Before Breakfast
If you asked who the greatest baseball player of all time was, every person would give you a different answer.
Some would praise the ancient monster who built Yankee Stadium. Others would grudgingly concede the juiced-up legend whose numbers leave no room for argument, no matter how much you want to curse him. More recently, there was the two-way phenom out of Japan.
But if you asked where the greatest league in the world was?
Everyone would say Major League Baseball, without hesitation. Of course they would. Every one of those players either played in the majors or still does.
So then — where is the second-best league in the world?
Ten years ago, the answer was clear. NPB. The league of that island nation across the sea, Japan, had been called the eternal runner-up.
Lately, though, the atmosphere had shifted. The KBO, which had improved by leaps and bounds over just a few years, had begun to threaten that seat. Even so, the prevailing consensus remained that the KBO still had not surpassed NPB's stature.
Which meant, in other words:
"Oh, Sang isn't coming out today? What a shame."
A practice game between an NPB team and a KBO team was, from the NPB side's perspective, a net loss.
"…Holding spring camp in Okinawa really does have its advantages."
Sitting on the dugout bench ahead of the practice game, I found myself marveling at how easily we could lock in a match against a Japanese team.
"Right? That's the power of a true blue-blood franchise. This is it."
Clap clap clap.
The player sitting next to me started applauding and launching into a Rhinos hymn. Shortstop out of Daegu. Jang Tae-wook.
"Ji-hoo, you're a member of a legendary franchise now too, so take some pride in it! Hahaha!"
What people call a pure-blood lifer. A one-team man for the Daegu Rhinos. Ringing any bells?
This guy was a genuine Rhinos stan.
"Ah… yeah."
The kind of player people said should charge admission just to sit on the bench. Overflowing with team love, and adored endlessly by the fans for it.
From the perspective of someone who'd rolled in from another club, he was definitely the type who could feel a little overwhelming. Especially since players like him had been rare on my old team, the Suwon Wizards.
Well, their history was short…
The Daegu Rhinos, on the other hand, were one of only two original KBO franchises whose team name had never changed since the league began. Add in a regional club's natural preference for hometown boys, and—
At this rate I'm going to feel left out.
A joke, of course. Everyone here hated regional discrimination with a passion, like they'd been burned by it before.
"Chest out, Gong Ji-hoo! You're blue blood now!"
He injected Rhinos pride at every opportunity, but he was a good guy. Having affection for your own team was only natural.
"…But how are the Japanese looking? Think we can win?"
"Hard to say. It's a practice game, so wins and losses don't really matter."
The fact that he didn't just mindlessly cheer everything was another point in his favor.
"They probably won't send out many of their regulars either. So a win's possible, but…"
The Rhinos didn't have many starters in the lineup today either.
"Even so, the Japanese side still has the edge."
"Why? Home-field advantage?"
Despite it being a practice game, Japanese fans had already filled seats in the stands, there to cheer. A country that called baseball its national sport, through and through.
"That part's not really the issue…"
The Okinawa ballpark where spring camp was held was, in a way, practically a Rhinos home field. We'd been using the same stadium for spring training for over a decade now.
"It's the official ball that makes the real difference."
"The official ball?"
"Japanese pitchers throw the NPB ball, and we throw the KBO ball."
Obvious, really. Today's game was ultimately practice for performing in each team's own league.
"NPB is an extreme pitcher's league partly because their pitchers are genuinely that good, but…"
Jang Tae-wook said the ball itself played a role too.
"To put it bluntly, it's a rock."
Which made it harder to generate the same kind of carry you got with a KBO ball.
"Of course! Even so, a member of the KBO's premier franchise doesn't even think about losing! Same goes for you, right?"
My answer to the true Rhinos devotee's question was simple.
"I'm the Korean Series MVP."
Been waiting forever for this
A practice game between the KBO's Daegu Rhinos and the NPB's Seibu Lions.
It wasn't just fans of both teams. Plenty of baseball-starved fans had started tuning in as well.
And then—
Why the hell is that bastard Gong Ji-hoo standing at third instead of going to the outfield??
It was the moment third baseman Gong Ji-hoo made his debut — and left every Korean baseball fan completely stunned.
Some people might call it ridiculous, but while playing the outfield, I had occasionally found myself thinking it was… boring.
The outfield sat a fair distance from the mound and the batter's box, where the real duel between pitcher and hitter unfolded. Nobody around you, either. It was, in every sense, a spoiled thought.
Busy out here…
After checking the batter stepping into the box, I adjusted my defensive position on starting shortstop Jang Tae-wook's signal. Up to that point, it wasn't much different from outfield work.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
Every single pitch from the mound.
Crack!
"Foul!"
Every single foul ball off the bat.
An infielder had to stay locked in far more than someone standing in the grass. Which meant—
The idea that converting to the infield could tank your hitting numbers isn't entirely wrong.
But I trusted what the coach had told me. That I wasn't the kind of talent that would fall apart just from becoming an infielder.
CRACK!
Today's starting pitcher, Sim Ji-hwan. His fastball was genuinely nasty. The opposing batter had swung with everything he had, and still the pitch overpowered him into a weakly hit grounder.
And—
Ordinary.
Compared to the bizarre, physics-defying fungoes I'd been fielding in practice, this was an utterly routine ball. I barely took a few steps, gloved it cleanly, and threw naturally toward first.
Thud!
The ball buried itself in the first baseman's mitt. The result needed no confirmation.
"Out!"
Not bad for my first third-base defense in a game that counted at the first-team level.
"That's it, Gong Ji-hoo! Even on a routine play, that kind of confidence is what makes a franchise player!"
Or maybe not.
Third baseman Gong Ji-hoo.
Rhinos fans couldn't hide their worry over the sudden position change. But the worry didn't last long.
In the top of the first — a Rhinos defensive inning — all three balls happened to come toward third, and Gong Ji-hoo handled every one of them cleanly. Fans let out a collective sigh of relief.
Even if it was only one inning, showing stable defense meant something.
Still, the thought that a defensive move might affect his hitting was impossible to shake. The player the Rhinos wanted wasn't a Gong Ji-hoo who fielded third base steadily. It was a Gong Ji-hoo who put up Korean Series MVP-caliber numbers at the plate.
Expectation and anxiety collided as Gong Ji-hoo, wearing a Rhinos uniform, stepped in for his first at-bat.
"Appreciate the hard work~"
A greeting offered out of habit. In Korean, of course. I didn't speak Japanese.
But the tone seemed to carry. Watching the catcher and the home-plate umpire nod back in response, I smiled and settled into the box.
The pitcher's name was… what again?
Japanese names were too hard. The only Japanese name I really knew was Yamamoto, more or less.
So let's call the guy on the mound Yamamoto One. The catcher behind the plate is Yamamoto Two.
Anyway. I'd heard before the game that Yamamoto One was a near-regular for the other team — the first option whose name went up the moment a starter went down. But like any player, nobody wanted to stay stuck as a near-regular forever.
Which meant Yamamoto One was—
"Hungry for it, huh…"
"…"
Feeling at ease looking at a silent catcher — that was a first since the regression. If Yamamoto Two started saying something in Japanese, answering would be a problem.
Either way, Yamamoto One's campaign for a starting job had gotten off to a flying start. He'd struck out the leadoff hitter on three pitches.
For someone who claimed a franchise player never even thought about losing, the leadoff guy had gone down pretty hollowly.
"Ah, my condition still hasn't come around."
He scratched his head sheepishly and headed back to the dugout.
Catcher and pitcher exchanged signs. The pitcher kept shaking his head, like nothing was sitting right. Probably—
"Do I look like an easy out?"
It was possible. Gong Ji-hoo was the Korean Series MVP, sure — but also a player who had yet to even log a single full season of qualifying plate appearances.
Just as we had intel on Seibu, they had intel on the Rhinos. And to them, I was—
"A fluke hitter, I guess."
It didn't particularly make me angry. The Wizards — the team I'd basically hard-carried to a championship — had made a similar call when they traded me, after all.
The sign exchange between Yamamoto Two and Yamamoto One seemed to end with Yamamoto One getting his way.
"Hoo…"
I heard Yamamoto Two let out a sigh.
"Are you okay?"
"O… okay. Sankyu."
Hmm. So that was "thank you," then?
Whoooosh!!
The polite Yamamoto Two had probably put down a sign to work me carefully. Of course Yamamoto One had rejected it.
Looking at the high fastball coming in, that was the only conclusion you could draw. Turning a high pitch into extra bases was, for Gong Ji-hoo, literally child's play.
Did you know? The Japanese expression closest to "easy as pie" means "before breakfast." I had no idea what the origin was, but anyway—
CRAAAAACK!!!
I hadn't eaten breakfast today.
"Sankyu."
I thanked Yamamoto Two for the nice pitch and started running the bases. After touching first and heading toward second, I gradually eased off the gas.
"Oh… it went out."
Sprinting full speed after a home run just wasn't cool. Explaining that wasn't cool either.
The official ball is a rock so it doesn't carry?
Hmm. Is that all?