Chapter 87
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: National Team VS Australia (1)
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[Hello, viewers. South Korea versus Australia, Australia versus South Korea. The opening game of WBC Pool B, coming to you live from Tokyo Dome. I'm your caster Lee Cheol-woo, joined by analysts Lee Sang-hyun and Kim Jong-gun.]
[Hello, I'm Lee Sang-hyun.]
[Hello, I'm Kim Jong-gun.]
[This is the tournament that baseball fans everywhere have been waiting for—the World Baseball Classic. The whole nation is buzzing with anticipation, right?]
[Absolutely. The soccer national team made it to the round of 16 at the Qatar World Cup and brought so much joy to the people. I hope our baseball team can put on a similarly thrilling show.]
[The Qatar World Cup was truly emotional, wasn't it?]
[It sure was. This Korean team is being called the strongest ever, so like our soccer stars, I hope they rack up great results and return home in glory.]
[You mentioned it's the strongest ever. How does this team's lineup compare to the one that won gold at the 2008 Beijing Olympics? Over to you, Kim Jong-gun.]
[The 2008 Olympic team was undeniably powerful. We had Joo Hyung-jin lighting it up in the majors, Sung Hyun who debuted in 2006 and claimed back-to-back Triple Crowns and MVPs, all-time great catcher Lee Ki-cheol, Woo Kwan-hyung who posted 150 hits and 20 homers for four straight years back then, plus rookies blooming like Kang Han-beom and Lee Jin-hong. It was a stacked roster. But this year's team edges them out just a bit.]
[What makes the difference? Lee Sang-hyun?]
[For starters, we have way more players with MLB experience than back then. Excluding current big-leaguers like Sung Hyun, Jung Woo-sung, and Choi Joo-tae, guys like Ki Sang-ju and Kang Han-beom played in the majors until last year. Lee Jin-hong's the kind of talent who could break into MLB anytime if not for injuries—he shook off back-to-back injury-plagued seasons and snagged Golden Gloves two years running. Plus, we've got a deep pitching staff.]
[But doesn't that mean the U.S. and Japan teams are loaded with stars too?]
[Exactly why this World Baseball Classic is shaping up to be such a spectacle. Every nation's going all-in with their best. And with Korea fielding an all-time great squad, it's edge-of-your-seat stuff. As a fan more than an analyst, I can't wait to see how it unfolds.]
[Right. For Korea to come out on top, they need to snag this first one, yeah?]
[Spot on. Australia's no pushover, but objectively, their firepower falls short of ours. This is a must-win, and as the saying goes, 'Get the first button right.' I'm hoping for a strong start in game one.]
[Then let's get it underway—Korea's first pitch of the tournament against the Australia national team. Top of the first, Australia batting. Korea's opening starter is lefty ace Choi Jung-hoon of the Hyunseong Mad Cats. He posted 14 wins and a 3.15 ERA last season.]
"Play ball!"
The umpire's call rang out, and Australia's ace pitcher Laim Hendrix zeroed in on his catcher's sign. Australia had gone down 1-2-3 in the top of the first, so Hendrix was itching to seize the momentum.
'Laim, keep the first one light.'
'Got it.'
Laim Hendrix of the Chicago White Sox—a reliever who started his career as a starter before blooming into an elite closer. He'd won the Rola Award—given only to the best closers—twice, a battle-hardened MLB veteran.
'Light fastball inside, Laim.'
'Got it.'
His arsenal: a heavy 98-mph (157 km/h) fastball, a curve dropping 12 mph, and an 89-mph slider. As a closer, he lived on fastballs, but today was different. Starting meant eating innings.
Thwack!
The white ball rocketed from Hendrix's hand, zipping past home plate in a blink and smacking the mitt with a crisp pop. The radar gun flashed 149.6 km/h—not quite his closer velocity.
"Ball."
'Tch, ball, huh. As expected from Choi. He lays off pitches like that?'
Choi Joo-tae, Angels shortstop. Debuting in 2019, he'd hit .300 for four straight seasons—a precise hitter. Even for one of the AL's top closers like Hendrix, Joo-tae was a tough out.
'But I saw that coming.'
Their primes had overlapped, so Hendrix knew Joo-tae wouldn't chase that pitch. If he had, Hendrix would've been disappointed.
'Korea's only real threat. Get past Choi, and it's smooth sailing. Slider for number two.'
Hendrix's second pitch against the contact-savvy Joo-tae: slider. Sloppy stuff wouldn't fool him. Needed something that kissed the zone—like a slider.
'Got it. Bring it on.'
Hendrix took a deep breath, went into his windup. "Hup!" His grunt echoed as the 89-mph slider bellied toward the zone.
"Strike!"
'Tch. Way too good. Hendrix living up to the hype.'
Joo-tae swallowed a groan. The break was nasty.
'This'll give the other guys fits.'
Leadoff hitter's job: see as many pitches as possible. Video helps, but nothing beats live looks—for the guys behind you.
'But that's not gonna cut it.'
Standing there just to watch slowed your bat. The fastball was pedestrian for a starter's pace, but that off-speed was tricky. Joo-tae shelved leadoff duty for his own swing.
'Seen the fastball and slider. Curve—the out pitch—is MIA. Ball four's risky. Time to hunt.'
And right on cue, the familiar Korean cheer chant filled his ears.
'Fans traveled all the way here chanting for me. Gotta deliver this at-bat.'
He refocused on the mound; the cheers faded, leaving just pitcher and batter. Locked in, Joo-tae timed for heat and glared at Hendrix. Eyes met. Third pitch incoming.
"Hup!"
'Here it comes!'
Batter syncing to the pitch, pitcher disrupting the timing—the ball flew home, bat met ball.
Crack!
"Shit!"
"Fuckin' yeah--!!"
Hendrix whooped, pumping his fist. Known for his fire in the majors, he celebrated processing leadoff man Joo-tae on a routine pop fly. The national team stakes made it understandable.
"Hyung, how's the stuff?"
"Like the video, but fastball's down. Starter pace, varying velocity. Off-speed feels similar, though."
"Roger."
Joo-tae passed intel to the next hitter, Joo Seung-cheol, then headed to the dugout.
'Seung-cheol can tag him.'
Others? Maybe not. But Seung-cheol? Trust. Plenty of ex-MLB guys, but Ki Sang-ju flamed out, Kang Han-beom tailed off last year.
Ex-big leaguers or not, hammering a top-five closer like Hendrix? Tall order.
But Joo Seung-cheol was different. Why he never went MLB was the mystery. Son of legend Joo Hyung-jin, joined Jamsil 30-30 club as a rookie, two straight Golden Gloves—a monster.
'We'll see him in the majors someday.'
Joo-tae handed off leadoff duties and entered the dugout, abuzz with Seung-cheol cheers.
"Cheol-ah! One blast!"
"Seung-cheol! Can't hit, you're dead!"
"Hyung! Smash one!"
And the guy you couldn't quite trust—but no MLB vet knew him either. Ji Maeng-ho.
"Hm... MLB ain't shit, huh? 150? Pfft, smashable."
Confidence from God-knows-where.
'Kinda get it... kinda not.'
Joo-tae's eyes on Maeng-ho these past days: Asian Games-level physique, Trout/Ohtani-tier build. But that swagger? Unprecedented.
No pro games under his belt, yet this poise.
And weirder: his headspace. Zero respect for seniors—Korean baseball sacrilege. Jin-mo hyung's story left him stunned for a minute. Iron Young's interview clip nearly dropped his jaw.
Okay, rude? Happens. But his questions?
—"Hyung, you're buddies with Ohtani, right?"
—"So?"
—"Ever hear him talk about seeing ghosts or zoning out alone?"
—"What kinda bullshit is that?"
—"Just curious. No? Cool. Impressive guy."
Ghosts? Random as hell. Normal Ohtani Qs: routines, hitting philosophy, swing mechanics. Or girls he dates. Human stuff.
Maeng-ho's? Nonsensical. First time hearing anything like it.
'Weird dude.'
But training? Diligent. Thanks to Ki Sang-ju maybe, but solid. Scrimmage chops were legit—elite bat speed from that physique, crushing fastballs and breakers alike.
'Mysterious. Looks like he swings at everything, no zone... but squares it up like a ghost.'
Hitters fell into two camps: guess-hitters playing mind games, power guys reacting. Maeng-ho? Neither.
'Definitely not either type.'
Joo-tae, chats with MLB studs under his belt, was sure.
Too timed for fastballs to guess; too dialed on breaking balls to purely react.
'What the hell is this guy?'
Crowd roar snapped him out.
Joo Seung-cheol's chant followed.
'That's my Seung-cheol.'
"Cheol-ah! Nailed it!"
Bottom of the first: one out, momentum seized as Joo Seung-cheol reached base.