The Korean Chipper Jones (2)

Lee Seonho, taking the mound as the starting pitcher for the Sangmu Phoenix, swallowed a flicker of disappointment as he checked the opposing lineup card. Yoo Seonghyun's name was nowhere to be found.

I know he'd be a nightmare to pitch against, but still... it's a shame.

Seonghyun was a batter who had dropped out of nowhere during preseason exhibition games, bombarding pitchers before bureaucratic regulations forced him to bide his time down in the Futures League. His impact had been so explosive that nicknames were already piling up by the handful.

From ridiculous fan creations like "Meteor Blast" to "The Korean Chipper Jones."

A baseball YouTuber had coined the latter moniker, and it caught on so well that even televised broadcast crews began referring to him by it during live coverage.

Chipper Jones—widely revered as one of the greatest switch-hitters in Major League history. Sharing the exact same hot-corner position at third base, the comparison felt tailor-made.

There was, of course, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠active legend José Ramírez—another switch-hitting third baseman—but his compact frame didn't fit the image at all. Seonghyun, after all, stood an imposing 198 centimeters tall.

At any rate, the raw ability he had displayed during the preseason was nothing short of shocking. He was the textbook definition of a five-tool player.

Contact, power, fielding, base running, and arm strength.

Yet in Seonho's eyes, Seonghyun's greatest asset was his plate discipline. In a sense, he was a six-tool player. Standing at a colossal 198 centimeters put him at a distinct disadvantage under the automated ball-strike system's expanded strike zone, yet he almost never chased outside pitches.

On top of that, backed into a two-strike count, he could spoil borderline pitches clipping the edges of the ABS zone with supernatural precision. No matter how enticing the bait, he simply refused to bite.

Commentators had gone so far as to marvel whether he could actually see every single revolution of the baseball. So missing out on him today felt like a genuine waste. A chance to face a hitter of that caliber almost never came around down here in the second tier.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Just noticed that kid from your team isn't in the lineup today. Bit of a bummer."

"What, wanted to face him?"

"Getting shelled down here sounds a lot better than getting shelled in the first team."

"If that's the case, could you please just throw the ball inside the strike zone?"

"Hey, it's not as easy as it looks."

"Oh yeah? You wanna squat back here and catch triple-digit heaters spraying in every random direction?"

"Pass."

Sangmu's catcher, Cha Sehoon, chimed in as he tossed the ball back, continuing the banter.

"Still..." Sehoon continued, "he really is a freak of nature. How does a guy take three years off baseball and come back playing like that? Heard he used to be a pitcher, too."

"Right? Wonder if he's any good on the mound."

"Probably gave up baseball because he sucked as a pitcher. He's a hitter now anyway. Why, feeling competitive?"

"Competitive? Nah. Just fascinating to talk about."

He and Cha Sehoon were the same age and quite close. Though they hadn't attended the same high school or played for the same club, they had entered the draft in the same class and enlisted in Sangmu at the exact same time.

"Come to think of it, you're a Titan," Seonho noted. "Isn't he your junior?"

"Well, technically, yeah... He's three years younger, but he doesn't feel like a junior at all. Besides, I've been stuck here in Sangmu, so I haven't even had the chance to say hello."

"True. He does look pretty seasoned."

Lacking the baby fat typical of a teenager, his permanently deadpan expression only exaggerated that mature aura.

"Still, we're both getting discharged in June. Aren't you heading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠straight to the first team?"

"Probably. Mingyun-sunbae is still batting in the low .100s."

"Let's get ready! We're up to bat!"

"Yes, sir!"

Play ball.

Mm, perfect baseball weather at last. One o'clock on an early April afternoon. About eighteen degrees Celsius, low humidity.

"You checked the trajectory on the Traject Arc, right?"

"The fastball looked like it had some rise to it..."

"Four-seamer, not just a generic fastball. When spin rates hover around 2,400 RPM, it can give the illusion of rising. But he'll probably dial it back against you, so expect mid-140s with around 2,000 RPM."

I gave a quick one-point lesson to Jaehyung, who was slotted in as today's starting catcher and ninth batter.

"So, sit on the four-seam timing?"

"If a pitcher's average four-seam velocity sits in the high 140s, you have to time your swing to that, no questions asked."

The reason hitters time their swings to the four-seam fastball is simple: for a pitcher, it's the easiest pitch to control, making it their default weapon.

Of course, that very fact was why four-seamer usage had been steadily declining in Major League Baseball. A pitcher's most frequent offering is, by definition, the pitch batters see the most.

That sparked the rise of cut fastballs and sinkers—pitches trading two to three miles per hour in velocity for movement designed to evade the barrel.

Even with eyes like mine, capable of distinguishing off-speed pitches like changeups and splitters by their spin rates, cutters and sinkers were nearly impossible to tell apart out of the hand. A cutter's RPM barely differs from a four-seamer, and a sinker's spin rate only diverges by two to three hundred RPM—well beyond the limits of human perception.

Even my extraordinary vision needed a differential of five to six hundred RPM to pick up the difference. Once that scouting report got out on me, pitchers practically stopped throwing off-speed pitches altogether.

My batting average against changeups had been hovering around .600, if I recalled correctly. At any rate...

"So, what pitch do you need to be most cautious of?"

"Probably the slider?"

"Bingo."

"But you said sliders are tough to tell apart."

"That goes for every hitter on the planet. Keep it simple. Does it sweep sideways, travel on a straight line, or dive down? Just read that and swing. A batter's job is seeing the ball and hitting the ball."

Baseball, fundamentally, tilts in the pitcher's favor. They dictate the delivery.

"Besides, if the slider doesn't have sharp break, swinging on four-seam timing will still make decent contact. Just find a way to put wood on it."

"Really?"

"We went through this during our special drills and you've already forgotten? Sigh..."

"I was busy memorizing all that sabermetrics stuff..."

This is why a guy needs brains. Granted, if you possess overwhelming physical tools, thinking becomes optional. Milwaukee's Misiorowski was the textbook example. The man threw mostly four-seamers.

Wait, didn't you just say four-seamers are thrown the most, so batters see them the most and usage is dropping?

His four-seamer averaged roughly 160 km/h—around a hundred miles an hour. Ramping up, he breezed past 165 km/h with ease, topping out near 170. What's more, he generated over 2,500 RPM even with MLB's notoriously slick official ball. An absolute monster.

With that kind of arm talent, you could literally overpower batters on sheer physical mass alone. Zero brainpower required. Though, since it was the Big Leagues, where freaks could still launch triple-digit heat over the fence, he did have to pick his spots and pitch smartly on occasion.

If Misiorowski came to the KBO, would he need to think? Not in the slightest. He’d effortlessly post an ERA in the zeroes or low ones.

Factor in the KBO ball, which generates significantly higher spin, and his average RPM would sit somewhere between 2,700 and 2,800... At that point, could anyone actually touch a heater piped down the heart of the plate? Honestly, I doubted it.

"So, sit on the four-seam timing, but since the velocity gap with the slider isn't huge, foul it off if possible?"

"Exactly. His average four-seam velocity is in the high 140s, so that's the benchmark you have to match."

"Easier said than done."

"That's baseball. Shouldn't you be heading out?"

"Ah, right!"

Top of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first inning, Sangmu's turn to bat.

The starter taking the mound for us was Hyun Gyumin, last year's number one overall draft pick. The very same southpaw who had sprayed wild balls during the intrasquad scrimmage. A high school graduate the same age as Jaehyung and me.

After taking his fair share of beatings during exhibition games, he’d been assigned to the Futures League to start the year. Following several sit-downs with the pitching coach, he’d stabilized quite a bit.

If they tempered and polished him like this for another year or two, he had the raw materials to become a premier pitcher. Maybe not MLB caliber, but good enough to reach NPB?

Unfortunately, Sangmu's lineup was a bit too lethal for the kid to handle right now. One out, runners on first and third. Then a four-pitch walk to the cleanup hitter loaded the bases with one away.

"Gyumin-ah! Relax! It's not like this is a first-team game!"

Jaehyung bellowed at the top of his lungs, but the kid's face had gone pale. Tsk tsk. A rookie straight out of high school showing so little grit.

Once your composure cracked and exposed a weakness, opponents pounced, tearing into you without mercy. That was the professional world. Did the scouting department draft him without vetting his mental fortitude?

His physical frame was solid, and his baseline four-seamer possessed genuine weight, touching up to 151 km/h. For an eighteen-year-old rookie, once his body matured and he built more power, he could easily push his top speed into the high 150s.

I could see why every single KBO club had salivated over him. Tsk. In the end, Park Jaehyung trotted out toward the mound.

Today's game was going to be a bumpy ride.

"Oh? What did you say to him?"

"Huh? Nothing much."

"The guy suddenly pounded the strike zone. What did you tell him?"

"I just told him to get the hell out."

"...What?"

"A pitcher throwing like that is completely useless for the Titans' championship roadmap anyway. So I told him to just piss off and find another line of work. Said if he's going to switch careers, he better start looking now..."

"You what?"

This absolute maniac. Instead of calming the pitcher down, the catcher had straight-up rammed him head-on?

"You're truly cut out to be a pitcher."

"Didn't you say our team doesn't have any catchers?"

"Look at Sangmu's catcher over there. Cha Sehoon belongs to our club. He gets discharged in June. You saw his career numbers with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sangmu."

"Oops."