Mega-Something
CRACK!!!
“Oh…”
CRACK!!!
“Everyone’s just casually clearing the wall.”
The pregame batting practice had started.
Every Suwon Wizards hitter looked overflowing with power. Practice or not, balls were sailing over the fence far too often to ignore.
“That’s because they just came from Jamsil. Playing here in Suwon must feel like a vacation.”
“You think so…?”
Suwon Wizard Park.
It was definitely smaller than Jamsil, but it wasn’t exactly what you’d call a ping-pong table either. The real issue was simpler than that.
“Isn’t Jamsil just an illegal stadium at this point?”
Jamsil was just ridiculously huge.
“And you’re the kind of hitter who can clear even a park like that without breaking a sweat?”
“….”
Someone had clearly been a bad influence. How had the once-earnest Park Ji-han turned into this? Still, what he said wasn’t wrong.
“Hmm… fair point.”
“Ji-hoo, you’ve changed. Never thought you’d actually admit that.”
Honestly.
“I’m good enough to brag this much, aren’t I?”
A baseball player proves himself with results, and I had already proven everything there was to prove.
THWACK!!
“Strike!”
Game Three of the Korean Series at Wizard Park got off to a pleasant start for the home fans.
THWACK!!
“Strikeout!”
Charlie, now being called the greatest foreign pitcher in Suwon Wizards history—though the team’s history with foreign pitchers was admittedly short—cleanly retired the side in the top of the first. All three outs were strikeouts.
As if he needed no help from the outfield—or even the infield—Charlie finished the inning alone, proving that even after a brutal stretch of games he was still in peak form.
And then—
— Batting first, left fielder Gong Ji-hoo.
Bottom of the first.
— WAAAAAAAH!!!
Under the roar of a packed stadium, I stepped into the box ahead of every other Wizard, offering my usual greeting.
“Good work out there~”
“…You’re not gonna pull that same crap again, are you?”
Seoul Wolves catcher Lee Mun-woo’s words.
“Crap? I was just throwing a little tantrum.”
“Tantrum my ass… Wheeler was crying after that game.”
“Huh?”
The guy who threw at me because he was in a bad mood… cried?
“Damn, I really wanted to thank him properly…”
“You psycho…”
Anyway, the answer to his question was simple.
“Well, as long as the Wolves don’t try to freeze me out again, I won’t.”
“Yeah? Good to hear.”
THWACK!!
“Ball.”
The first pitch arrived just a hair low, outside the zone.
“…Really?”
“No! He’s just nervous! Hey! Don’t you dare get that look in your eyes!”
“Hmm…”
I gave Lee Mun-woo a skeptical glance.
Looks like what I did in Game Two hit them harder than I thought.
Pitchers throwing borderline pitches or using bait to fool hitters was completely normal. The fact that the catcher was reacting like this meant my cutting style in Game Two had been a genuine shock to the Wolves.
I like that…
Little things like this stacked up until a hitter’s presence became oppressive.
And then—
WHOOSH!!
The second pitch came in as if to say the first one missing the zone had been an accident, settling low but inside the strike zone.
CRACK!!
It became my delicious meal. The only problem was—
Tap.
My launch angle never got high enough. That was my chronic issue.
“Safe!”
It was only a double.
Ah. I couldn’t wait for the season to end so I could finally fix my swing. Preferably while wearing a brand-new ring.
From second base I took a proper lead and watched the pitcher-batter duel.
Today’s Wizards lineup was the same as Game Two. Standing in the box as the number-two hitter was Park Ji-han.
No special signs.
This postseason Park Ji-han had executed bunts and hit-and-runs with impressive skill, but at his core—
WHOOSH!!
CRACK!!!
—he was a shortstop who hit home runs.
— WAAAAAAH!!!
The ball cleared the wall as if telling the runner there was no need for any baserunning heroics.
And then—
CRACK!!!
“Oh.”
The Wizards’ representative slugger.
CRACK!!!
“There it goes again…”
The fully revived cleanup hitter.
Back-to-back-to-back. In the blink of an eye the score was four runs. After that spectacular Suwon Wizards welcome party, the Wolves starter had no choice but to leave the mound without recording a single out.
Hmm…
The opposing starter was a quality pitcher who had posted excellent numbers in the regular season—exactly what you’d expect from a Wolves starter. That team’s pitching was so deep they could shove a foreign starter into the bullpen if they didn’t like him. Today, though, he looked like a dog that had been beaten on the hottest day of summer. I didn’t feel particularly sorry for him.
Still—
Why does this feel so off…?
Something was bothering me.
“Whoa! Look at the guy who didn’t hit a home run!”
Ah.
“Before the game you were bragging about how you were the absolute beast, right? So how’d that turn out?”
I quickly scanned the area for the information leak, but Park Ji-han—true to his twenty-steal instincts—was nowhere to be found.
“Watch your tone.”
“If a certain beast of a leadoff hitter had just hit a home run too, it would’ve been back-to-back-to-back-to-back. What a shame, huh?”
“I said watch your tone.”
I clamped a hand over Lee Dae-beom’s endlessly flapping mouth and thought:
What if I don’t hit a single home run today…?
Home runs weren’t something you could just decide to hit every game, but I had a feeling a truly nightmarish future was waiting for me.
A one-sided game that barely felt like the Korean Series. That was the only way to describe Game Three so far. Of course, there was still a long way to go until the final out.
The scoreboard read:
Suwon Wizards 8 : 0 Seoul Wolves
That was after the top of the fifth.
My line so far: 3-for-3. But—
“Ah… another game without a home run. It happens.”
“I’m going insane…”
I was enduring every kind of humiliation.
“Hey, you’ve only got that one home run in the first. Nothing else.”
“The production value is different. Production value.”
What?
“I drove in one run with a home run. You got three hits and zero RBI. Baseball is about pitching wins and hitting production, right? No RBI means you’re trash, right?”
“When did we ever— Ji-han, you say something!”
“Well… I hit a home run, got hits, and drove in four, so I’ve got nothing to say.”
I glared at the face smiling so brightly, then turned to the senior next to me.
“Senior! Do you think this is fair?”
Lee Se-ho, who had just snorted with laughter, answered while repeatedly clenching and unclenching his right hand.
“Well… he’s not exactly wrong.”
“Puhaha! You’ve got no allies here, Homeless Loser.”
“Haa…”
Exhausted by the endless roasting, I tried to sit on the bench.
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
Lee Dae-beom blocked me.
“What now?”
“Look at the faces sitting on this bench.”
Lee Dae-beom. Park Ji-han. Lee Se-ho.
Don’t tell me—
“This is a home-run-hitters-only seat. Go sit somewhere else.”
“I’m losing my mind.”
“I also don’t think Ji-hoo should be sitting here right now.”
Even Park Ji-han was saying it.
“Anyway, the inning’s about to start. You should get up soon. Your turn’s coming right up, Ji-hoo.”
“Oh, is it?”
The Suwon Wizards were putting on an absolute hitting clinic today. Bottom of the fifth was about to begin, and I was already guaranteed a fourth at-bat.
“You’ll hit a home run this time, right?”
“Bring it.”
I said the words, but I had no intention of swinging for the fences. Lee Dae-beom knew that and was just messing with me.
Right?
What I always had to do was simple: clean, precise contact. That was all.
“Good work out there~”
Fourth greeting of the day.
“Yeah.”
Down by eight runs, most people would look crushed, but Lee Mun-woo took my greeting with a completely calm face. He even had the nerve to talk trash.
“You guys keep scoring in bunches like this, you planning on not scoring tomorrow?”
Korean Series regulars really didn’t lose their nerve even in situations like this. But—
“Isn’t ‘Mega-Something-po’ the kind of thing you only say to teams with weak lineups?”
The Suwon Wizards, on the other hand, had been exploding offensively all postseason. Most of their games had been high-scoring affairs. The only exception—
“You guys got shut out in Game One.”
—was the complete game Do Jeong-hoo threw in Game One.
“When’s that senior pitching again?”
“Why? You gonna wash your neck and wait for him?”
“How’d you know.”
Lee Mun-woo stared at me blankly.
“You’re a real piece of work too.”
“I’m actually super nice…”
This was still within the bounds of light trash talk. Do Jeong-hoo would understand.
“Still not telling you. Who gives that kind of info to the enemy?”
“Fair enough.”
Situation: one out, runner on first. An Sung-woo had singled and was standing on first.
Perfect RBI situation.
Even with a runner only on first, if that runner was An Sung-woo it might as well be a scoring position. If I could just send the ball far enough—and I was the kind of hitter who could.
WHOOSH!
The lefty on the mound.
The ball he threw looked like it was sweeping across the entire strike zone—
Nope.
“Ball.”
“Seeing it live for the first time…”
A sweeper. The trendy new pitch. It didn’t look particularly hard to handle.
It’s just a slider variation anyway, right?
The movement was pretty sharp, but at this level—
Tick.
“Foul!”
—one or two looks and I could adjust.
WHOOSH!!
“Ball.”
In the end a sweeper was a pitch specialized for inducing whiffs from same-handed hitters. Which meant—
WHOOSH!!
“Ball.”
—if you just tracked the ball well, you could lay off it.
In an instant the pitcher was in a 3-1 count. He’d probably tried to attack me with an unfamiliar pitch, but the Wolves’ approach had failed again.
And then—
WHOOSH!!
With three balls, the pitches a pitcher could throw were extremely limited. Especially after the hitters behind me had just gone deep one after another.
He might have options for pitch type, but—
CRACK!!
—he still had to throw something in the zone.
The ball rocketed outward. I didn’t even have time to admire it; I was already running.
Tch. Close, but no.
That ball wasn’t going over the wall. And when that was the case, there was only one option: full sprint.
I hit first base.
The ball smashed into the top of the wall.
I turned for second.
By then An Sung-woo was already at third.
I hit second base.
The ball that caromed off the wall skipped past the right fielder trying to play it off the fence and shot off in a weird direction.
I looked at third.
The center fielder, covering, scooped up the loose ball.
I started running again.
An Sung-woo, the original first-base runner, scored.
The center fielder fired quickly to third.
And—
Sliiiide!
“Safe!”
I was already standing on the bag waiting for the throw.
— WAAAAAAH!!
I raised a fist and answered the crowd’s roar.
One RBI. They can’t say there’s no production value now.
No, wait.
They’re still gonna keep teasing me for not hitting a home run, aren’t they?
Hmm. Feels like I’m forgetting something, though.