Without Me Knowing
Charlie's strong outing only lasted through the fifth.
It wasn't that anything was wrong with him.
"Good work out there. That's enough for today."
It was consideration for a pitcher who had been struggling more than usual in the postseason.
Looking at it one way, it might have seemed like they were letting their guard down too much in such an important game.
Suwon Wizards 10 : 0 Seoul Wolves.
Anyone glancing at the scoreboard would have nodded in agreement.
A ten-run lead. A game that had already seen back-to-back-to-back home runs.
Even the most negative person alive wouldn't have been thinking about defeat in a situation like this.
And so we forgot.
We forgot that in baseball, there is no such thing as absolute.
The Wolves' lineup, for a team that had claimed first place with overwhelming results, was surprisingly ordinary.
A collection of players who were neither outstanding nor lacking. That was the Wolves' batting order.
Some fans claimed they had taken first place purely on the strength of their pitching staff alone.
Well…
I didn't think so.
Pitching influence was the biggest factor in baseball, sure. But no team could dominate a league on pitching alone.
So what was the real strength of the Wolves' lineup?
Crack!!
"Safe!"
I fielded the ball that had rolled into the outfield and tried to throw immediately, but the runner was already standing on first.
I had no choice but to fire to second and settle for preventing any extra bases.
Top of the sixth. The moment the starting pitcher Charlie left the mound, the leadoff man slapped a single.
And then—
Crack!!
Damn…
Once again the ball flew on a trajectory I couldn't reach. The only silver lining was that it didn't carry far.
At least the runner on first didn't make it all the way to third.
Nobody out, runners on first and second. We were suddenly in scoring position, but the lead was still enormous.
Crack!!
This time a single that cleared the first baseman's glove. The ball dropped in a perfect spot and rolled slowly into the outfield.
By the time the right fielder gathered it up—
Thud.
"Safe!"
—the runner from second had already crossed the plate.
"Time!"
Catcher Park Sang-hee climbed the mound to buy some time, giving the pitcher who had just surrendered three straight hits a moment to collect himself.
The Wolves' lineup had cohesion.
That "nutritional value" Lee Dae-beom always talked about—the hitters who delivered productive at-bats—were exactly the Wolves' batters.
It wasn't about clutch hitting percentages or anything like that.
It simply meant the Seoul Wolves' hitters came through when it counted.
Crack!!
Just like now, the moment the starter came out and they seized their chance.
And they clearly had no intention of settling for a single run.
Runners on first and third. The ball—
I can probably snag it if I stretch…
A ball I could catch right in front of the wall. So the follow-up play would be—
Play at the plate?
The runner on third had decent speed. We still led by nine.
No need to force it. Besides—
The runner on first was the type who ran the bases aggressively.
Thud.
"Out!"
The second I caught it I took a crow-hop and threw.
Thwack!!
The ball flew straight for second base.
Watching the runner who had broken from first smack his lips and retreat, I felt my judgment hadn't been half bad.
Only—
"Safe!"
—the fact that a nine-run lead had become an eight-run lead was a little disappointing.
And then—
CRAAACK!!!
Haa…
In my own opinion, outfielder Gong Ji-hoo's defense was pretty solid.
I liked to think I ranked somewhere near the top.
Thud.
My continuous backpedaling only stopped when I slammed into the fence.
But no matter how good an outfielder's glove is, he can't catch a ball that clears the wall.
Top of the sixth. Score: 10–4. Six-run lead.
Unlike the early innings when Gong Ji-hoo had complained that his at-bats were coming too fast, once the fifth inning passed the Suwon Wizards' lineup went completely silent.
Bottom of the sixth. Three up, three down.
Meanwhile the Wolves' lineup, freed from the iron wall named Charlie, began chipping away at the lead little by little.
Top of the seventh. A leadoff double followed by two outfield flies produced one run. Then consecutive singles plated two more.
Score: 10–7. Three-run lead.
Bottom of the seventh. The Wizards went down in order again.
And the words that started coming out of the broadcast booth were:
The eighth inning began.
If someone asked how things had gotten this far, I would of course insist it wasn't the fielders' fault.
We had scored ten runs. As hitters, hadn't we done our job?
That said—
I don't intend to blame the pitchers either…
In a short series like the postseason, a manager has no choice but to lean on the players he trusts.
Just like how today's starter Charlie had been brought in a beat early during the playoffs. And that applied to the bullpen as well.
Including Joo Young-hoon currently on the mound, the Wizards' high-leverage arms had appeared in nearly every autumn game.
In the end it was a depth problem.
The Suwon Wizards were not a rock-solid organization like the Seoul Wolves. Over there, even the middle-relief guys supposedly carried ERAs in the threes.
With a limited bullpen deck, Manager Kim Tae-sik had no choice but to become the icon of overuse, and the high-leverage crew—who had turned into the "save-the-team" unit for the fall—accepted it without complaint.
They wanted the championship just as badly.
Still, the fatigue that came from consecutive appearances was unavoidable. Even with rest days sprinkled in, the schedule could be brutal for pitchers with delicate arms.
I once heard there used to be a reliever who appeared in eleven straight games. That guy must have been some kind of monster.
Anyway.
Despite the less-than-ideal condition, Joo Young-hoon on the mound was still—
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
—pressuring hitters with fastballs that cracked 150 km/h.
Crack!!
Every time I took the field my thoughts were simple.
Crack!
"Out!"
I dove for the softly falling ball. After a full roll, the glove I stretched out contained—
—of course, a pure white baseball.
A fielder. An outfielder. Me.
I was not the protagonist.
I was merely a top-tier supporting character who helped the protagonist shine.
So the gratitude the protagonist sent my way was more than enough.
Clap!
I answered Joo Young-hoon's applause with a raised thumb.
Even after retiring the leadoff man on a fly to left, the Suwon Wizards still gave up another run in the top of the eighth.
The Wolves' cleanup hitter had taken Joo Young-hoon's mistake pitch and launched it clean over the wall. With the bases empty it was only one run, which was a small mercy.
But the Seoul Wolves failed to manufacture the promised eighth-inning miracle.
Score: 10–8. Two-run lead.
Korean baseball has something called the "promised eighth inning." The phrase was born because the national team so often staged comebacks or tied games in the eighth during international tournaments.
Korean Series Game 3. The bottom of the eighth today felt like it was going to become a promised eighth of a different kind for me.
I still hadn't kept the promise I'd made to Lee Dae-beom about hitting a home run.
For some reason I had a strong feeling I could go deep this at-bat. So—
"Dae-beom. I'm going to hit a home run."
I said it with full confidence, but—
"…Huh? Y-yeah, sure."
—the answer that came back was a little awkward.
What was that about? Was he just hungry or something?
"Appreciate the hard work~"
Leading off the bottom of the eighth for my fifth plate appearance of the night, I offered the usual greeting, but—
"…"
—no reply came. Lee Mun-woo, who had cheerfully answered even when they were down by ten, was silent.
Did they change catchers?
Curious, I looked. Behind the mask was the face I knew.
"Why aren't you answering my greeting this time? I almost got my feelings hurt."
"…Aren't you even a little nervous?"
Nervous?
"Why? …Oh, because it's a two-run game? It's fine. We're going to put up a bunch of runs this inning."
"No, that's not what I—"
Lee Mun-woo started to say something, then just smacked his lips. His eyes seemed to be telling me I ought to be thanking him.
Truly mysterious.
Whoooosh!!
What was that? Did he really mean I should thank him?
Low zone. A two-seamer boring in on my hands.
It was a pitch just begging to be hit.
CRAAAAACK!!!
The only concern was that the low location might keep me from driving it for extra bases, but watching the ball rocket off like a bullet, I figured I could stop worrying.
The only problem was the trajectory looked razor-thin. I couldn't tell if it would stay fair or foul.
I held my swing pose and tracked the flight. Lee Mun-woo, who had risen from his crouch, watched from beside me.
And then—
Ting!
A bright, ringing sound echoed through the stadium.
The sound of the ball I had launched striking the foul pole.
Which meant—
Whirrr!
—it was a home run.
"Congratulations."
Lee Mun-woo offered his congratulations to me, who had tossed the bat a little—no, a lot—late.
"Huh? …Thanks. But it's not like I hit home runs every other day or something. You don't have to go out of your way to—"
"Haa…"
Lee Mun-woo lifted his mitt and pointed at the scoreboard.
Hmm.
My profile photo with its still-awkward smiling face hadn't changed. Underneath it, the line of what I had done today read:
Double
Single
Single
Triple
Home Run
"Huh?"
"Wow, you really had no idea. I told them to throw it low because I figured you were watching for it."
In other words—
"Hitting for the cycle. Congratulations, you little punk. Even if we're on opposite sides, as a senior I have to congratulate you for something like this."
I had ridden a bicycle today.
Without me knowing.
—Waaaaaaaaah!!!
The cheers somehow sounded especially loud.
Bottom of the eighth. The Suwon Wizards succeeded in widening the gap.
Starting with Gong Ji-hoo's solo home run that completed the cycle, Park Ji-han ripped a double. Lee Dae-beom lofted a deep sacrifice fly that advanced the runner, and Lee Se-ho brought Park Ji-han home from third with another sacrifice fly.
And so the score became 12–8.
That score did not change until the final out of the ninth was recorded.
Fortunately, today's Player of the Game interview went smoothly.
"I didn't even realize it was a cycle until after I hit the home run. Lee Mun-woo told me."
Talk about the cycle hit.
"Anything I want to say to the Seoul Wolves? I'd like to thank Wheeler. Thanks to him, I had fun."
The personal thanks I had particularly wanted to deliver to an opposing player.
Nothing special, really.
"And you call that 'nothing special'?"
"Wasn't that an extremely ordinary, run-of-the-mill interview?"
"Is this you being dumb, or you pretending not to know?"
Well.
"Every word was sincere."
"Youuu…"
Lee Dae-beom was left speechless.
Sluuurp.
I was grinning at the sight of him and sucking down an iced Americano when—
"Hey! Article just dropped."
Park Ji-han, checking his phone, shouted.
Down 2–1 in the series, the Seoul Wolves had played their strongest card a beat early—a bold move.
"Perfect."
It was a revenge match.