The Press Interview That Almost Backfired
The final game of the opening three-game set between the Daejeon Magpies and the Busan Seagulls.
Time had already slipped into the bottom of the second.
On pins and needles. The old phrase meant sitting in a seat that offered no comfort — a mind, or a situation, so unsettled you couldn't keep still. It was the single best description of Choi Seungtaek's current state.
I'm… I'm screwed. I misspoke.
Seungtaek had made the starting lineup today. Catcher, batting sixth. He had already gone out and caught the top of the first and the top of the second, but he couldn't remember how those two innings had even passed. The only thing looping through his head was what he'd said in the interview.
Trying to salvage it on the fly, he had reached for the old "star of my heart" line. But sitting with it before the game, he had realized just how badly he'd put it. Nuance, tone — none of it mattered. He had the sinking feeling he'd handed the reporter a messy story on a platter.
Please. Just let this not turn into a problem…
What he should have done was fire off a clean, breezy Not particularly first — or drop it with a wink and then add, as a joke, He's the star of my heart! That way the reporter would have taken it as a light gag and written something fluffy. What Seungtaek had actually said was a mess no matter who heard it.
No. The reporter definitely heard me just fine. So what do I do now?
The more he turned it over, the more dangerous it felt. He wouldn't show it, but Manager Han Geunseong was going to be in a foul mood. As long as a man sat in that chair, his authority was bottomless. Seungtaek could be shipped to the second team whenever the skipper felt like it, or scratched from the starting lineup on a whim. He knew exactly what kind of manager Han Geunseong was, and that was why it hurt.
Then I just have to play well. I have to play fucking well.
He was waiting with that grim look on his face when the chance arrived.
Crack!
A clean, ringing report of wood on baseball carried through the park.
"Tae Pyung-yang! A base hit! He threads it between the second baseman and the shortstop!"
Leading off the bottom of the second, Tae Pyung-yang had singled.
Good. We've got a runner.
Crack!
"Cha Haengjin! A hit splitting center and left!"
Cha Haengjin took a free, easy cut and found grass as well. Just like that, runners stood at second and third. And from the on-deck circle, it was Seungtaek's turn.
All right. Show them. The guys who produce get forgiven. Let's mash again and earn a free pass.
He stepped into the box with his will set.
And there's another reason, too.
His girlfriend, Park Gayeong, was hoping the Magpies would make a showing. Extra strength settled into his hands.
He looked up at the pitcher on the mound.
The System is providing assistance.
The System laid the Busan Seagulls starter out in front of his eyes.
Huh? I'll take that.
Back-to-back hits would do that to a man. The Seagulls starter did not look right.
◈ Arsenal: Four-seam fastball, curveball, slider
◈ Preferred pitch: Slider
◈ Tell: When he throws the slider, it leaks over the heart of the plate. When he throws the curve, he cannot command it.
The moment Seungtaek reached for what he remembered of Park Sejun, the System painted the pitcher's favorite trajectories across his vision — and, at the same time, the broken versions of those same paths, the ones currently betraying him.
That's why he got hit twice.
The cruelest stretch a pitcher can hit had found Park Sejun, the Busan Seagulls starter: a sudden, total loss of command. Walking hitters would have been cleaner. Instead the breaking balls were getting yanked over the middle against his will, and all he could do was grit his teeth and throw them anyway.
Whether the two men in front of Seungtaek had known or not, Seungtaek couldn't say — but both had hunted that leaking slider and singled on it. Seungtaek stepped in hunting the same pitch.
Hoo…
The ball hissed in.
Thwack.
Strike.
He took the first one. Park Sejun's pitch caught the outside edge of the zone. With runners at second and third, the man still had the nerve to throw the one pitch he could still locate — the fastball — and throw it with his chest out.
Whoa. A little more experience under his belt and he's attacking the zone like that…
Seungtaek closed his eyes for a beat.
He's going to keep throwing the pitch he can still command. So where does he go? In or away with the heater? He just went away. This time he comes inside.
He opened his eyes onto the inside fastball's path.
The ball hissed in again.
Unfortunately for Park Sejun, he threw it exactly where Seungtaek thought he would. And in the same instant, the pitch swelled in Seungtaek's sight until it looked as big as a watermelon.
Got it!
Crack!
"Choi Seungtaek! A hit the moment he's back in the lineup!"
…
By the end of the day Seungtaek had gone five-for-five with six RBI. His bat was on fire. Once the first and second starters had both been burned through, the rest of the Busan Seagulls' pitching staff was just dinner.
Tuesday arrived.
Another three-game series, and Seungtaek rolled into Munhak Baseball Stadium with the club for an away set against the Incheon Cranes. Because they were on the road, training started a little later; the wait and the travel had given the players who'd come in on the bus a pocket of rest, and they were happy to take it.
Even in that short window, though, Seungtaek had been tagged for Special Batting Practice. He had to go hit.
Crack!
"That's it, Choi Seungtaek. Keep swinging with that Sunday feel!"
The bat made a sweet sound. The Magpies Batting Coach fed him another ball.
"Coach, you don't see anything off with me?"
"What am I supposed to coach a guy who went five-for-five on Sunday?"
Ahem.
"Still — if you see something I'm lacking, please say so. Anytime."
"Not really. Your swing's good. Smoother than I expected, honestly. Makes me not want to tinker with it. What kind of swing even is that? Anyway. Yeah. Just keep doing what you're doing. You're hitting. What's there to say?"
Figures.
He was an experienced hitter in his own right, and the batting coach was content to endorse the current form and throw balls just to keep it oiled.
"Yes, sir."
"And the skipper told me to have you take two boxes. But let's just do one and rest, yeah? You're the one starting-caliber catcher we've got left. If you ding up a hand and sit, I'm the one in a tight spot."
"Yes! Thank you."
I'll take that.
Seungtaek's current standing was irreplaceable. He didn't even have to pull a ppang-ki himself — other people had started covering for him. He was working through the remaining balls in the crate when the Magpies Head Coach appeared behind him.
"Hey. Choi Seungtaek."
"Yes, Coach!"
"What were you thinking, doing an interview like that?"
The head coach had sought him out with a faintly pained look.
Ah, crap. Here it comes.
Seungtaek's face went stiff. The interview was in print, then. Spreading.
"I'm sorry."
"Look… Seungtaek. The skipper hates that kind of thing. Everything in moderation."
"Yes, sir. I understand. I'm sorry!"
"You don't have to be sorry, it's just… anyway. You're a strange one."
…A strange one?
The head coach left him with that opaque remark and walked off.
What was that supposed to mean?
"Uh… let's keep going, then. You're almost through. It'll be done in a minute."
"Yes, sir."
Seungtaek put his head back down and focused on the extra BP.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Five minutes later he had finished the box and headed for the locker room.
"Choi Seungtaek!"
"Yes, Manager."
The team manager looked him over for a moment.
"Seungtaek. I saw the interview."
"Ah — you did?"
"But… were you always that type? Didn't seem like it."
"Sir?"
"Never mind. Thinking about camp, maybe it does fit."
What is he talking about?
The manager's words only deepened the fog. The man stared at Seungtaek, turning something over, then shook his head.
"No, no — sorry. Uh… we've got full defensive work scheduled, so just head straight out onto the field."
"Ah! Yes, sir."
Seungtaek went into the park with his head tilted at the string of comments. In the locker room he gathered his catching gear.
"Whoa! Choi Seungtaek!"
"Yeah, hyung."
"You really went all in!"
This time it was shortstop Hwang Ganggyeong, starting in with something equally strange.
Went all in on what?
"You're already the starter, and you still cut that kind of angle."
"What are you—"
"Incredible. Seriously incredible. That's not even easy to pull off."
The remarks kept coming, none of them making sense, and Seungtaek started to panic.
Is it the article? I need to check.
"Is the catcher ready yet?"
"Ah! Seungtaek's putting his gear on now."
"Yeah? Tell him to hurry up."
"Come on, let's move. Seungtaek!"
"Yes, sir."
He wanted to look up the article, but they were hustling him out and there was no time. Mask in hand, he headed onto the field.
"That's it!"
"Nice!"
"A little more in! Put something on it!"
"Home! Home!"
The defensive work ran at a hard clip. Seungtaek got through all of it.
Hahhh.
"Hey, sycophant~"
Sycophant?
A few players heading into the dugout snickered and muttered it just loud enough.
"Hey, toady. You're playing well again today. Which body part are you, huh? I hear Jeong-geun's the left arm!"
That was as much as he could take.
Aaaagh. I have to check right now!
The moment defensive work ended, Seungtaek sprinted for the locker room and woke his phone. He went straight to Sports Korea and searched his own name.
Choi Seungtaek went on to state that Manager Han Geunseong always deploys his roster with flexibility, and that — contrary to the skipper's reputation for brutal training — he himself has been receiving thorough, careful management from Manager Han.
Choi Seungtaek also made clear his everyday attitude of respect toward Manager Han Geunseong…
From the headline to the last line, the piece read as if Choi Seungtaek were a player who fiercely, loudly supported Manager Han Geunseong.
Th-that's… that's not what I meant at all…