Busan Away Game, Match 2 (2)
“The method is simple! When you're in the set position, you lift your leg, right?”
“Yeah.”
“In that situation, most pitchers just throw the ball. Because once you've lifted one leg, your balance is compromised.”
“That's right.”
“But maybe it's because you've trained so many different pitching forms, your balance gets rated above average. You already knew that, didn't you?”
Every time I'd done physical training, my athletic performance and stamina had barely scraped average—or scored worse than that.
Yet just as A-rin said, balance was the one thing where I'd always ranked above anyone else, without exception.
“Yeah, my sense of balance is pretty good.”
“Then use it. Your advantage.”
A-rin's eyes began to sparkle. On the Apple tablet in her hands, a clip of me pitching started to play.
“Look. When you throw, your head naturally dips down a little.”
“Hmm. You're right?”
“So add that head-dip to the moment your leg is lifted. Any other pitcher would lose their balance in that position and have to hurriedly fling the ball. If they forced a throw to first, it'd either be a balk or a wild, inaccurate pickoff.”
I nodded, conceding her point.
“But you could keep your form intact, bring your leg back down, and throw to first from right there. And do it with total stability.”
“Hm? Really? How do you know that?”
“I just know. Han-sae, you can do it.”
Words that hit me straight in the chest.
She was right.
“Well, you do know me better than anyone.”
Using the method A-rin had taught me, I recorded my first pickoff and headed back to the dugout.
“Nice! Wow, that pickoff was seriously good!”
The pitching coach, who had been watching that play more intently than anyone, was genuinely marveling.
“Haha… I got some help from a friend who knows baseball really well.”
“Who?”
“Someone I like. A friend of mine.”
“Oh yeah? Well, great job anyway! Stand by in the bullpen—you're pitching the next inning too.”
“Yes, sir!”
Yesterday had taken three pitches, and just now only one, so eating up a longer inning was no problem at all.
“We're catching up this inning—no excuses!”
As I was heading to the bullpen, the position players had gathered on the bench around the captain.
“We win this, period! Our losing streak can't get any longer! It's not about anything else! We cannot let the fans who came out to cheer for us be disappointed any more than they already have! Now let's go out there and sweep them away! Make the Urbans' fight song ring through Busan!”
He's so intense!
Our captain, delivering his speech like a general rallying his troops before battle.
Kang Cha-won.
If anyone else talked like that, people would cringe, call it over the top—but anyone who knew his life story would never think so.
Failed to get drafted out of high school. Signed as a replacement player with the Fighters. Then, just as opportunities slowly came and he began to bloom—a catastrophic knee injury.
Released during his rehabilitation, he bounced around the independent leagues, and all the way until he signed with the Urbans as a free agent, he'd worked manual labor, delivered newspapers—apparently there wasn't a hard job he hadn't done.
Then, at the rather late age of 32, he hit .300 with 20 home runs and finally blossomed, and ever since he'd been crushing at least 20 homers a year, becoming the heart of the Urbans' lineup.
This season, his fourth with the Urbans, he'd even taken on the captaincy, and the players' respect for him ran deep.
Truly a man with a lot to teach, as a human being.
“Jang Han-sae!”
That man called my name. I'd been trying to slip past quietly, but…
“Yes, sir!”
“We're bringing you your first win today! Trust in us and throw without a care in the world!”
“Yes, sir! Thank you!”
Before I knew it, there was real fire in my voice.
And then came the top of the sixth, our turn at bat.
“Hmm…”
Watching the game, I studied the Titans' starting pitcher, Lim Dae-woong, with great care.
Left-handed, averaging in the upper 140s on his fastball, with solid command and a slider, curve, and changeup in his arsenal—a complete package with no holes in it whatsoever.
Even without overwhelming stuff, he put up consistently excellent numbers. A genuinely outstanding starter.
Five straight seasons of double-digit wins in the pros, a career ERA in the 3s.
Above all, his greatest strength was his mentality—and the crisis management that came with it.
Watching him keep the same blank expression through every situation, you'd almost wonder if the man had no emotions at all.
Even on days when he looked off his game, you'd check the box score afterward and find he'd tossed six innings, three earned runs—a quality start all the same.
He's a frightening man.
Even a pitcher who looks that perfect is bound to have a crack somewhere.
I stared hard at Lim Dae-woong's face.
Hmm, one more look and I'll have it…
I was right.
“Where is it?”
“Just a second.”
I asked the bullpen catcher for a moment's leave, stepped outside the pen, and found the batter doing his on-deck preparation.
“The number four batter. Kang Cha-won.”
The voice rolled out of the stadium speakers.
Then next up is the five-hole—Ho-ji!
I sprinted over to Ho-ji and relayed what I'd discovered.
“You serious?”
“Yeah. Just trust me once.”
“It wasn't in the scouting report.”
“The analysis team probably missed it too. It's that subtle.”
“…Got it. Thanks, man.”
Then I went back into the bullpen and began getting loose.
Ho-ji, you've got this.
“Strike!”
I was so worked up myself that I'd deliberately stopped watching the at-bat, when the strike call rang out.
Ha! Good take! Now hunt your pitch and swing!
A short while later, applause drifted out from the dugout at intervals.
“That's it! Keep watching him!”
Apparently he'd laid off a ball.
That pattern repeated a few more times, and before anyone knew it, the count was full.
My warm-up was done, and curiosity got the better of me—so I clenched my nervous heart in my hands and watched Ho-ji's at-bat.
Crack—!
“Whoa!”