Hit It Harder
I'd called it a revenge match against Do Jeong-hoo, but the truth was I'd never properly faced him.
Despite having already appeared in two games where he took the mound.
Our first meeting had been a pinch-hit appearance. I'd casually taken his first pitch and sent it over the fence.
And the second meeting—
That had been Game 1 of the Korean Series, not long ago.
I never even swung once against Do Jeong-hoo's endless stream of balls…
A pure pitcher-versus-hitter duel against the man called the best starting pitcher in Korea right now—that was still yet to come.
Not that it meant I was shaking in my boots over facing him.
Setting aside all the complicated talk and looking only at the results—
I was a batter who hit 1.000 against Do Jeong-hoo.
Korean Series, Game 4.
The top of the first had a few close calls, but we shut them down without allowing a run.
Then came the Suwon Wizards' half of the inning.
The leadoff spot, which I'd grown pretty used to by now—
"Good work out there~"
—suited me just fine.
Being the first batter to step into the box ahead of anyone else on the team felt like being the most trusted hitter.
"How's Do Jeong-hoo hyung's condition looking?"
"Why are you worrying about our guy? Thinking of joining the Wolves?"
"There's no such thing as absolute in baseball, right?"
"…For real?"
I looked up at Lee Mun-woo as he asked that, and—grinning—
"I mean Do hyung could end up joining the Wizards."
I answered with a smile.
"Ha…"
The catcher who'd already worn four different uniforms this season alone let out a hollow laugh.
"A one-team man who's basically locked in for a retired number—why would he go to a team like that?"
There was a hint of envy in his voice.
"Is that so… Then I might end up with the Wolves myself, so throw me some good pitches."
"That's not happening."
"Why not?"
Lee Mun-woo's smile curved behind his catcher's mask.
"I already told him you said to wash his neck and wait."
He actually said that?
"Uh…"
"You think Jeong-hoo is going to throw you anything good after hearing that?"
And then—
"If you're coming over, wouldn't it be better to join a team that wins championships like it's nothing?"
Whoosh!
But contrary to his words, the first pitch that came flying in—
Huh?
—was an absurdly easy pitch to hit.
I was about to swing on pure instinct when—
What is this…?
A sense of wrongness made me pull up at the last second.
"Strike!"
A rare easy out count stolen from me.
"Why didn't you swing?"
"Good question…"
Call it a batter's intuition.
Whoosh, whoosh.
I called time, stepped out of the box, and took a few practice swings while looking out at the field.
Am I just imagining things…?
Even a pitcher with Do Jeong-hoo's elite control throws mistakes. Actually, it wasn't even a mistake.
It was a good pitch, nipping the low corner of the strike zone. The problem was—
It was a pitch I could hit far too easily. And there was no way the Wolves battery didn't know that.
"Stop stalling and get back in."
At Lee Mun-woo's urging, I stepped back into the box.
Whoosh!
Ah… what the hell is this.
Another pitch coming in on the exact same course—
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
—and I didn't swing.
Two strikes. But there was no need to get anxious.
I had the confidence that I could put a good swing on any good pitch that came my way. The problem was—
That lingering sense of wrongness that kept needling at me.
Do Jeong-hoo on the mound… nothing different about him. The infield is… wait, what?
"Uh… that second baseman looks like someone I've never seen before?"
"Oh, yeah? Could be a backup."
Given that I had no memory of him, he probably wasn't much of a hitter.
"Let's get this game moving."
At the umpire's prompting, I stepped back in.
Whoosh!!
I watched another pitch come in on the exact same course—
CRACK!!
—and this time, I swung.
I still hadn't resolved that sense of unease, but getting buried in that feeling and letting the leadoff hitter go down on three pitches would have been even dumber.
The ball shot off my bat. I was about to take off for first when—
Thwack!
"Out!"
I had no choice but to stop.
The second baseman I'd never seen before had launched his entire body into a diving catch. A spectacular play you rarely see—and it erased my hit clean.
"How about that?"
I'd read a post not long ago.
Something along the lines of—
—that kind of post.
The gist was that overcoming my trauma this season had been an enormous stroke of luck for me.
And the main point of the post was that my hitting had a very distinct characteristic.
I know that myself, honestly…
The swing form I'd perfected in high school tended to produce a lot of ground balls.
And until last year, baseball had been the era of the defensive shift.
Players like me had taken a real beating because of it.
Setting aside the actual effectiveness of the shift—watching a well-struck ball that anyone could see was a hit get snagged by an infielder standing out on the outfield grass… nothing was more soul-crushing than that.
The shift was restricted now, but even so—
Going through the postseason, I'd felt the need to raise my launch angle, and I'd decided to rework my swing form once the season ended.
And—
"Ah, Park Jeong-woo? His defense is absolutely filthy. Can play every infield position, and on pure glove work alone, he'd make Ryu Hyun-seo look ordinary."
A starting pitcher with good control can steer a batter's contact to some degree. And Do Jeong-hoo was a pitcher who went well beyond "good."
For a hitter like me, the combination of a pinpoint pitcher and a lockdown infielder was a real pain.
"Tsk… What did I ever do to the Wolves."
"You think they put Park Jeong-woo in the lineup just to target you? Isn't that a bit self-absorbed?"
"Look—"
I had history. The Wolves were the team that had tried to intentionally walk me every single at-bat just to wreck my rhythm.
"Then just go the other way, right?"
"Yeah, but…"
This was the realm of instinct. When Do Jeong-hoo served up a pitch in a delicious spot, my body reacted whether I wanted it to or not. And—
"It just feels like losing…"
Whoever was drawing up the Wolves' strategy had probably planned for that scenario too.
"…But why isn't a defender that good a regular starter?"
"Well…"
Park Ji-han, who couldn't badmouth anyone, hesitated before continuing.
"His hitting is… really rough."
I checked the info on Park Jeong-woo.
"Oh…"
It had been a long time since I'd seen a player who hit worse than I did back in my Minor League Yeopo days.
I'd been puzzled that the Wolves would sacrifice an at-bat just for defense, but—
"Safe!"
In the top of the second, I learned I was wrong.
The Wizards' starter, who'd been in trouble since the first, managed two outs to open the inning and was fighting hard—but consecutive hits after that cost him a run.
And with Do Jeong-hoo on the Wolves' mound, a one-run lead was massive.
Do Jeong-hoo. Put kindly, he was a textbook pitcher. Put unkindly—
He was a boring pitcher to watch.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
A 95-mile-per-hour fastball. Fast by KBO standards, no question—but for a pitcher representing the league, the velocity was a little underwhelming. However—
Whoosh!
"Strike!"
A vast arsenal of breaking balls that moved every which way just in front of the zone, plus—
Thwack!!
"Swing! Strike three!!"
—elite command that painted every hard-to-hit corner of the zone.
Tick.
"Out!"
And before you knew it, the opposing team's half of the inning was over.
From the first through the third, the Suwon Wizards had been toyed with by Do Jeong-hoo.
They hadn't even managed a baserunner—the lineup had gone down in order, more thoroughly dismantled than even the complete-game shutout in Game 1.
"That guy rested three days and his stuff looks even better."
Lee Dae-beom, who'd handed over a strikeout on three straight sliders, was complaining.
"Right…? At this rate, is he coming back for Game 7 too?"
"That doesn't even make sense…"
"Yeah."
Glove tucked under my arm, I headed out of the dugout for defense.
"We've got to finish this before Game 7."
And for that—
"Let's start by winning Game 4."
CRACK!!
The Suwon Wizards' starter was pouring everything he had into this. Even while giving up hits every inning—
Thock.
"Out!"
—he'd held them to just one run.
It was a ball that dropped into the awkward gap between left and center, but I'd gotten there before center fielder Bae Jeong-ho and called it, putting it away.
Runners left on third. Another scoring threat survived by the Suwon Wizards.
And now—
Finally, my second at-bat.
"You here?"
Lee Mun-woo greeted me before I could even say anything.
"I'm here."
I returned the greeting, feeling like a player whose routine had been stolen.
"Tsk. This is batter interference."
"What?"
"Disrupting a batter's routine—where's your professional courtesy?"
"You got disrupted just because I said hi first? Turns out you're a real soft touch."
"So let's cut the little games."
Please.
"…I don't know about that."
"Figured as much."
Hoo.
A deep breath.
Surprisingly, games where the starter doesn't allow a baserunner through three innings are pretty common.
The problem is—
If that stretches into the fourth, the fifth, and beyond, the hitters are human. They start getting anxious. And when that happens—
The odds of producing anything good that day drop to near zero. Especially when the guy on the mound is the type who can throw a shutout like it's nothing.
So this at-bat, I need to force something myself first.
Second baseman Park Jeong-woo. Watching his defense from the dugout—
It was genuinely incredible.
Range. Reaction time. The throw.
Absolutely flawless. But—
Whoosh!!
I had no intention of ducking.
This one's off the plate.
"Ball."
Lee Mun-woo clicked his tongue at my completely still bat.
"Tsk. Didn't bite."
"It was obvious, wasn't it?"
"How many guys actually see that?"
Well.
"I can see it, for one."
"Yeah, yeah, you're special."
I kind of am, yeah.
Whoosh!!
The same low, perfect-to-hit course as the first at-bat. But this time—
I'd long since discarded the hesitation from that first trip to the plate.
CRACK!!
The bullet of a line drive looked like it would clear the infield in a heartbeat—but the second baseman's glove was already cutting it off. Another situation that seemed destined for a frustrating out—
Ah…
A collective groan rose from the home crowd. But—
Tick!
The diving second baseman's glove brushed the ball by a hair—and the sheer velocity of the hit carried it past him into the outfield.
Whir.
I casually flipped the bat and stepped on first base.
This game. Leadoff hitter Gong Ji-hoo's first hit—and the Suwon Wizards' first hit of the day.
Waaaaah!!
The home fans erupted as if I'd hit a home run.
I raised a fist in answer.
Long ago, a legendary hitter who once ruled Major League Baseball had this to say about the defensive shifts designed to stop him:
He was a completely different type of player from me.
But I really like what he said.
Though I like the line he added after that even more.