Korean Series Game Two
I could roughly guess a few possibilities.
First, the opener.
It was one of the methods a few teams over in America had shown years ago. The pitcher listed as the starter would throw hard for an inning or two, then hand the mound over to the next guy—something along those lines.
But when you set an opener, you usually announced the following pitcher as well. Manager Park hadn't even breathed my name. So that was out.
Next possibility was the disguised starter. It looked similar to an opener on the surface, but if you dug into the details it was different. A disguised starter existed specifically to fool the other side. If word got out that Manager Park had run one, he'd take a mountain of heat. Would he really set a disguised starter while swallowing all that criticism? Hmm… I wasn't so sure.
Opener, disguised starter—none of it mattered next to the part that made the least sense of all: the pitcher announced as today's starter was Marte.
Who was Marte? He'd held down the second starter slot for us all season and even slid into the fourth spot late, but everyone knew he hadn't been there because of pure talent. Team circumstances had put him there—the circumstance named batter Kang Hajin. If Marte had been pitching for some bottom-feeder instead of us? He'd have been the undisputed ace. His numbers alone were more than enough.
I even thought about sidling up to Marte before the game and asking if he knew anything. The Marte I found was already ramping his body up hard, exactly like a guy who was starting today—long toss followed by bullpen work. Anyone watching would have sworn he was preparing to carry the game as the starter.
"No way he doesn't know?"
His face was bright and he was working diligently; I couldn't just walk over and open my mouth for no reason. What if something went wrong after that?
So I stayed completely in the dark while the clock ticked down to one hour before first pitch.
"What? What did you just say?"
"He went to the hospital."
"…When?"
"Just now."
They were doing it like this? Just swapping him out this blatantly—using an injury as the excuse? Hearing them handle it so cleanly left me feeling hollow.
"Did the other team suggest doing it that way?"
"Huh? Why wouldn't it be fine?"
"No, it's just…"
"The opposing pitcher is Kwon Jong-jin. You think Kwon Jong-jin is going to complain if you start instead of Marte? The man has pride. Of course he said it didn't matter."
"Ah…"
"Their manager's the same. When you're putting your team's ace out there, you don't care who the other guy is. You've got to protect the ace's pride."
"I still don't really get it…"
"And Marte's right-handed, you're right-handed. Same arm, nothing for them to nitpick."
"Yes, sir. But does he actually hurt?"
"Says his shoulder's bothering him. Who knows."
"…"
Hurting? No chance. I'd watched him light up the bullpen earlier with my own eyes. Why had Marte just gone along with Manager Park's word? If it had been a Korean pitcher I might have understood a little, but Marte was a foreigner.
"Geez…"
Was the Korean Series always this complicated? When I'd watched old Korean Series games on TV it never looked like this. Was it just my imagination that only our team kept getting tangled up like this?
When I stepped onto the mound, cheers rose from the stands. At least we were at home today. If we'd pulled this stunt on the road… the boos would have been deafening.
Pre-game ceremony. After the national anthem, the ceremonial first-pitch thrower walked toward the mound. That woman. Girl-group member… uh… what was her name again? This was already the third time she'd thrown out a first pitch for us. Especially the one who'd done it for my very first start. We'd won that game, and the next time she threw one we won again. So they introduced her as the goddess of victory or whatever.
The real goddess of victory is my wife.
Did people know how hard Han Song-yi worked for the win every time I took the mound?
"When you smell the flower scent~ a little car full of power~"
I was humming the theme song of some ancient cartoon I'd discovered while obsessing over flower scents when, as usual, the first-pitch thrower bounced around, ruined the mound, waved, and finally disappeared.
"If you're going to throw it like that anyway, why not just do it from in front instead of climbing the mound…"
I scuffed the rubber with my foot, roughly smoothed it out, then locked eyes with Ko Mandeok and the rest of the infield and outfield, shouting for a fight.
"Play ball~"
Pop!
"Stri~ke!"
The game was on.
Jo Sangwon took a swing big enough to knock his helmet off. He'd clearly been sitting dead red on the heater… which was why the bat and the ball were nowhere near each other.
"Confidently~ confidently~ when you smell the flower scent~ confidently~"
Muttering to myself on the mound. It actually helped more than I expected. Calmed the mind, somehow. I'd felt it for sure in the last game of the regular season. That Juan Sanchez on the other team used to mutter while staring at the ball too. Back then I'd thought the guy was just nuts…
Never thought I'd be doing the same thing.
Pop.
"Out!"
Knuckleball.
"Foul."
Splitter.
"Ball."
Splitter again.
"Stri~ke!"
Curve.
"Ball."
Slider.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
Through the first two outs of the inning, not a single four-seam or two-seam sign had appeared. Why? I was just throwing whatever Ko Mandeok called, but I still had no idea what he was thinking. We hadn't talked about anything special before the game.
The three-hole, Evan Kawit, stepped in. And for the first time a sign for something over 150 km/h came out.
Cutter.
"Foul."
Again.
"Foul."
A slider that missed the zone by about a ball's width.
"Out!"
Swinging strike three.
As the top of the first ended and the sides changed, the color commentator sitting next to the play-by-play man asked,
"They said Marte's results came back, right?"
"Yeah. Minor muscle soreness. Nothing serious."
"Hmm… so it was that after all?"
"What?"
"No. Kang Hajin just looks like he came prepared. Like he knew he was going to start. Even during pre-game work he was getting ready for a start."
"Maybe that's just because it's the Korean Series and you never know what might happen?"
"Could be. Kwon Jong-jin… today's not going to be easy for him."
Bottom of the first.
Kwon Jong-jin took the mound and fired the first pitch. The gun read 144 km/h.
"What was that just now?"
"No idea. Cutter maybe?"
"Didn't it look like a four-seamer?"
"You think?"
From the dugout it was hard to be sure. But somehow it felt like a four-seamer. Kwon Jong-jin throwing a 144 km/h four-seamer in the first inning. If it really was a four-seamer… then the condition of a guy who'd gone eight innings and come back after only two days of rest was nowhere near normal.
"Out!"
Jo Changjun flied out to left and returned to the dugout.
"Hyung. What was the first pitch?"
"Huh? First pitch? Uh… four-seamer."
"Ah! I knew it!"
Definitely not normal. Honestly it couldn't be. A pitcher who threw eight innings two days ago climbing back on the mound—if he looked normal, that would be the weird part.
And yet…
"Out!"
"Out!"
Left-field fly. Grounder to second. Grounder to third. Three outs and he walked off the mound. On top of that, his pitch count was nine—one fewer than mine.
"…"
Kwon Jong-jin wore an easy expression like it was nothing, chatting with his catcher and grinning wide.
So velocity doesn't matter much to him as long as it's a little lower?
Somehow he looked pretty cool. Damn it.