Gong Ji-hoo, You're In
A free-swinging slugfest so wild it made yesterday’s tense pitchers’ duel feel like a dream.
Whatever had gotten under his skin, our foreign starter kept seething on the mound, riling up the fans until he was yanked before he could even finish three innings.
The Rhinos’ domestic starter opposite him held a clean sheet through the third — then, as if determined to show a little Korean hospitality of his own, cheerfully set the mound on fire and walked off.
And so both teams’ starters were gone without completing five innings. Both managers clutched their heads, drowning in decisions. Bullpen pitchers scrambled into sudden warm-ups, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
While they suffered through that miserable stretch of the game—
CRAAACK!!!
—the hitters on both sides were having the time of their lives.
CRAAAAACK!!!
“There it goes again.”
I sat on the bench nursing an electrolyte drink, staring blankly as yet another ball cleared the wall — I’d already lost count of how many.
It was true Suwon’s ballpark wasn’t exactly cavernous. Still.
“How many home runs have we had so far?”
Lee Dae-beom answered with a sour look on his face.
“Six. Four for us, two for Daegu.”
“Are these guys even paying for their swings…”
Far too many home runs for a single game. And every run scored so far had come exclusively by way of the fence.
Even with the Wizards sitting on two more homers, the Rhinos were the ones ahead.
“Hmm… four solo shots. Two three-run jobs. Where do you suppose that gap is coming from?”
I fixed Lee Dae-beom with a long, pointed look.
“What! So I’m the problem, is that it?!”
“No, I was just wondering why the Rhinos’ cleanup hitter cleans his plate whenever someone sets the table, while our cleanup hitter seems to have no appetite… Looking at that body of yours, it doesn’t seem like you’re on a diet.”
Lee Dae-beom, the Wizards’ cleanup hitter. His line today was a respectable 2-for-4. The problem was that both hits were singles — and both had come with the bases empty, nowhere near a scoring situation.
“So this is what they call a stat padder.”
By contrast, the Rhinos’ cleanup man — a Venezuelan import — had already launched two balls over the wall in scoring situations and was sitting on six RBI.
“…Hah.”
Lee Dae-beom clenched his fists, trembling, then let out a long sigh and dropped heavily into the seat beside me.
“This damn ninety-nine curse…”
“Ah, right — you’re sitting on thirty-nine home runs, aren’t you?”
The pride of the Suwon Wizards’ power lineup. For the first time in his career, Lee Dae-beom was chasing forty home runs this season.
He’d been stuck on the doorstep for a full two months.
“I honestly don’t think I’m conscious of any ninety-nine jinx, you know? So why can’t I hit one out?”
“Why are you asking me? Is this some kind of challenge to my glittering career total of eleven home runs?”
“You lunatic.”
Lee Dae-beom pressed on.
“Still, you’re the psychology expert, aren’t you? Maybe I should try writing a novel too.”
“You think novels are easy…?”
If Lee Dae-beom ever put pen to paper, I was certain it would be the second coming of my sealed-away opus, Genius Batter Gong Ji-hoo.
“I’m just frustrated.”
“In that case, look at Sung-woo.”
I pointed to An Sung-woo, sitting quietly in the row behind us.
“Huuuh?! How long has this bastard been sitting there?! I told you to announce yourself when you’re around!”
An Sung-woo simply nodded at Lee Dae-beom’s bellowing.
“Sung-woo helps the team plenty even without hitting home runs. Just because they call you a slugger doesn’t mean home runs are the only way you prove yourself — that’s what I’m saying.”
It was a line I’d thrown together on the spot to console a dejected Lee Dae-beom.
“I. Hit a home run today.”
A classic contact hitter — a ttuk-ttak-i who hit over .300 but never cracked three home runs in a season. An Sung-woo’s line today: 3-for-5 with one homer.
“Whoa. First time I’ve ever heard Sung-woo talk.”
I sat there with my mouth open in shock. Lee Dae-beom cut in.
“Weren’t you in the middle of saying something for my benefit?”
“Hah…”
This clueless idiot.
“Is you not hitting home runs more important than An Sung-woo speaking?”
You could catch Lee Dae-beom’s home runs thirty times a year. Hearing An Sung-woo talk happened fewer than five times a year. I’d gotten that straight from Park Ji-han, who was unusually close with him, so it was reliable.
“Tsk… fine.”
Lee Dae-beom conceded the point. Then, suddenly, he started talking a little louder.
“Still, at least I managed two hits. Imagine how humiliating it’d be to go hitless on a day when the bats are exploding like this?”
His gaze locked precisely on Jeong Geun-wook, who was sitting on an 0-fer for the day.
Jeong Geun-wook was close enough that he couldn’t possibly have missed it. His face twisted into a full scowl, but he left for the field without a word, heading out to take his defensive position.
Lee Dae-beom looked over at me with a smile that said, Nailed it, right?
I smiled back with a heart that said, Yeah, no, that wasn’t it.
Still, I had to admit — it did feel pretty good.
In the late season, every single game was precious.
Even trailing by two runs, Manager Kim Tae-sik played a bold card — bringing in his high-leverage arm in the top of the eighth. Only—
CRAAACK!!
“That ball! It’s got distance! It’s gone! Down two strikes in a tough count, and with one swing Garcia puts a run on the board!! That’s already his third home run of the day!”
Maybe three straight days of work had been the problem.
“You can practically call that the dagger for today’s game — a two-run shot. Every single one of the Rhinos’ runs today has come off Garcia’s bat! Eight RBI!”
Or maybe the problem was that foreign hitter circling the bases and howling like a man possessed.
Should I have just intentionally walked him…
The regret came too late.
Fortunately, the pitcher struck out the next two batters in a row and closed the inning. Manager Kim Tae-sik patted the high-leverage arm on the shoulder as he trudged in with his head down, then turned to prepare the offense with a heavy heart. Still—
Crack!
Leading off was Lee Dae-beom. He didn’t clear the wall this time, but the man who’d already collected two hits today notched his third and arrived at first base.
“Ball.”
The five-hole hitter, third baseman Lee Se-ho, also worked an eight-pitch battle into a walk, loading the table with nobody out and runners on first and second.
Maybe…
A fragile hope began to take root in Manager Kim Tae-sik.
“Four runs and we’re tied!”
His eyes drifted to Gong Ji-hoo, cheering hard from the bench.
No — Sang-hee hit a home run today too…
The next two hitters were lower in the order, but both had gone deep today. Manager Kim Tae-sik decided to trust them.
He pulled his gaze off Gong Ji-hoo and watched the field.
“Out!”
Whether he was still thinking about his previous at-bat’s home run, the six-hole hitter’s swing had gotten enormous. The mistimed ball floated weakly into the second baseman’s glove.
“Swing, strike three!!”
The seven-hole hitter danced right over the Rhinos pitcher’s diving breaking ball and simply added another out.
Suddenly it was two away. Watching Jeong Geun-wook take practice swings in the eight-hole, Manager Kim Tae-sik had no choice.
“Gong Ji-hoo in.”
“Just like that, the Wizards are down to two outs with runners on first and second. The next batter is Jeong Geun-wook, hitless on the day… but here comes a pinch hitter!”
“It’s Gong Ji-hoo.”
PH — Gong Ji-hoo.
His name lit up on the scoreboard. Just like yesterday.
But the fans’ reaction was nothing like yesterday’s.
WAAAAAAAH!!
“Yesterday’s hero! Gong Ji-hoo steps into the box! The energy from the crowd is unreal! This game is not over yet!!”
“Gong Ji-hoo hit a home run off none other than Oh Jin-muk just yesterday. The question is whether he can carry that swing into today… pff—”
Commentator Kim Jung-eop broke into a brief snicker mid-sentence.
“Ah, apologies to our viewers. I just remembered Gong Ji-hoo’s interview from yesterday and couldn’t help myself…”
“Hahaha — that interview sure made the rounds for all kinds of reasons. Whether we get another Gong Ji-hoo interview like yesterday’s will depend on what happens in this at-bat. Let’s watch!”
While the fans and the broadcast booth poured every ounce of their attention onto him, Gong Ji-hoo was—
“Ji-hoo. Jin-muk said to tell you he’s sorry.”
—receiving an apology.
“Appreciate the hard work~”
As always, I greeted the umpire and the catcher, then stepped into the box.
“Ji-hoo. Thanks for saying nice things about me in that interview…”
The catcher was Kang Ho-san again, same as yesterday. He was offering his gratitude.
“The interview? Ah… you mean the part where you dropped a dead-parent insult on me, hyung? How exactly was I supposed to spin that?”
“Hey! If I’d known…!”
Kang Ho-san started to shout, then swallowed it.
“Like you said — if you’d handled it differently, I really would’ve looked like the villain… Thanks. And Jin-muk said to tell you he’s sorry.”
Huh?
“Senior Oh Jin-muk?”
“Yeah.”
Had Oh Jin-muk done anything he needed to apologize to me for? If anything—
“Shouldn’t he be the one getting the apology from me?”
I’d handed him his first walk-off of the year. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was him.
Undefeated. Sub-1.00 ERA. Forty-five saves.
Those were Oh Jin-muk’s numbers before he faced me — the kind of line that made a Golden Glove for a reliever look like a real possibility. One swing from me put a crack in that record. I’d checked today: his ERA had climbed into the ones.
“Jin-muk’s not that small a guy.”
“He doesn’t seem like it, no.”
“Anyway, I’m just the messenger. Ask him yourself later.”
I don’t have his number.
Small talk finished, I locked in on the pitcher standing on the mound.
Left-hander. From what I’d seen, a thoroughly ordinary mid-140s fastball.
Whooosh.
Pop!
“Ball.”
A breaking ball that seemed to slide and sink right in front of the plate.
The previous batter had been fooled by that exact pitch and turned into a ceiling fan in weather that had no business calling for one.
…If this were the old me, I’d have swung at that for sure.
The pre-regression version of me, crushed under the weight of pressure, would have swung at anything — in the zone or out of it — just to force a result.
That’s basically throwing away my biggest strength with my own hands.
My greatest asset wasn’t the precision that had me hitting .400 in the second team, or the power that produced thirty home runs.
Whooosh~
The ball’s flight path. No need to swing.
“Ball.”
It was outside the zone.
Plate discipline. That was my greatest strength.
“Gong Ji-hoo takes that pitch. A changeup that trickles just off the zone, and he doesn’t so much as flinch! Count is two balls — a hitter’s count.”
“This is exactly what makes Gong Ji-hoo special. Last year in the second team, when he hit .400, he also posted a .500 on-base percentage. In short, this is a hitter with truly outstanding plate discipline.”
A .500 OBP. A borderline absurd number.
It meant that standing in the two-hole, he produced a result essentially every other time.
“That said, if he just walks here, Manager Kim Tae-sik’s pinch-hit decision loses its meaning.”
“Ball.”
Three balls.
He really is patient…
Kang Ho-san thought as he tossed the ball back to the pitcher.
Yeah… better just put him on.
He felt bad for the guy on the mound, but yesterday’s swing from Gong Ji-hoo had been genuinely unsettling. Unsettling enough that loading the bases and facing the next hitter still felt like the smarter play.
He called for another pitch out of the zone.
The pitcher on the mound sighed, then nodded.
It’s already 3–0. Walking him is the right call…
Even so, the pitcher resolved to throw his best pitch — pride of the profession, even on an intentional-ish ball.
Whooosh~
Ah.
It wasn’t a mistake. A beautifully painted pitch that just nicked the edge of the zone.
In any other situation, it would have been a pitch to celebrate.
So it’s 3–1… do I challenge him now…?
That was the pitcher’s thought as the ball left his hand.
CRAAACK—!
A lightning-bolt swing crushed the perfectly placed breaking ball.
“A sharp line drive!! Fair ball!! It splits the infield and rolls all the way to the wall! The runners are going!! They’re flying!!”
A low screamer shot toward the outfield before the infielders could even react.
The baserunners took off. Gong Ji-hoo broke into a full sprint of his own.
He touched first lightly and drove toward second. Then—
Sliiiide.
Gong Ji-hoo slid into second and tagged the bag. Perfect baserunning. But—
“Out!!”
All that full-speed effort meant nothing.
At second base, Gong Ji-hoo lifted his head with a face full of pure confusion and checked the play.
“Garcia!! He fields it and fires!! Spectacular relay!! The catcher’s waiting!! Out!! Second-base runner Lee Dae-beom is thrown out at the plate, and that ends the inning!!”
It had looked like more than enough ball for the runner at second to score. That is, if Lee Dae-beom hadn’t demonstrated the full glory of that massive frame with the slowest set of legs imaginable.
“That pig Lee Dae-beom… I’m putting him on a diet.”
Gong Ji-hoo, hollowed out by the absurd end to the inning, muttered his private resolution under his breath.
And the broadcast cameras caught every bit of it.
“Gong Ji-hoo… seems to be muttering something after the inning ended.”
“Pff—! Puh… hahahaha!!”