The Gyeonggi South Youth Baseball Tournament Begins
April finally arrived, and with it came the Gyeonggi South Youth Baseball Tournament.
Youth baseball tournaments usually run their schedules on weekday evenings or weekends, given that the players are students with school obligations.
In the provinces, where it's hard to find a regulation stadium equipped for night games, most tournaments cram everything into the weekends —
but the Gyeonggi area enjoys far more options: college and corporate league stadiums, pro farm-team fields, secondary diamonds, civic ballparks. Weekday games are easy enough to arrange.
As a result, the Gyeonggi South tournament, with all seven days of the week at its disposal, blew through the schedule at a genuinely breakneck pace — from the Round of 64 all the way down to the Round of 16 in just two weeks.
Along the way, the Wirye Jeil Middle baseball team ran into two school clubs and one junior league squad, picking up easy wins against every one of them. And the unexpected star of that stretch? Senior Choi Kang-cheol.
A serviceable command that stayed in the zone, a decently brisk low-130s fastball, and a decently sharp splitter — that modest trio was a masterclass in what beating up on the weak really means, sending amateur bats swinging at empty air.
Kang Min-hyuk still hadn't pushed his velocity past the high 110s, and the breaking-ball artistry that would become his hallmark at the start of the original story was still rough around the edges. So for now he was pitching in a relief role, mopping up garbage innings.
And me? Well.
Ping!
"Whoa, did Yi-seon just hit his third home run in as many games?"
"I keep telling you, his strength is no joke. Anybody else, that's a wind-blown fly ball — and it just sails over the fence."
—I'm working hard on it, okay.
Anyway, once we'd cruised through the early rounds and the remaining eight teams were mostly proper baseball programs, Coach Choi called the whole squad together.
"Alright. Through the last round, our first- and second-year juniors have done us proud. But from here on out, we start meeting opponents you can't afford to take lightly. Next up is Gwangnam Middle — a dedicated baseball program, same as us. So starting with this game, I'm running what I consider our best lineup. Questions?"
Needless to say, nobody raised a hand at a moment like this.
"Then I'll read the lineup right now. Understand — there's no 'automatic starter because he's a senior,' no 'automatic bench because he's a junior.' I picked this order purely on merit, based on practice and game performance, so nobody had better complain. Starting pitcher, Cho Beom-seok. Catcher, Kim Hyun-chan. First base, Kim Yi-seon—"
That's what he said, anyway, but only two underclassmen made the starting lineup — me being one of them. The other was a second-year outfielder senior, so there wasn't actually anything all that radical about the selection.
After dismissing everyone except the starters he'd just called, Coach gathered the roster members and led them into a conveniently empty classroom.
"This is the projected starting profile for Gwangnam Middle, our opponent. We can't do anything fancy here — let's just get a feel for their tournament stats, their builds, and whether they bat left or right."
Up on the classroom TV came the score sheets of the Gwangnam Middle kids. How should I put this... it was all pretty ambiguous. No national tournament record whatsoever, everything from regionals, and their rate stats had the vague feel of — to put it in pro terms — guys who'd struggle to stick on a first-team roster.
Errors I could forgive, this being student baseball, but their batting averages were all flopped in the low .200s, and in a level of play where walks are handed out like candy, an on-base percentage barely different from the average itself was just sad.
And the pitchers, with ERAs an outright disaster, looked to be about on par with us — no better.
"For comparison's sake, I've pulled your own score sheets too. Look at them side by side."
At those words I turned to the seniors' sheets — and honestly, ours were worse. I mean, this senior is hitting .180. Why do his extra-base hits look like that? And how many errors does he have on defense?
A truly bottom-of-the-barrel matchup of fools and dolts. I found myself thinking, hard: is there even anything to analyze here? Whichever team makes fewer mistakes is probably just going to win.
Exactly the same thought was running through the heads of the Gwangnam Middle players on the other side. We're a mess, sure — but these guys are a way bigger mess! And amid the Gwangnam boys resolving to focus only on their own game, one dissenting voice rose up.
"Didn't some kid who's not even on these score sheets hit a home run in every game last round? What's the plan for him?"
"Oh, come on. Jeil Middle drew a cakewalk bracket. Look at them — they've done nothing but massacre school clubs. Probably just teed off on some gassed pitcher's meatballs."
"Even with the pitcher handing it to you, hitting a homer isn't exactly easy."
"What's there to worry about? Fine, maybe he's got some pop — just don't give up anything big and we're done, right? Besides, I heard he's a first-year. No way he's starting."
"You think so...?"
The Gwangnam player tilted his head, unconvinced. Something about this didn't feel right...
But he figured that if he pushed the point any further, he'd just get yelled at for sowing negativity, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Hey, Coach Choi! Been a while, huh? Hope things have been treating you well."
"Hey there, Coach Park. Can't complain. How's everything on your end?"
"Ugh, don't get me started. The school hands down a mountain of expectations with barely a crumb of support. Apparently this year they want us to take a run at a big tournament."
The two managers exchanged banter and caught up on each other's situations before the game. Truth be told, both Wirye Jeil Middle and Gwangnam Middle had been created as afterthoughts when their foundations' respective high schools founded baseball teams, which is why both had such a hard time shaking off their doormat status.
That said, Gwangnam Middle belonged to the same foundation as Gwangnam High — a school that, unlike Wirye Jeil High, at least managed to avoid dead last in weekend leagues.
So you could argue their circumstances were a touch better. But while it's one thing for a high school, for a middle school commuting distance is everything — and Gwangnam Middle, sitting all the way out in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province, struggled to recruit players and simply couldn't raise its level.
Of course, someone might ask: Wirye Jeil Middle sits right next to the shiny new downtown of Wirye City, near Seoul and swimming in young families — why on earth do they have recruitment problems? Well, that's exactly how mediocre Jeil Middle was, plain and simple.
But this year was different. In the little-league scouting wars, Coach Choi Sang-ho had reeled in the biggest catch not just in Wirye but in the entire southern Gyeonggi region — Kim Yi-seon himself.
Granted, "reeled in" was generous; more accurately, Coach Choi had been the one chosen. Either way, watching Kim Yi-seon live up to every expectation and hammering out home runs, the coach felt full without having eaten a bite.
And how deep did that satisfaction run? A man whose baseball life had always been a thin, stringy stretch of survival was now entertaining ambitions like, "What if we made some real noise at a tournament while Kim Yi-seon's here?"
Coach Park of Gwangnam knew roughly who Kim Yi-seon was too, and he envied Coach Choi bitterly for landing a kid like that — but he chalked it up to striking gold and kept grinding away.
"Say, Coach Choi. That Kim Yi-seon kid — sure, he's good, I'll give you that. But is it really wise to run a first-year that hard? What happens when he runs into third-year pitching and gets his confidence snapped?"
"Oh, Coach Park. Kim Yi-seon is not something you worry about. You'll see firsthand today."
The smug answer made Park's stomach turn. Back when this man was playing, he couldn't even hold my jockstrap. Since when is baseball a one-man sport? He's a first-year — how much can he possibly do?
Swallowing his churning anger, Coach Park finished the exchange, then gathered his relievers waiting in the dugout and issued his orders with force.
"Listen up! Today, whatever happens, you challenge these guys hard and inside — jam every pitch into their bodies. If your command's off, don't panic, just drill them. Any coward who ducks away from the inside corner won't so much as sniff this mound again. Got it?!"
"""Sir, yes, sir!!!"""
"Good. We bat first. Hitters — swing aggressive and early. Pitchers, don't go loosening up your shoulders yet. Watch how the offense unfolds and move accordingly."
In the top of the first, senior Cho Beom-seok took the mound as our starter and, after surrendering four runs, barely managed to escape the inning. It didn't look like he'd pitched all that badly — bad luck, maybe? Somehow, things never seem to break easy for him.
Coach still didn't consider Kang Min-hyuk a starter-caliber option, apparently because his velocity was garbage. High 110s is admittedly nothing to write home about, but I genuinely don't understand why he won't use a kid who paints the corners with breaking balls that sharp.
Whatever his stuff lacks, isn't command like that still better than the starters currently setting the mound on fire?
Anyway, our turn at bat began, and senior Kim Hyun-chan stepped into the box. A catcher with no power tool to speak of, he's a classic slap-hitter type, which is why the coach usually bats him leadoff.
The opposing pitcher wound up, and a blistering fastball came spraying out—
"Ack!"
Straight in at the body, slamming off Kim Hyun-chan's elbow guard. Our coach stormed toward the umpire, furiously protesting that this was intentional and demanding the pitcher be ejected, but the umpire shook his head and refused.
The guard had blunted the worst of it, apparently, because after giving his forearm a brief rub, the senior quietly trotted down to first.
And then the next batter—
"Hey! Coach Park! You really going to play it like this?!"
"Aw, looks like the kid's command is a little off today. Sorry about that, Coach Choi. But don't go making the boy feel small over it. Umpire, could you step in here? Isn't this shaking up our pitcher's head a little?"
As our coach lodged his heated protest, the opposing manager smirked slyly and shot a glance at the umpire. The two apparently knew each other already, because the umpire moved to smooth the situation over without much fuss.
Then, another hit by pitch. This time, the thigh.
Two batters in a row plunked on the very first pitch, and our dugout began to stir. Our third hitter, rattled to his bones, couldn't bring himself to crowd the plate and went down on strikes, just like that.
Coach was yelling himself hoarse, visibly fuming. Then he caught sight of me taking my practice swings in the on-deck circle and shot me a signal with burning eyes: 'Knock it out of the park.'
Like that's something I can just do on command. From what I can tell, he's telling me to swing for the fences even if I strike out — but for the record, I don't know how to swing any bigger than I already do.
All I can offer is the same swing as always: as fast and as precise as possible.
I stepped into the box. To be fair, the pitcher looked shaken too — whether from guilt or nerves, his delivery wavered in subtle ways.
The first pitch was a low, diving ball. A fastball, but it buried itself so far down it nearly bounced.
I tilted my bat slightly, deliberately taunting him. With his command looking like this, that was worth a try. Sure enough, the pitcher shrank back at my gamesmanship, and the opposing dugout's manager was the one losing his temper instead. Even better.
The second pitch came in tense and tight — probably a slider. The intent seemed to be a ball in tight to put fear in me, but it spilled completely, drifting out over the heart of the zone. A hanging slider.
Ping!
Well then, over the fence it goes. I did exactly as the coach ordered — happy to be of service?
And with that, I turned my head toward our dugout, where Coach was grinning ear to ear, clapping like a man possessed.