward the national team dugout. And I circled the bases extremely… slowly. So slowly it barely looked different from walking.
“YEAAAAAH!!”
I let out one final roar as I stomped on home plate.
“…You’re really crazy.”
Even got a compliment from Ko Mandeok.