Chapter 41
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Do Even MLB Umpires Have Boomer Attitudes? (2)
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“Maeng-ho! Hold it in!”
“Huh? Hold what in? It was out, so I was heading back.”
The moment I heard the out call, blood rushed to my head, but I cooled off quick. Why? Because I could settle the score on defense. Just you wait, you first-base ump prick!
“Tough break. Stay focused out there, Maeng-ho.”
“What can you do? No video review here.”
We were losing this game anyway. My error wouldn't swing it much.
“Sunbae, here's your glove.”
I slipped on the glove the junior handed me and headed back to the field. Come on just once to my side, you bastards.
“Man, this one's gonna be tough. Hwiyun High came prepared.”
“Prepared? Throwing strikes is 'prepared'?”
“That's what good prep looks like. If it were me, I'd have battled it out.”
“Yeah, toss some good ones my way in the pros too.”
Won-ho came in mid-game and shut them down for 2.1 scoreless innings, but it couldn't erase the shadows of defeat. By the end of the eighth, it was 9-3. After my second at-bat, I walked every time, so the game was slipping away before I could even swing.
‘You pissed off a bit?’
‘Of course. I'm human too.’
No one likes losing. Especially athletes. They thought I didn't care about wins and losses, but now that we were on the wrong end, irritation boiled up. Fine in group play, but dropping in tournament? Made me wanna smash everything. Especially that first-base ump asshole.
‘Heh, if you'd cleared the fences on that pitch, none of this.’
‘Sigh, yeah. Should've crushed it.’
As I berated myself for whiffing that pitch, the coach approached.
“Maeng-ho. Want a sub? Doubt you'll bat again anyway.”
“No, sir. I'll play it out.”
Even if we lost, I still had business. Revenge. Hwiyun hadn't sent anything my way yet, but we had one more defensive half-inning.
Thwack!
I grabbed my glove eyeing the pop fly to the infield.
‘Rosby, how do you throw without tipping it off?’
‘Beats me. Never tried that crap.’
‘Heh, something even you haven't done. Feels kinda good.’
‘No sportsmanship at all, punk.’
‘Sportsmanship? That sweet stuff still around? Why, you hate it?’
‘Nah, just bummed I didn't think of it. Heh, not bad brains for a monkey.’
Rosby chuckled like it amused him. A laugh full of thrill at seeing something new after over a century in baseball. Hearing it made me grin too.
Crack!
“Short!”
Hwiyun's leadoff in the ninth topped a high fly behind the mound. Tch. Roll a grounder, damn it!
The shortstop handled it easy. Two outs left.
“Seong-hyun! Send one my way!”
“Got it, sunbae!”
Next up was a lefty. If Seong-hyun jammed him inside, it'd pull right to me. And this guy's fast, so a bad throw wouldn't look off.
Pitcher went into the windup. I tensed my legs, eyes locked on the ball leaving his hand.
Crack!
‘Shit, it's high!’
It was coming my way, but the hop looked like it'd sail over my head. I jumped, stretching the glove.
‘Please! Get there!’
A desperate prayer, more than ever! It worked—the ball tipped the tip of my glove. Ungh, I rolled once and scanned for it on the ground.
‘Left!’
Rosby's shout—I whipped left and scooped the loose ball.
“Don't throw!”
First baseman's frantic yell. Whatever. I ignored him, spotting the ump a few meters off the bag.
‘Die...!’
“...raht!”
I hurled it hard at the first-base ump. Perfect line drive—fast, heavy, right where I wanted.
“Ack!”
Thud!
Strike? Damn, aimed for the face but he blocked with his arm.
“You okay?”
“I said don't throw!”
Ignoring the first baseman, I bolted to the ump clutching his arm. Hurt the same either way. Needed to see that face to vent.
“Sorry. You alright?”
His grimace from the pain was gold. Serves you right. Why not call it fair then? I masked my thoughts with a super-sorry look.
‘Rosby, how's my face?’
‘Heh, actor material. How do you switch to guilty that fast?’
‘Daily acting. Wore this face freshman and sophomore year.’
Sleeve hid the swelling, but solid revenge? Too bad I missed the head.
“I'm fi... ngh.”
“Aigoo, he just switched to second recently. Sorry about that. Maeng-ho! What're you doing? Apologize properly.”
“Sorry. Uh, batter was so fast...”
“Ngh, it's fine. Happens in games.”
Oh, adult mercy? Loved his pained endurance face in front of the kids!
Planned another toss next time, but he'd take this as enough.
‘Still, let's not meet often. Might bean your skull if games go south.’
“Maeng-ho, you good? No elbow flaring up?”
“All good, Coach. I can go!”
“He was a shortstop originally, elbow issues. Really sorry.”
I stifled a laugh, bowing apology again. Ump bought it clueless. Trainer came, pulled the sleeve—bruise already swelling on his forearm.
‘Tch, shoulda thought of this in my day. Mighta cracked a few ump skulls to smarten 'em up.’
‘Remember it next life. Judge education method, by Ji Maeng-ho.’
‘Kuhahaha, crazy bastard.’
Baseball's a sport hurling hard balls at insane speeds—incidents like this were routine. Short break, then resumed. We nabbed the outs but couldn't claw back six runs. Hwiyun won.
“Haa, some days are like this. Prep hard for Phoenix Cup, win it again.”
“Yes!”
“Sniff, got it.”
Fired-up guys, criers, silent starers. Everyone coping with loss their way.
“Hey, you do that on purpose?”
Watching the defeated as Won-ho approached. As first-round pick material, he felt the sting less like me.
“Do what?”
“Nailing the ump.”
“Crazy? That's pitcher control—why bat then?”
Sharp guy... But true. Aimed head, hit arm—not pro control.
“Fair. Ha, President's Cup over like this.”
“Bummed?”
“Kinda, but saved my arm too. Mixed feelings. Phoenix next? Then rookie draft, then pros for us?”
“Really bummed, huh. Hey, you got an extra year of fun.”
“Fun? No repeat, I'd be tearing up pros now.”
Like he said, most from last Youth Baseball World Cup were pros now. Seemed like gods then, chumps now. Bitter taste.
“With your skills? Yeah right.”
Shook it off, jabbed back.
“Oho, batting practice boy Ji Maeng-ho talking big?”
“Always been taller, kid.”
“Hahaha, what? Still under 190?”
“Infielder height ain't everything.”
“Hyungs seem chill.”
As we bantered, the third-year starter who'd bombed today chimed in. Not great seeing him sulk after tanking.
“Ah, sorry.”
Won-ho apologized. I didn't. Why? Not sorry!
To me, it was 'Why's this guy bitching?’ Even dominating high school ball, no early lead meant no heavy shadowing.
“Then pitch better next time? Tsk, gotta work for that draft spot.”
“Ji Maeng-ho!”
“What? I wrong? Hey! Won-ho two scoreless, me on three times—can't we laugh a bit post-game?”
No homer, but beat the pitchers.
“Must be nice. Good at baseball.”
Funny prick. Mocked me as BP pitcher, now plays victim. Wanna deck him.
“Then git gud? Ah, college possible at your level—no worries.”
“Hyung!”
“Real talk: without me, we'd even be in President's Cup? I got us in, you blew it.”
Unlike weekend league, President's Cup needed top-three regional finish. No me, probably out.
“……”
He knew, so shut up finally.
“Enough, Maeng-ho.”
“Lighten up, punk. Who'd think I'm bullying you? Times changed, but I'm still older, right? They'd think you're senior. Huh? Sunbaenim!”
“Stop, Maeng-ho. Enough.”
Wanna roast more, but Won-ho nagging, coaches watching—quit.
Awkward vibes, we boarded the bus home.
“Dude, what'd you say? Chang-hoon wanted to shine too.”
“Then shine.”
“Can't win 'em all.”
“Still got starter shot? I toughed BP.”
“...Sigh. No school violence worries? Kid got drafted out last year over it.”
“Violence? After three years ignored, time to drag y'all to committee.”
“Pfft, moron. Why not sooner?”
Chatting with Won-ho, my returned phone buzzed. Huh?
-Pilates Instructor Yoo Jo-eun: Not coming today? Been calling, no answer.
Right! Pilates day. Forgot game, didn't tell. Missed calls galore. Texted sorry, game tied me up.
“Who?”
“Ah, Pilates coach. Forgot to say about game.”
“Damn, corp perks nice. Pilates too.”
“Silla got none?”
“Hell no? Big club, but seniors say no Pocari even.”
“No way pros that strict?”
“Sigh. Hitting it today?”
“Post-game workout okay?”
“Think cooldown. Pilates ain't brutal.”
“True.”
Made sense. Plus, felt bad ditching after Chun So-young hooked it up. Texted quick.
-Me: Private lesson possible? Sorry again, game.
-Pilates Instructor Yoo Jo-eun: Yeah, paid, feels off. Dinner after, time?
-Me: Sure. Post-dinner okay?
-Pilates Instructor Yoo Jo-eun: 8ish at center.
3pm now—review, rest, dinner, good.
‘That chick's body's fire though.’
‘Yeah, Pilates tone? Firm, killer curves.’
C-cups? Hips and lifted ass slayed. Not athlete-tight, but hot view. Cute face too.
Ah, wanna fuck her.
‘Monkey holding back for once?’
‘Not some rapist banging anything.’
‘Tsk, volleyball girl's crying.’
‘Huh? Consensual with her. She'd say no if not.’
‘True, her face screams masochist. Heh heh.’
How'd Rosby spot Hyun-ah's maso vibe from looks?
‘Fill an AL roster with my lays. Grind, you could too.’
Confidence and pride oozed. Hitting .400 less impressive.
Truly, Mr. Rosby. I'll strive to be like you!