Spring Training (Part 3)

Even after the first- and second-string squads merged, day-to-day camp life remained largely the same. There were good reasons the first-teamers were on the first team, just as there were obvious reasons the second-teamers were stuck on the reserve squad. Though frankly speaking, through my eyes, the gap between them wasn't all that vast.

Meanwhile, the three of us—occupying the murky purgatory of developmental players who belonged to neither roster—naturally ended up sticking together everywhere we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went. There were other developmental contract players already with the Titans, of course, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but birds of a feather flock together.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Man... the exit velocity off their bats is on another level entirely," Kanghyuk-hyung muttered, his eyes glued to the first-team batting cage.

"If you build up your conditioning just a bit more, hyung-nim, you'll see a massive difference in your own contact."

"I don't know, man... I'm pretty short to begin with. Hitting home runs is probably out of the question for a guy my size, right?"

"Not at all. You have unusually thick forearms, which gives you plenty of wrist snap. Catch a ball squarely on the sweet spot, and it'll clear the fence with room to spare."

"You really think so...?"

"Have I ever steered you wrong? You followed my advice at the tryout and made the cut, didn't you? That's why you're standing here right now."

"W-Well, fair point."

Kanghyuk-hyung had solid fundamentals, but he was crippled by an agonizing lack of confidence and fragile mental fortitude—a fatal defect in professional sports. There was a reason people said athletics were eighty percent momentum and psychology. In the end, the game was played by living, breathing human beings, not machines. While raw talent was mandatory to turn pro in the first place, surviving in the league came down almost entirely to mental grit. Watching him second-guess every breath was enough to make anyone sigh.

In baseball, and particularly for power hitters, talent manifested as wrist snap, and wrist snap was governed entirely by the forearms. Forearm muscle mass was much like calf density—it was largely predetermined at the genetic level. Kanghyuk-hyung happened to be blessed with remarkably thick forearms. Who cared if his frame was slightly compact? Provided a batter had explosive wrist whip, barreling up a pitch would send it sailing over the wall regardless.

"Ugh, that pitching coach is relentless..."

Kihyun-hyung trudged over, shaking his right arm with a grimace. I turned toward him. "You mean the Japanese pitching coach? What did he get on you about?"

"He keeps harping on keeping my release point consistent. Said my arm slot creeps too high whenever I throw the splitter and told me I need to unify my arm angle across all my pitches."

"That's excellent advice."

"It's easy enough to match between my four-seamer and cutter, but keeping that same angle on a splitter feels unnatural as hell."

"You still have to master it if you want to get called up to the first team."

"True enough. Can't survive on just a four-seamer, cutter, and slider forever."

"By the way, hyung," I said, leaning in slightly, "your slider has a pretty unusual trajectory, doesn't it?"

His eyes went wide. "H-How did you know that?"

"I was watching you closely during the tryouts."

"I actually wanted to throw a modern sweeper, but my hand just wouldn't do what I wanted."

"Still, with so many left-handed bats in the KBO, wouldn't that strange movement actually work in your favor?"

"Well, there is that."

Kihyun-hyung's slider was genuinely peculiar. The moment it left his fingertips, it rose ever so slightly like a high curveball before plummeting down and biting hard toward the inside corner of right-handed hitters. Looking at his grip, it was a textbook slider, yet its flight path resembled a heavy circle changeup.

"When you're facing lefties, it might be better if you set up on the far left side of the pitching rubber before delivering," I suggested casually.

Kihyun-hyung froze, staring at me blankly. "Seonghyun... did you know you just repeated the exact words the pitching coach told me five minutes ago...?"

"Ahem."

Damn it, my mouth had run ahead of me again. This was all Park Jaehyung's fault. Back in high school, he had blabbered endlessly about how miraculous my tips were, prompting the rest of the baseball team to demand advice from me until handing out mechanical critiques had become second nature.

"Anyway, the intrasquad game is tomorrow already," I said, steering the topic back to safety.

"You're in the starting lineup, right, Seonghyun?"

"Somehow ended up that way, yes."

"Go tear them apart. Play well enough for all three of us."

"I'm pretty sure you and Kanghyuk-hyung will get at least one chance off the bench," I offered. "Honestly speaking, the second-team roster doesn't look particularly sharp right now."

"You think so?"

"Take my word for it."

A broad grin spread across Kihyun-hyung's face. He had previously bounced between the first and second tiers of another franchise before being unceremoniously released following elbow surgery, cast aside simply because his rehabilitation was taking too long. Even so, he possessed a four-seamer sitting in the mid-140s, an inverted slider in the low 130s, a cutter pushing high 130s, and a splitter in the mid-130s. He was a genuinely capable arm. The catch was that when he was cut, he hadn't yet developed the cutter or the splitter.

His former team had tossed him out of the bullpen to get right-handed hitters out, only for his inverted slider to break straight into the sweet spots of pull hitters, who proceeded to hammer him into the dirt. He was a classic reverse-split pitcher who performed far better against lefties than same-handed batters.

More importantly, he was an arm who knew how to think on the mound. He had taught himself the cutter precisely because he needed a weapon to run away from right-handed bats. While an inverted break didn't automatically make a pitcher helpless against same-handed hitters, hanging that kind of trajectory against a righty looking to pull was asking for a souvenir in the bleachers.

"All right, you've all busted your asses so far!" the head coach shouted, clapping his hands together as the team gathered. "Even if you aren't listed in tomorrow's starting lineup, we intend to give every single player a shot during the game, so don't hang your heads!"

And just like that, the day of the intrasquad scrimmage arrived. They called it a Blue-and-White game, but in reality, it was an exhibition between the first-team active roster against the second team bolstered by us developmental players. The first-team roster had a strict thirty-man cap; combining the reserves and developmental contracts pushed the other dugout to nearly sixty players.

The real shocker, however, was Park Jaehyung. That fool had somehow snuck onto the first-team roster. How on earth did a dumpster fire of a catcher who couldn't even block a standard splitter make the top squad...?

Evening video calls with Eunha had become an indispensable routine. Now entering her seventh week of pregnancy, she was dealing with worsening morning sickness, and it tore at my chest that I couldn't be by her side. She looked like she had lost a little weight around her cheeks. I couldn't stop worrying.

"How is the morning sickness treating you today?"

"I'm hanging in there," she replied with a gentle smile on the screen. "Whenever I remind myself that it's all part of bringing our baby into the world, it doesn't feel hard at all! Besides, it's really not that bad."

There was no way it wasn't hard. My mother-in-law had already pulled me aside secretly to tell me that Eunha was suffering through some of the most severe nausea she had ever seen.

"Eunha."

"Hmm?"

"They broadcast almost every game once the official exhibition season starts. You can definitely look forward to that."

"Promise?"

"Of course. Who do you think your husband is?"

After wrapping up the call that never failed to brighten my day, I climbed back into bed in our shared room. Kanghyuk-hyung immediately let out a theatrical groan from the adjoining mattress.

"Ah, the absolute sorrow of it all... Some of us work ourselves half to death, only to sleep alone..."

"Hyung-nim, want me to set you up with one of my wife's friends?" I offered dryly.

"Wait, really?!"

"If you have time to daydream about dates, go take another fifty swings in the cage."

"You little punk! Wow, you're stone-cold, you know that?!"

"Single-since-birth virgins should keep their mouths shut and rest," Kihyun-hyung chimed in from across the room without looking up from his phone.

"Et tu, Kihyun-hyung?!"

With reactions that lively, how could anyone resist teasing him?

The following morning brought crisp air and blue skies—perfect weather for baseball. For our squad's lineup, I had been penciled in as the leadoff hitter and starting third baseman. The managerial intent was transparent. Currently, the Titans' everyday third base spot was wide open. The previous starter had departed via free agency, and though the front office had acquired an infield utility backup as compensation, that player was all glove and no bat—serviceable on defense, but an absolute black hole at the plate.

"Let's have a clean game," I said, tipping my helmet to the first-team coach handling home plate umpire duties before stepping toward the batter's box. I glanced down at Park Jaehyung, who was crouched behind the plate in full catching gear.

"Did you bother practicing your blocking at all?"

"Yeah. Ton of reps," Jaehyung grunted through his cage mask. "Watch yourself, though. Lucas is throwing straight heat today."

"Lucas?"

The name didn't ring any bells from my memories. Looking out at the mound, his face wasn't someone I had ever crossed paths with in the majors—a tall, strapping Caucasian pitcher who appeared remarkably young. An American import, judging by the profile. Let's see what kind of arm he has.

Since he was a right-handed pitcher, I settled into the left-handed batter's box and raised my bat into my stance.

Generally speaking, foreign pitchers in late February were still ramping up their conditioning. Their mechanics were unrefined, resulting in reduced velocity and lifeless movement. With the calendar still parked in the final week of February, that was only natural.

Even so, buddy... grooving a four-seamer dead center on the very first pitch?

CRACK!!

A pure, thunderous crack echoed across the field. Despite executing a violent, full-body swing, there was zero feedback in my hands—no vibration, no drag, just the sensation of swinging through thin air. I didn't even need to track its flight. The pitch had sat in the low 140s, entirely underwhelming for a foreign mercenary signed to anchor a rotation.

Without bothering to watch the ball clear the right-field fence, I laid my bat down smoothly and began an easy jog down the first-base line.

"Nephew, that swing was downright wicked!" Hwang Jaehun barked from the first-base bag, his thick Gyeongsang dialect booming over the quiet diamond.

"Better get ready to surrender that first-base spot, hyung-nim," I shot back with a smirk.

"Hah! Guess I'll have to put on a show myself today!"

After a quick exchange of banter with Jaehun-hyung, I trotted around the diamond and stepped on home plate. The dugouts were silent, filled with a mixture of shock and wariness from both first- and second-stringers. As I crossed back into our dugout, the developmental duo was waiting with wide eyes.

"Man, no matter how many times I see your left-handed stroke, it's a work of art," Kanghyuk-hyung marveled. "Did your bat speed get even faster? Should I try adopting your mechanics?"

"My batting form requires a taller frame to generate leverage, hyung. Your current swing is well-constructed as it is; why mess with it?"

"Keep this up, Seonghyun, and you're going to steal a starting roster spot for the exhibition games," Kihyun-hyung said, patting my shoulder.

"You need to earn one too, hyung."

The second-team veterans, on the other hand, glared in my direction with thinly veiled hostility. From their perspective, I was an uninvited catastrophe that had dropped out of nowhere. Roster spots in the first team were strictly zero-sum. I felt a slight twinge of sympathy, but I had a wife and child to feed. There was no room for mercy on a diamond.

Out on the mound, Lucas's face had turned beet red. He held his glove over his mouth, unleashing a muffled torrent of English that almost certainly began with an F and ended with a K.

"Whoa!"

Rattled after surrendering a first-pitch home run to a nameless developmental scrub, his next delivery flew wildly up and in, nearly taking the batter's head off. Ah... so he's one of those mental midgets, is he?

Pitchers were inherently high-strung creatures, but young ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arms in particular were notorious for having zero emotional control. Having bounced from the American minors to the peripheral KBO, his pride was already frayed raw. To top it off, he hadn't surrendered that blast to an MLB veteran like Hwang Jaehun or an established first-team slugger, but to an unheralded developmental player on the reserve squad. His fragile ego was shattering in real time.

"Ball four!"

After he missed the zone by feet to issue a four-pitch walk, the first-team pitching coach stepped out of the dugout, signaling a mound visit as Park Jaehyung trotted out.

"I'm sorry! Because my fault! My lead is bad!" Jaehyung hollered at the top of his lungs, flailing his catcher's mitt dramatically in broken Konglish.

That lunatic. He couldn't speak a lick of English, so what kind of gibberish was he spewing? His booming voice carried all the way to our dugout, making it nearly impossible to stifle my laughter.

"Wow... your classmate really is out of his mind, isn't he?" Kanghyuk-hyung muttered, rubbing his temples.

"I share the exact same sentiment..." I replied, shaking my head.

The scrimmage wrapped up in a lopsided 15-to-1 blowout. The first-team regulars proved why they held starting jobs. The second-team pitchers were just as raw and unconditioned as Lucas, and the first-string hitters feasted on them without mercy. Our reserve starter surrendered a couple of knocks before completely imploding via bases on balls.

That kind of wild, unforced walk fest was the hallmark of an unplayable pitcher. No matter how brilliantly a pitcher threw, hits and home runs were mathematically inevitable over a season; issuing free passes, however, was entirely within a pitcher's control. Missing the strike zone by inches was one thing, but launching non-competitive pitches miles off the plate was inexcusable.

Unless a pitcher possessed the freakish, pinpoint command of Greg Maddux, throwing a hundred pitches without a single mistake was impossible. For a pitcher, issuing a walk on four non-competitive pitches was the exact equivalent of a hitter striking out on three straight whiffs. Watching balls sail into the outfield gaps every inning made standing at third base feel entirely pointless.

Jaehyung couldn't catch up to the second-team pitching either and was swiftly subbed out for another catcher. Kanghyuk-hyung managed to lace a clean single off a first-team reliever during his pinch-hit appearance.

The brightest star on our side, however, was without question Kihyun-hyung. He worked a crisp, three-up, three-down inning, inducing weak contact. During his frame, a sharp, blistering liner was roped down the third-base line, and I snatched it out of the air to preserve his clean sheet.

Once the batting order rolled over, Lucas was yanked in favor of the Titans' other foreign acquisition, Alberto. Being a spring tune-up, both imports were limited to roughly thirty to forty pitches.

Alberto's stuff was genuinely impressive. Despite it being late February, his fastball exhibited remarkable life and late bite. His command wavered slightly on the edges, but his ceiling was plainly obvious. I worked him into a full count before spitting on a sharp curveball that buried into the dirt to take my walk.

As I trotted past the mound toward first base, Alberto flashed a broad grin and tossed out a quip in casual Spanish: "Amigo, you can swing that stick."

Seeing his easygoing attitude after yielding a walk told me his mental resilience was leagues ahead of Lucas's.

"You've got pretty nasty stuff yourself," I replied smoothly in Spanish.

Alberto's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you speak Spanish?"

"A little bit, yeah."

In Major League Baseball, domestic American players made up only about twenty-five to thirty percent of the league. The remainder hailed predominantly from Spanish-speaking nations like the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, and Mexico. Spend enough years navigating an MLB clubhouse, and you ended up picking up conversational Spanish whether you wanted to or not.

"Oho. Is that so? See you around, papi," Alberto chuckled, tapping his glove against his thigh.

"Who are you calling 'papi' when we just met?"

I shook my head with a smirk. This guy was going to be a riot.