The Next Episode
After an interview that caught fire in every possible way, the sun came up.
Maybe because I'd finally said everything I wanted to say? My condition was excellent.
"Nnnnngh...!"
On the flip side, Jung In-woo, who was supposed to start today, was down for the count. Yes, that would be our number three starter.
"What on earth did you do yesterday to pull a muscle in your leg?"
"...I hear the idiot was operating the TV remote with his toes..."
Jeong In-young, who had all but carried the man into the stadium on his back, explained it as if describing the single most pathetic bastard in recorded history.
Are you kidding me? That's the reason? Although, come to think of it, soccer players have torn hamstrings doing that exact thing — maybe a pulled muscle means he got off easy?
In the end, In-woo got dragged off to the massage room. Which meant the starting assignment was about to change.
"Noh In-seong. You're starting today."
Lunch was over, and it was that window where you slowly wind the body up for a night game. I got summoned out of nowhere to the manager's office, and it turned out today's starter was me.
"Doesn't this count as a Disguised Starter situation?"
"What disguised starter? In-young's already on standby for tomorrow."
Fair enough. A pitcher can miss two weeks over a cracked hangnail — what are you going to do when he pulls a muscle on the morning of his start?
Fine by me. My starting debut just got bumped up a day.
"Hey. You. The rookie. Get over here."
Before the game, while everyone was going through their warmups, the opposing manager beckoned me over.
I'm sorry — what? Before a game, you're daring to summon the opposing starting pitcher? Is he out of his mind?
Obviously, I ignored him completely. A starting pitcher on game day is the kind of man who makes even the world's most high-strung dog tuck its tail and fold — everything except the tail, actually.
"...Huh? Hey! HEY!!! Why isn't he coming over!?"
I was busy as hell trying to finish my pre-game routine. No chance in hell I'm taking orders from the opposing manager, who isn't even my own.
Park Tae-jung was Busan-born, a franchise legend, a man who played long and earned the organization's respect, climbing from Marines bench coach all the way to the manager's chair.
A man proud of his career, who ruled the clubhouse with the authority that career and long playing days had built for him.
Which is to say, most players just nodded — yes, sir, yes, sir — and did as they were told.
In truth, he'd been the front office's pick precisely to keep the ranks in line: thick-skinned veterans who didn't even bother raging after every loss, and rookies who blew wherever the wind took the mood.
"Th-th-that... that insolent little bastard...!!"
In other words, he'd already absorbed every form of disrespect a team could dish out, but this was the first time anyone had treated his summons with a breezy why would I care where a dog barks? and walked off.
And it was also the first time anyone had walked to the mound to make a start while openly smirking at him.
"That damn bastard. Yank him out of the game inside three innings. Got it!?"
Foul off pitches and grind out the at-bats! Stretch the innings long, long, long with hits and stolen bases! He's a rookie — he's never been roughed up badly, never fought through a war of attrition! Don't be scared of him!
He figured that if he could hunt down and bury one insolent punk like this, it would be just the thing to make the team into one.
Crack!Ugh!Out!
[Ah... that was a sinker. The bat shattered, and the fragments caught his fingers... ah. Yes. Yes, it got him.]
[A softly hit ball fielded cleanly by Noh In-seong, retired at first. One away.]
[We'll probably see a defensive substitute from the next half inning... probably. Wishing him a speedy recovery.]
The starting center fielder, who'd glared daggers at me from pitch one, was done for the day with a finger injury after a single plate appearance.
[Noh In-seong — nine pitches, three strikeouts in one inning! The rookie has thrown an immaculate inning!]
[Wow. Four innings in the books and he's thrown just thirty-four pitches. At this rate, he can go deep into tonight's game, you know?]
[From the Busan hitters' standpoint, he IS throwing in the strike zone, so technically swinging is the correct play...]
Naturally, Park Tae-jung had never imagined his team would go four full innings without a single hit, five strikeouts included as a bonus. Good exhibition numbers? He'd assumed that just meant the kid had gotten his body ready early.
"Wow... so the old line about God giving him talent instead of a personality was actually true."
"Is that a compliment? Or a diss wearing a compliment's clothes?"
In-soo hyung, looking thoroughly pleased with life, chuckled as he got ready for his at-bat in the fifth.
Right. The man did hit a home run, and the team was winning. Of course he was happy. It was already 4-0, and we'd barely spent any pitches getting there.
"Honestly, a big part of why I'm pitching well today is that these guys have never seen my stuff before."
"They were swinging way out in front all day. Like they had zero intention of actually seeing the ball."
No idea whose brainchild that was. But just like in the exhibition interview, I was a pitcher attacking the strike zone aggressively.
Maybe that was what they'd told themselves going in.
"...Then should I just pound modified fastballs to build the count and finish them off with the breaking stuff?"
"Yeah. We kept pumping the zone for a full trip through the order anyway."
The rest would fold on their own. My arm still had plenty of life in it.
In-soo hyung grinned, lifted his bat, and strode toward the plate.
Is this really the same man who, two days ago, had treated the batter's box like an executioner's platform? I almost feel petty for ever doubting him.
My day at the plate had been two scratch singles — nutritionally empty as a hitter. But as a pitcher? An all-you-can-eat feast.
I could see the opponents suffering, plain as day. Their manager in particular seemed to have lost the ability to hold a poker face.
— Pinch hitter. Batting first, center field. Kim Taek-gyu.
They'd already burned a pinch hitter before two outs this inning, and now they were sending up three pinch hitters in a row within a single frame.
It was the seventh. They must feel that if they didn't scratch out a run soon, there'd be nothing left to scratch with. It was still 4-0, after all.
The guy traded away during spring camp. So his name was Kim Taek-gyu.
Whoa there. What is that batting stance? For a professional ballplayer, he's not even that big, yet he's crouched up in a ball, practically glued to home plate.
Let me guess — the plan is to take one off the body and walk to first?
'Up and in, any fastball. Hardest one you've got.'
In-soo hyung, an eight-year veteran finally rounding into his prime, immediately sent the sign — let's gift this freeloader a rapid course of treatment.
[First pitch... ooh! Up and in! The batter is thoroughly rattled.]
[Although, to be fair — he did crowd him at 158 kilometers per hour... but the ball actually just missed the strike zone.]
[Exactly. Crowding the plate like that to hunt outside pitches is one thing, but you can absolutely get plunked doing it.]
Whoa there — his face flushed a little, and then he crowded the plate again. Right, right. So he's thinking, there's no way this guy hits me.
[Second pitch. Up and in again! And this time — a razor-thin strike!]
[Complaining to the umpire, "is THAT a strike?" is completely pointless! It's been ages since the ABS system took over the strike zone!]
But honestly, this gentleman's single biggest problem isn't the way he stands leaning into the strike zone.
It's that during his load, his front leg keeps drifting in and out of the zone before he swings — that's what's wrecking him.
[Third pitch. Ah — that's an awfully slow ball. Is that an eephus?]
[Fifty-six kilometers per hour. Yes, an eephus. Right down the middle of the plate. He never even thought about swinging. Two strikes.]
[Fourth pitch! Ah! He got hit! Right on the foot!]
[Ah... he looks to be in real pain... that's the second Marines player today to... huh? Noh In-seong? Where are you going?]
[Ah! Umpire! Call it a strike! Was it in there!? The ball hit his foot while his foot was IN the zone!]
[It appears he's arguing that his body was inside the strike zone when the ball struck him... Ah! Manager Park Tae-jung! He's charging out of the dugout!]
And so, with Park Tae-jung getting himself ejected — eyes blazing, howling his protest — my work for the day came to an end.
I could have thrown more, but that lunatic screaming like a madman gave my arm plenty of time to go completely cold.
"Wow. First time back out there since the trade."
"You'll handle it fine. I'll put my faith in you and go take my shower."
"You know what they say? Nobody knows a pitcher like a former teammate does."
Grinning — no wonder guys change their autograph the moment they get traded, huh — the pitcher jogged up to the mound.
Kim Jin-hong, who hadn't seen a single inning of action in the first two games of the season, took the ball for two, and just like that, my first career start was over.
I came out toweling my hair dry with a sports towel, and everyone was already slowly packing up to head out.
Wow, that wrapped up fast. I was literally mid-thought — early clock-out today, and for my first start, maybe I'll treat myself to some fresh jokbal — when it happened.
"Noh In-seong, you're up for the interview."
Ah. Right. I did throw seven scoreless innings, didn't I.
— BOOOOOOOO...!!
— You trash, you didn't even apologize after plunking our guy--!!
[Yes, we now go down to our field reporter, Joo So-young?]
"Yes, this is Joo So-young. Tonight's season opener between the Busan Marines and the Seoul Doubles — and your player of the game, Noh In-seong!"
"Yes. Noh In-seong here. Nice to see you on the broadcast again after yesterday."
A light greeting with the eyes. Well, she's the only one willing to stand in front of me, so the least I can do is give her some good copy.
"Yes... today was your first career start. We'd love to hear your impressions."
"You pitch when you're told to pitch. I wasn't even supposed to start today — In-woo hyung had some business come up this morning."
— BOOOOOO...!!
— You lousy son of a bitch!
"So the manager decided to just cycle through all his starters... aigo, why is it so noisy over there?"
"...Yes... yes?!"
I swung my wireless mic toward the away stands.
"What exactly were you expecting? Were you praying I'd get hammered like a good little rookie and receive the hot baptism of professional baseball?"
Ridiculous people. Did they even glance at the exhibition stats?
"Your manager over here barked orders at the opposing starting pitcher — 'get over here' — before the game, never mind whether the man had finished his preparation."
"What was that? 'Trash who plunked a batter and didn't apologize'? If you're shoving your foot into the strike zone, shouldn't you be prepared to have something break?"
"Get a grip! If your baseball eyes don't work, at least try judging things correctly!"
The jeering only grew louder, and quite a few people started throwing things.
"The fastest way for any of you to be smiling at the end of this season is simple — go root for the team next door!"
"Go follow them to Changwon, or hey, you're on the road anyway — buy my replica jersey, put it on, and cheer for ME! Otherwise, get out of my sight!"
And yet a good number of them had gone silent at my words — which told you exactly where the public mood actually stood.
"We are challenging for the championship again this year! You people will be running your little 'extra training camp' in the fall again, on your way to flipping the team bus!"
"Don't forget what those soccer players said! Listen to the little child inside your chest! And if it feels hopeless — hey, at least defect and join a winner!"
I'm a problem child no matter what. If I'm talking at this volume, that's the fault of whoever decided to stick a microphone in my face.
"Pull yourselves together. Dead last last year. Forget a retool — you people have never once pulled off a proper rebuild in your entire existence, you middling nonentities."
The next morning. I was fined another one million won. What exactly was the problem?
Damn it. So much for Patton being a great man. Although, come to think of it, I did hear the guy was a lunatic...
Ah, damn it all. My precious paycheck.