On a Different Level
No matter how well a player is doing, they get torn apart.
That is simply the fate of every athlete.
I was no exception.
They called me a table-tennis-court merchant, didn’t they?
Rhinos Park—better known as “Lapark”—was one of the most hitter-friendly stadiums in the KBO, and I had no intention of denying that. But claiming that my entire batting line was nothing more than a product of that table-tennis court? That I could not accept.
According to the people who loved to drag me, the only reason I led every category except stolen bases was because of that “unfair” park.
What a stupid argument.
Home runs? Sure, I would admit the home-field advantage played a part. Everything else, though—the park barely mattered. And “unfair park”? That was the talk of someone who knew nothing about baseball.
Some stadiums had towering eight-meter walls in one outfield. Some sat by the sea where the wind killed fly balls. Some sat high enough that a mere graze would carry. Every park had its own personality. That was baseball.
So when people said “Gong Ji-hoo is just an unfair-park merchant,” what they were really saying was “I can’t trash him on skill, so I’ll trash the stadium instead.” It was a surrender speech dressed up as criticism—practically a compliment.
Still…
“Hoo… damn unfair park.”
Anyway, Jamsil was an unfair park. A ball hit that hard not clearing the wall? That couldn’t be right. Do Jeong-hoo needed to transfer to a table-tennis court already and prove he wasn’t riding an unfair park either.
“Tch.”
After a brief moment of double standards, I turned my attention back to the duel between pitcher and batter.
Garcia, batting third, drew a walk to put runners on first and second. Kang Ho-san, batting fourth, swung through a high fastball and went down on strikes. Two outs.
The veteran right-handed power hitter who had spent years hearing the same “table-tennis-court merchant” insults—Song Han-su—was grinding out a stubborn at-bat against the Foxes’ battery.
Man, his form looks incredible today…
There was a time when the old man had been so desperate for results that he sought advice from a junior young enough to be his son. He had taken that sharp-eyed teacher’s counsel, emptied his mind, and walked straight into a second prime.
Song Han-su had said that once he stopped trying to hit for power, the power actually came more often. Plenty of people found that interview strange. But that was just how baseball worked. This delicate sport could turn the tiniest adjustment into a massive difference.
And then—
CRAAACK!!!
Not the big, looping swing he had shown early in the season, but a compact, clean stroke that met the pitcher’s perfectly placed ball square on the barrel. The crack was enormous. The ball climbed on a perfect arc, so deep that the runners didn’t even need to sprint. It sailed clean over the distant Jamsil wall.
Whirling the bat with the casual flair of a man who had spent decades in the KBO, Song Han-su flipped it perfectly and began his slow trot around the bases.
Solo shot in his first at-bat. Three-run bomb in his second.
With his own body he had proven he was no unfair-park merchant—and that Jamsil itself was no unfair park either.
That’s just cool as hell…
In the crudest terms, the man was dripping with style. Enough style that a certain young player who had spent the season playing teacher felt a little embarrassed inside.
Top of the third.
Gong Ji-hoo’s RBI double and Song Han-su’s three-run homer had put the Rhinos ahead, but they failed to keep the momentum rolling.
Bottom of the third.
The Rhinos’ “hard-working but useless foreign pitcher” did exactly what Gong Ji-hoo had feared. His command was still nowhere to be found; he walked the leadoff man, then started poking around the mound like something was wrong with the dirt, stalling the game. Then a string of hits proved the problem was the pitcher himself, not the mound. Three runs later he was yanked.
Naturally, the general manager who had traveled all the way to Seoul to watch in person had also reached the end of his patience. Gong Ji-hoo’s prediction that they would never see this guy again after today looked dead-on.
But that was still the future. Right now the Rhinos had to dig themselves out of the hole the soon-to-be-released pitcher had just dug.
Three innings, seven runs. A reverse quality-start-plus getting the early hook was the most natural thing in the world. So what about a pitcher who had given up five runs in three innings still taking the mound in the fourth?
Personally, I thought it could happen. After all, the Foxes’ starter was still on track for the win, and for a starting pitcher that “W” was massive motivation. Of course, it also meant the Foxes’ starter had earned the bench’s trust. Unlike our guy, who got shelled on a rainy day and then blamed the mound, this one was still quietly throwing his pitches after five runs.
Pop!!
“Strike three!”
Just like that. Even after the leadoff man reached on a hit, the Foxes’ starter never flinched. He struck out the next two batters and repaid the bench’s faith in full.
Still, I was pretty sure he was praying the fifth would end before Song Han-su’s turn came around again. Two homers already. But the Rhinos’ lineup was not a one-man Song Han-su show. In the top of the fifth the Foxes’ starter would face the top of the order starting with me, batting second.
For the Rhinos, a chance to retake the lead. For the Foxes, a crisis. First, though, we had to get through the bottom of the fourth cleanly.
“Hoo…”
“Ji-hoo, why the sigh?”
“I want to play defense.”
“Proper rest is more important than anything. You guys aren’t machines.”
True enough.
“But is there anything a designated hitter can actually do during defensive innings?”
Manager Dong Sang-guk’s answer was crystal clear.
“Go get some popcorn, Ji-hoo.”
In other words, all I could do was watch and cheer.
“Just produce in the offensive innings and you’re golden, Ji-ta. That’s what you’re best at, right?”
Fortunately, the long reliever who had taken over after the starter’s early exit in the third managed to keep the bottom of the fourth scoreless. He allowed baserunners and put men in scoring position—it got dicey—but he induced a double play with a two-seam fastball and escaped clean.
Long relievers had it rough. They did all the dirty work and almost never got credit from the fans. They didn’t come in only to protect leads like the high-leverage guys, and they didn’t start the game and set the tone like the starters. Still…
Without long relievers, surviving a long season is damn near impossible.
Not every starter could go deep every night. Early exits like today’s happened every season, and filling those innings required long men who could eat frames. Unsung heroes, people called them. No position fit the label better.
I used to think “unsung hero” meant a hero who never raised his voice. Turns out that wasn’t it.
Didn’t matter. What mattered was that our unsung hero now had a real shot at the win.
“Appreciate the work.”
Leading off, I watched the pitcher exchanging signs with his catcher, face blank.
Five runs allowed, but still a solid arm. Mid-140s fastball, big curve, sharp slider, changeup to handle opposite-handed hitters. Everything a starter needed.
Except I was the kind of hitter ordinary solid arms struggled against.
Whoosh!!
CRAAACK!!
I crushed the low pitch. The ball shot down the first-base line and rolled hard. I was already running—past first, past second—then I checked the ball. It kept tumbling all the way to the wall.
God bless Jamsil.
For this at-bat alone, that cavernous outfield felt perfect. I never stopped at second. I accelerated, then slid smoothly into third.
“Safe!”
The triple had been so easy I barely needed the slide. It was enough to pull the pitcher from the game.
From their side it might have stung that he never finished five and lost the chance at a win. From ours…
Not taking the loss is already a win for him.
Because we were about to take the lead this inning anyway.
Top of the fifth.
Just as Gong Ji-hoo had figured, the Foxes’ starter should have been grateful he wasn’t stuck with the loss. The Rhinos’ lineup tore into the bullpen arms that followed him—Garcia’s sacrifice fly, Kang Ho-san’s double, Song Han-su’s RBI single—and tied the game. Then the rattled Foxes pitcher started spraying walks and even uncorked a wild pitch. Just like that, the game tilted hard toward the Rhinos.
I had been sure we could take the lead in the fifth. I never imagined we would put up a full big inning.
After five, the scoreboard read:
Seoul Foxes 7 : 9 Daegu Rhinos
Four runs in a single frame and the Rhinos were back in front—yet the margin was still only two, which told you exactly how badly our starter had performed. Meanwhile our unsung hero had shut down the bottom of the fifth cleanly and proven he belonged in the win column.
“Well, well…”
That big fifth-inning rally still had aftershocks in the sixth. The top of the order was due up again after only one frame. This time it started with leadoff man Jang Tae-wook.
The Foxes, already on their fourth pitching change by the sixth, still refused to fold and brought in a high-leverage arm. Jang Tae-wook answered by dropping a perfect bunt single on the first pitch and stealing first base right out from under them.
“Appreciate the work.”
I had no idea how the pitcher’s mental state was holding up. Getting yanked and then immediately seeing a surprise bunt? That had to make a guy dizzy.
Good for me, though.
Jang Tae-wook played baseball like a complete bastard. That was a compliment. Because of him I could face the pitcher with a clear head. A different kind of elite leadoff man from the Wizards’ Park Ji-han.
Pop!!
“Ball.”
A pitch that sailed way outside. Watching a pitcher who still looked shell-shocked from Tae-wook’s sudden bunt, I smiled.
Just give me something I can hit.
Three at-bats today. Three hits.
Single. Double. Triple.
Yeah. One home run left. One more and I would have my first regular-season cycle.
Last year it was the postseason.
A cycle in the Korean Series versus a cycle in the regular season. I had no idea which was more valuable, so I decided to collect both.
Whoosh!!
First a surprise bunt from Tae-wook, then a first pitch that sailed a mile outside. Maybe the successive bad breaks rattled him. The pitcher left a meatball right down the middle.
CRAAACK!!!
I crushed it, fully locked in on a home run. Song Han-su had said that dropping the power urge actually brought more power. That didn’t mean you had to drop the urge to hit for power. A hitter like me was allowed to want it. Beyond pure hitting skill, my athleticism could keep up with the greed.
I was still young, after all.
Whirling the bat with a thought so rude it would have made my elderly disciple genuinely angry, I tossed it aside and watched the ball clear the wall, then began my slow trot around the bases.
“Bubble, my ass.”
I wondered what a certain general manager (current residence: Suwon, allegedly) who had claimed I was about to deflate would be thinking after today’s game. I really wanted to know.
To all the clowns yapping about slumps and bubbles—he just answered with a cycle, whoa.
And he cleared Jamsil with it too.