How to Become a Real Teammate (1)

South Korea, late May 2020 — even the coronavirus seemed to have lost some of its momentum.

It was still long before any vaccine or treatment existed, so things were bound to worsen again eventually, but for now the tight lockdown measures were slowly easing, and the atmosphere was shifting into one of cautious relief.

"Um... could I get an autograph?"

Still, this felt like a step too far.

It was the short walk from the field to the team bus after a game. Along the way, a cluster of fans had gathered, waiting for me.

Of course, signing autographs was no trouble, and fan service was simply part of the job — but weren't we in the middle of a pandemic?

They seemed to think they were social distancing, standing spaced apart from one another, but when dozens of people were packed into this small an area, it was already game over. And the moment I signed for this one person, the rest would come running up one after another demanding their own.

Just as I was debating whether I should say something, a voice cut through the air.

"Hey, Kim Yi-seon! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I turned around to see a player marching toward me, his face twisted in fury.

Ha Joong-yeon. The man who had locked down the Twins' starting shortstop job this year. Fittingly, his form this season had been impressive — nothing like last year. Just today he'd handled several nasty ground balls for us. A senior worth being grateful for.

Right now, however, he was stalking over with a face full of rage. Was that always part of his character?

Once he got close, he spoke in a voice suppressing his anger. "You think you're some kind of celebrity? Knock off the nonsense and get back on the bus. Now."

The surrounding fans apparently sensed that something was off about the mood, and a careful retreat began.

Dazed, I said I would and obediently boarded the team bus. Wait — there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was no reason for him to be angry today. Why was he so worked up? We'd won the game, the mood was great.

So I followed him quietly onto the bus, tense and careful. A reason to be mad... Defense was fine today, but maybe my hitting was iffy enough to annoy him? Or was it that one time I dove for a ball in the infield?

As I was carefully racking my brain for what could possibly have set him off, a voice drifted over.

"Phew. Honestly, some people are unbelievable. Right?"

It was Ha Joong-yeon, his face bright and breezy as if the anger had never happened.

"If our baby boy catches COVID from that crowd, who's supposed to play the games? From now on, don't head out first — leave with your hyungs. I figured it'd be fine, but apparently there are still clueless people lurking by the walkway."

He said it with a relieved smile.

Honestly, we hadn't known each other long enough for me to get a real read on him, but that anger just now had felt so genuine that I found myself asking.

"You weren't actually angry?"

"Angry? Those people were a bit clueless, sure, but they were doing it because they like us, so angry is a bit much... Oh, at you? Obviously that was acting."

Ha ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Joong-yeon burst out laughing — pahahaha.

Baseball teams really are full of all kinds of characters.

Until recently, under the banner of pandemic protocols, team gatherings had been restricted, and the overall clubhouse atmosphere — while certainly full of competitive fire and drive for a better season — had been anything but close-knit.

As a result, even for rookies like me and Kang Min-hyuk, on whom the organization pinned enormous expectations both inside and out, very few seniors went out of their way to strike up conversation or build a rapport. At most, it was the veteran pitchers in the pitching corps.

"So I'm telling you, the kid's eyes went all round and he went, 'Sunbae-nim, you weren't actually angry, were you?'"

"Joong-yeon, you punk, your lies have gotten worse lately, haven't they? Hey, that little punk with the big gall — what would he even... I probably just threw out a light remark because it was so absurd."

"I'm telling you, it's true!"

But now that the team mood had improved and we'd found our footing at the top level, we'd gradually started building friendships with the position-player seniors too.

As someone once said, the miracle cure for team chemistry is nothing other than winning. Min-hyuk and I had each taken four starts and gone undefeated, and the two foreign pitchers and Coach Hyun-seok seemed to be rediscovering their touch, improving bit by bit.

The position players still looked a little lacking at the plate, but their defense seemed to have caught fire, showing a seasoned polish instead.

In the end, maybe everyone's hearts had settled down. Or maybe — no matter how high-tech society becomes — people simply grow close by facing each other and talking. Through that process, the first-team seniors had come out here like this and were chatting with us comfortably.

Of course, having said all that, I suspect Yeeun's influence had far more to do with it than my own efforts.

Anyway, just as I was lost in these musings, Ha Joong-yeon — who had been rattling on for ages — swung the conversation in my direction.

"Wow, Yi-seon. You seriously asked him that, didn't you? Didn't you?"

There was some exaggeration mixed in, but it wasn't entirely wrong, so I gave a suitably noncommittal answer. When Ha Joong-yeon responded with a smug, self-satisfied air, Jo Sang-goo — who'd been listening in — spoke up with a look of pure exasperation.

"And what rookie wouldn't say yes when a senior asks him to his face? Stop teasing the kid."

"If he won't believe me when I say it, what am I supposed to do, get it notarized?"

"There's no such situation, which is why he wouldn't believe you. There's no one in this world worth trusting — why would Joong-yeon trust you?"

"This is genuinely unjust."

Jo Sang-goo was a player who'd been with the team a long time. Back when the Seoul Twins were in their glory days, he'd held down a utility infielder role, but now he was playing every day as the starting second baseman.

Ignoring the sulking Ha Joong-yeon, Jo Sang-goo turned to me with a word of advice.

"Anyway, keep this in mind going forward. Anything that comes out of that punk's mouth — except when he's playing baseball — is one hundred percent bullshit."

"Hyung! Saying that in front of the kid, what does that do to my image?"

"What's your image? Bullshit artist. Obviously."

His acting really was no joke — if he set his mind to a lie, it was convincing enough to fool anyone. Because that moment really had looked, to any observer, like genuine fury.

Come to think of it, considering how often he attempted trick plays at shortstop, he really might be a born con artist.

I nodded along and checked my watch — it was already meal time. With a word of apology to the seniors, I sat down for a moment and pulled out my food.

Today's brunch was smoked duck with salad, and an almond breeze blended with protein shake. Min-ah and Yeeun had prepared it all. The shake itself was something a fan had made for me personally.

When I started clattering food out of my gym bag, the seniors looked at me with faintly queasy expressions. Come to think of it, the pitching seniors had seen me eat my between-meal meals plenty of times, but the position players probably didn't have much occasion to witness it.

"Whoa... I'd heard the stories, but you eat all that, and then lunch on top of it?"

"Yes, sir. Honestly, after eating like this for a while, you get used to it."

At first I thought I might throw up, but the stomach stretches the more you use it. Stomachs grow with wear.

"So that's what it takes to play baseball like you do. I couldn't live like that."

"You seniors work incredibly hard too, though. I can't train anywhere near as much as you do."

"Now that I look at it, the bullshit artist wasn't Joong-yeon — it was you, Yi-seon. Damn, kid, I've never seen anyone with a work ethic as vicious as yours. I heard kids these days usually don't drink, fine — but eating only that kind of food, and throwing with both arms? What even are you."

That wasn't modesty; it was the truth. My actual training volume wasn't especially high. By pro standards, maybe slightly above average? It was a routine settled through plenty of consultation with Director Cho and the coaches, and I made an effort not to push it too far.

Eating, rest, recovery routines — once you get used to them, anyone can do them. If anything, the seniors grinding for their roster spots were the ones truly suffering.

"Hey, what's this — you punks bullying the baby?"

Just as the conversation was rolling along, Kang Hyun-seok appeared out of nowhere.

"No, what would we be bullying the baby about? We did infield defense drills together, so we're just having a chat. Besides, a pitcher is the fifth infielder, isn't he? Us infielders ought to get friendly."

"Fifth infielder, my ass. If the baby gets hurt fielding, are you going to take responsibility? Defense is a position player's job. Pitchers shouldn't be touching ground balls."

Kang Hyun-seok, smirking, chatted with the guys a bit more, then began summoning the pitchers over to this spot as well.

"Hey, kids! Gather round. These position clowns are saying pitchers should play defense too."

"Seriously? Ha! Sang-goo, you lunatic."

"Hey, it's not that we *can't* field. And I'll excuse everyone else, but you, Haseob — you're really the one to talk?"

"What did I do?"

"That's it. We're moving today's position-pitcher civil war up a day. Haeryoung-hyung! Get over here!"

Calling people over one by one as a joke, and before anyone knew it, both the pitchers and the position players had gathered around in a rowdy, roaring huddle. The team mood really was good — everyone's faces were bright.

"Yo! Let's just settle it with a home run derby. Bunch of guys who can't hit worse than a pitcher talking about defense."

"Oh? This punk who can't even throw a straight ball wants to mess with the sacred art of hitting? Fine. You're dead meat. I'm laying down three bombs before I go."

If you'd compared it to the cutthroat atmosphere of spring camp, this was unimaginable. Back then, only people who knew each other well exchanged more than a few words — there was barely any conversation between the pitchers and position players at all.

Watching the team become one thanks to me gave me an odd swell of pride.

Lost in that sentiment, I picked up a bat when Kang Hyun-seok told me to take my swings too.

For the record, the champion of the 1st Seoul Twins Home Run Derby (Intrasquad Edition) was me.

So the team had transformed into this warm, harmonious place — a far cry from the beginning — and I was building friendships with most of the seniors.

With Baek Joo-seon, our starting catcher, I'd grown close enough now that we traded messages about things beyond baseball, and with the keystone combo of Ha Joong-yeon and Jo Sang-goo, I'd reached the level of bantering with zero formality, just like earlier.

By this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠standard, I figured I was doing a pretty respectable job of office politics. I was on friendly terms with nearly all the key first-team players.

And yet even I still had one first-teamer I hadn't managed to get close to.

First, Minseong-sunbae.

"Um... after team practice ends ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠today, what kind of training do you do? I've noticed you work hard on individual drills too."

"... Hitting."

"Ah. I see."

Minwook-sunbae was a genuinely taciturn man. It wasn't that he never spoke — he answered any question you asked him, quite readily. If necessary, he'd explain at length, in paragraphs.

But he never volunteered anything. He never brought up a topic first, never offered an opinion unbidden.

If he were just an ordinary teammate, I'd think, *ah, that's just the kind of guy he is,* and let it go. But this man was currently the Twins' second-round draft pick catcher.

Given the nature of the position, even a second-round catcher would eat up a fair number of games, and he was someone I'd need to sync up with quite a bit — but with him this quiet... As a catcher, I felt we meshed well, admittedly, but as a person he was hard to get close to day to day.

Still, we clicked on the field, so I let it slide. No matter how tight the pitcher-catcher bond, off the field you're split between the position group and the pitching group. The real problem didn't lie on the position-player side at all — it was over with the pitchers.

You're worried my rotation rivals might show some resentful jealousy, like with Hoyeol-hyung back in the day? No. Every one of those seniors is a good man. Daese-hyung and Yehan-hyung in particular are such good hyungs that they pretend not to notice when I head to Yeeun's place.

Which means the person who's the actual problem is—

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

—the foreign pitcher over there, enthusiastically beating a locker room cabinet to death.

I hastily glanced around looking for the interpreter, but he was apparently responsible for all four foreign players at once, because he was nowhere in sight.

Look, my English is terrible. Thanks to Korea's rote-memorization education, I can read a little, but free conversation is brutal.

But having seen that, I couldn't just walk away. Surely, no matter how angry he was, a man with eyes in his head would hold back a little.

With that thought, I edged closer and managed a short line of English.

"Um... Matt? Are you okay?"

"You asked me okay? No. Get out."

Well, he did hold back. Though it sounds like he's telling me to get lost.

But I couldn't honor that request. The problem wasn't simply a smashed cabinet. He was swinging his fist so hard it had gone red — keep that up and he could injure his hand. He might already have.

I needed to calm him down and get him out of here.

Since I had no confidence in answering in English, I just shook my head and stood there.

"Huh... Get. Out."

Even I understand that much English. You don't need to slow it down for me, thanks.

When I understood him but didn't leave, Matt Doland's temper began to boil again.

It looked like he was about to start spewing something foul — and just then, the interpreter came running up, belatedly.

"Player Kim Yi-seon! Matt seems a bit upset right now. I'll handle this, so could you give us some space?"

"Well... sure."

It wasn't as if I'd been trying to fully calm down a foreigner I couldn't communicate with — my main goal had just been stopping what amounted to self-harm through anger. Either way, I'd prevented a starting pitcher from getting injured, so that was one more contribution to the team on my record.

Still, leaving without a parting shot felt too unsatisfying, so I left one message with the interpreter.

"Oh — but tell Matt this for me. A pitcher's supposed to catch *batters*, not cabinets. What's smashing one going to accomplish?"

"So. Matt smashed another cabinet."

"Yes, sir. Fortunately, it sounds like no serious injury to his hand this time either..."

Jeong Jin-haeng let out a long, deep sigh.

It came with the territory of being a manager, but the job honestly felt like it shaved years off your life just sitting in the chair. Team results were finally returning to something respectable and the clubhouse harmony issues had been resolved — and now the foreign players were the problem.

What on earth were the general manager and the overseas scouts even being paid for?

Last year, they'd bragged endlessly about landing a big-league-experienced pitcher, and it turned out none of them were proper starters — all long relievers who barely scraped together the required innings. So this year, still smarting from that, they'd begged us to prioritize innings-eating ability, and what did they bring back? A guy with anger management issues, a patient with crushing homesickness, and a sex addict.

"Tell Matt that if he can't control his emotions one more time and acts like an amateur again, he's getting demoted to the second division. No — say it to all three foreign pitchers."

Matt Doland. A 4.xx ERA at AAA with twenty-plus starts to his name. But after being released by his club last year, no MLB organization came calling, and so he'd ended up coming to Asia.

His profile looked decent enough — when word came that a pitcher like that was coming for a total of one million dollars, I'd thought it was a good deal. But scratch the surface and his personality turned out to be abrasively, hair-trigger sensitive. We considered sending him to a psychological clinic, but he refused that too.

He was eating innings well enough, so we kept running him out as a starter... but honestly, looking purely at run prevention these days, I sometimes thought Daese or Yehan or Hoyeol, with their improving form, might do slightly better. Could a man who couldn't master his own temper really manage a jam?

Matt wasn't the only problem. The other two foreign pitchers were both problems too.

First, the other starter, Paulo Rodriguez. This one's issue was a serious case of homesickness.

Being separated from his family seemed to be the root of it, so we offered to invite his family to live in Korea — and he said no, because of his children's medical care and schooling. Infuriating.

If the money to raise his kids mattered that much, couldn't he keep it a little more professional? He played the games fine, but on off days he half-assed his training and holed up in his room, spending every waking hour on calls with his family. Anyone watching would think he'd been exiled to a prison colony.

Right. Still — those two were a massive pain, but manageable. It was the last one who was the biggest problem of all.

"So what did the interpreter say happened?"

"Walker subjected club staff to... some fairly racist sexual harassment. Fortunately, it was delivered in slang the staff member couldn't understand, but apparently he shows absolutely no remorse whatsoever."

"Haah..."

Walker Randle, the foreign pitcher we'd struggled so hard to bring in to shore up our thin left-handed bullpen, was a raving sex addict.

The racism issue — I should have clocked it the moment I heard he was from Alabama. Still, watching him genuinely hit on Asian women everywhere he went, he probably wasn't a full-blown white supremacist. Just an uneducated jackass.

"Last time, he was openly identifying himself as one of our club's players on dating apps to approach female fans, wasn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

Every single incident was a league-level disciplinary case. Given the current climate, the only reason he hadn't caused a disaster was that he mostly stayed cooped up — in any other era, he'd have been on the evening news by dinnertime, not in the sports section but on the social affairs page, before being shipped out of the country.

Thinking about it made me angrier still. Had I really been patient with this?

"No. There's no need to give them any more chances. All three foreign pitchers — tell them to pack up and get out to the second-division dorms. A little R&R in that town with its clean air and good water might do their heads some good."

That was the whole reason the second-division lodging had been built out there in the first place. Play nothing but baseball surrounded by good nature, and the junk thoughts drain away. They might actually calm down a little.