How to Become a True Teammate (3)
"Oh, my little ace. Have you finally come to teach me how to meet Korean women?"
I'd gone to find Walker, thinking I should give it a shot after hearing Min-ah's advice, but true to form, his very first words rubbed me the wrong way.
Brushing past Walker's smirking remark, I turned to the interpreter standing beside him instead.
"Please tell him I'd like to have a conversation."
The interpreter relayed my request as simply as possible, and Walker gave me a puzzled look.
"A conversation? What kind?"
"Anything. How you ended up coming to Korea, your thoughts on baseball, what kind of women you like — even if it's not my taste — anything at all."
If I wanted to get close to him and then ask for an important favor, the first step was knowing who he actually was. That was the thinking behind it, and so I formally requested a conversation with Walker, dead serious.
"So then that black son of a— what? If he's black, what else am I supposed to call him— ugh, fine, fine, dammit. Where was I?"
"The college football team, Walker."
"Right, so that linebacker guy was hitting on Jessie. And I yelled out, 'You crazy black bastard, who the hell do you think you're touching!' And then those cowardly football players all swarmed me at once. If there'd been only three of 'em, I'd have laid every last one out. Cowards, the lot of them."
That sounds like a you problem. Even if it is rural Alabama, did he really think he could drop the N-word in someone's face in a crowded public place without getting lynched?
Anyway, Walker turned out to be even more of an open book than I'd expected. Thinking about it, whenever this guy opened his mouth it was enough to make your head spin, but he'd never actually done anything seriously bad to his teammates. If anything, he was the type who looked after them.
With that in mind, this approach seemed like it could work — though the stories just kept pouring out, one after another.
And honestly? It was entertaining. The broad arc went something like: grew up in the countryside, moved to the city for high school, started playing ball on the school team, and now here he was in his final year of college. A little embellished here and there, sure, but the man could spin a hell of a yarn.
The interpreter, apparently hearing all of this for the first time himself, kept chiming in with fascinated little interjections as he translated.
And so Walker wrapped things up — having told the whole saga of how Jessie, the trash whom he'd once believed was his seventh true love at college, dumped him for the Alabama football team's quarterback, a guy with a far brighter future than his own — with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.
"Phew. I don't usually tell the story of my incredible life journey, you know. It's old-man wisdom, rookie, but consider it a special piece of advice, just for you. Always watch out for those... African-American fellas."
I'd glared at him every time he reached for the N-word, and he'd finally managed to circle around it. Maybe this guy actually knew how to read the room after all?
Listening to his stories, it seemed less like he genuinely hated other races and more like he'd simply grown up uneducated, with nothing in his skull but baseball, so this was the best he could manage.
He really was a pretty entertaining guy at his core.
"Alright. You've heard such a fine story, so it's time for you to pay up, rookie. So? Ready to introduce me to some hot Korean girls?"
Teaching this man was going to be an uphill battle.
Still, armed with a patience that would put any famous therapist to shame, I steered the conversation toward a more suitable topic.
"Walker. Is there anything you're curious about? About me?"
Walker mulled over my question for a long while. Then he grinned and said,
"Sorry, rookie. That ain't my thing. Pass on the guys."
"No, goddammit, not that!"
The curse slipped out before I could stop myself. He obviously knew it was a joke, but damn if the man didn't have a gift for pissing people off.
"There we go. You don't need to go full psycho like Matt over there, but a rookie's gotta know how to blow up once in a while. Is that an Asian thing? Ah, no, that wasn't a racist remark."
Before the interpretation was even finished, Walker responded cheerfully — apparently he could pick out the Korean swearing — and let out a booming laugh. The man laughed like a villain straight out of a comic book, rich and jiggly.
Just as I was contemplating what on earth to do with this guy, an unexpected voice cut in.
"...Yes, I listened to whatever it was you were talking about, and it was a rather interesting conversation."
I turned my head toward the voice and found a man standing there.
Matt Doland.
Walker, completely unfazed, beamed and asked,
"How much did you catch? I'd hate to repeat myself."
"From the part where you were begging that little kid to set you up with prostitutes."
"Oh, so you missed the most important part. Come closer. I'll tell you the most incredible story of your life."
On any other day Matt would have walked off without a word, but today, for whatever reason, he quietly took a seat next to the interpreter.
"Shut it. I've heard your moronic college stories until I'm sick."
"What a shame. Then shall I hear yours instead, Matt?"
Hold on. Wasn't he the guy who never talked about his own life? From the sound of it, Matt had already been cornered into hearing Walker's stories plenty of times.
Regardless of my bewilderment, Matt began to speak in a low, subdued voice.
"Right. Hey, kid. That Dixie moron over there says you're a married man?"
Well, I am married, but I never told Walker that. Don't tell me — I mentioned checking on something for Seo-hee's sake and he just assumed I had a wife? And then blabbed about it to Matt too?
After that absurd one-two punch from Walker, I looked over at him, and he winked at me. God, this guy.
Still, it wasn't a question I needed to lie about, so I gave a noncommittal yes.
Matt let out an enormous sigh.
"So tell me, kid. Why'd you get married so young?"
"Ah... she was my girlfriend from way back? The moment I was old enough to legally marry, I filed the paperwork first thing."
"Damn it. Women are all the same, wherever you go. Kid, let me give you some advice. If you're going to get divorced, do it early."
We were in the sweet early days of newlywed life, and this guy was suddenly talking about divorce.
But Matt — usually so terse — began pouring out his entire life story, unasked and unprompted, just like Walker had.
"...And that's why I'm under a restraining order now. Well? Now that you've heard all that, you must have some takeaway."
"The minor leagues are clearly the problem. If you want to keep a family together, you've got to get promoted to the majors fast."
Matt's life story was deeply depressing. It opened with a childhood-friend sweetheart, moved through his days as a promising college pitcher, and the moment he got drafted by a pro team, he'd married and started a family right away.
He'd fathered two beautiful daughters and was living well — but as he aged and bounced between minor-league affiliates across multiple organizations, the moves came faster and the major-league call-up kept drifting out of reach, and the cracks in his marriage grew into fault lines.
Then, after being released yet again and signing another minor-league deal with a new team, the divorce came. And as it turned out, his wife had been having an affair with another player on the club's 40-man major league roster.
And finally: Matt, shattered by the revelation, confronted his wife a little too heatedly, caught a legal charge, landed under a restraining order, and lost the right to even see his daughters.
Because of it, he couldn't show his real ability with his new team either, got released again, and that was how he'd wound up washed all the way to Korea.
Now I finally understood why he carried so much anger. The interpreter had vaguely known the outline, but hearing the full story in this much detail clearly stunned him too.
So minor-league life really is pure torment for a family. They barely pay you anything, and then you're crisscrossing that enormous country on road trips, and every trade or new contract means a new team and another move. Good grief...
But Matt apparently didn't like my reaction, because he flared up.
"What the hell have you been listening to this whole time? Kid, I know it's an old man's story, but burn it into your brain. Family matters, sure — but sacrifice everything for family, and you end up like me."
Like you?
"Making a million dollars a year just pitching comfortably in Asia? I could live with that."
"Goddammit, that's not the point!"
Yeah, Matt was a hothead through and through. But still. He'd be earning about twice the MLB minimum, with housing provided by the club and all his meals covered — even getting squeezed for child support, that's a pretty comfortable life.
However, as Matt began to power up into full Millstone mode over my joke, I dropped the humor and gave him the answer he actually wanted.
"It really is a terrible story. I think I understand now why you're always so angry, Matt."
Looking back, on the days he smashed up the locker room, I didn't know the details, but the cause was fairly obvious now. Probably his daughters dodging his calls, or the affair guy tearing it up back in the States — something like that.
Even after hearing my answer, Matt was still visibly irritated, but he calmed down a little. Not that I intended to give only the answers he wanted.
"But Matt. Your advice is appreciated, though there's one very big difference between you and me."
I did more or less understand his circumstances now. Honestly, shouldn't the club brief the rest of the roster on this? Then we could at least understand where he was coming from and look at him with some compassion. We probably would've even bought him a stack of ceramic tiles specifically for smashing, just to help him blow off steam.
If I'd been in his situation, could I have held it in and limited myself to the locker room? Who knows — I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been in my right mind either. Not that I'd ever find out. On that one point, I'm certain.
At my answer, Matt's face twisted. He sneered, his voice dripping with displeasure.
"A difference? Let me guess — your pitching, or your face?"
Oh, there were certainly large differences there too, but that wasn't the one I meant.
"Matt. You sacrificed in the wrong way. Hearing your story, I'm convinced of it."
It had been there through the entire story. To give his wife and kids even slightly better food, a slightly better environment, he'd stretched every thin dollar. He'd eaten less, rested less, all for his family.
"And yet there's hardly a single story in there about actually spending time with them. Matt, I'm not saying your ex-wife and daughters were right to treat you so coldly. But you didn't put in the work to get emotionally close to them, did you?"
Less an American dad than a Korean one.
First a white guy who wandered in from the sixties, and now a man straight out of a Korean father in the eighties?
"I make a point of spending as much time with my wife as I can. When training ends, we always sit face to face and talk. And when that's impossible, we still make sure to have long phone calls."
Though honestly, that's less about maintaining my relationships and more because I miss them myself.
Matt looked like my words were getting under his skin, clearly itching to argue back — so I added one more thing.
"Still, I don't think it's completely too late. Your wife... might be a lost cause. But with your daughters, there's still room to rebuild."
"That's right, Matt. Now I finally understand why you were always so angry. What a family needs is warmth, not money."
Jesus, that scared me.
While I was busy playing amateur therapist, yet another person had popped up out of nowhere beside us.
Paulo, who always wandered around wearing that gloomy expression.
"Of course, money is necessary too. That's why I'm living apart from my family like this. But Matt, affection and warmth cannot be bought with money."
Who knows how long he'd been listening, but Paulo slid naturally into the conversation and offered his advice.
And Matt, just as naturally, nodded wearily along.
Seriously — how long had this guy been standing there?
"More to the point, I'm envious, friend. You see your wife every day?"
"Ah... well, yes."
Paulo was a grizzled thirty-five-year-old veteran. He'd clearly been through the wringer — or maybe it was the mustache — but he looked old enough that the casual speech wouldn't come out of my mouth.
"So tell me, how did you and your wife meet?"
"Um... I've known one of them since we were very young, we're an old story. One is a friend's younger sister... and one was pure coincidence back in high school."
"Three of them? My, how similar we are. Would you show me a photograph?"
I nodded, and Paulo held out his smartphone. In the photo were three women and what looked like well over ten children.
"Camilla was my friend from this very village, my companion for life. Isadora was the younger sister of Lopez, a friend from my middle school days. And lastly, Vera was the daughter of the factory owner where my father worked."
Wait, that's literally my exact lineup?
Marvelling at the coincidence, I listened on — and found his stories surprisingly easy to relate to. Meeting his wives, having children, raising them. Every single episode was steeped in Paulo's warmth and overflowing love for his family.
"So the reason Paulo came all the way to Korea to keep playing baseball is..."
"This place pays the most, you see. I could live without money for myself. But when I think of the hospital bills for our little Maya, and school tuition for the children, I had no choice."
Having heard everything now, I realized Paulo's situation wasn't simple either. Nobody in this world carries an empty story.
It dawned on me that it wasn't just homesickness from being away from his family — his daughter had fallen seriously ill, and he'd come to this far-off country to earn her medical bills. He was depressed because he couldn't be at his sick child's side.
Matt, whose anger had still been smoldering just moments before, went quiet after hearing this — perhaps, as a father with daughters of his own, he felt it land somewhere deep. Even that lunatic Walker settled down.
"...Am I the only one wondering how the rookie manages to see his wife every single day? Out here in the middle of nowhere?"
Probably.
After the game ended, Manager Jeong Jin-haeng was reviewing the replay of the match, preparing for the next one.
Just then, the bench coach knocked on the manager's office door and came in.
"Yes, Coach. What is it?"
"A petition has come up from the roster, sir. The players are asking for the foreign pitchers to be reinstated."
"I see?"
He'd been planning to bring them back soon enough anyway. Unless he intended to cut all the foreigners from the rotation, their training would have to sync back up with the first team. Honestly, sending them down to the second team had been nothing more than a show for the front office.
"Do they look improved to you, Coach? Have they toned down the personalities a little?"
Even so, there had to be some visible change to justify calling them up. But the bench coach looked doubtful — and by his expression, nothing of the sort had happened. He sighed and began to speak honestly.
"Matt still smashes equipment whenever his temper flares. Paulo's depression is unchanged. And Walker... the racism has eased up somewhat, but he still leers at every woman in sight."
Right — people don't change that easily. Still, if he wasn't actually going to replace the foreigners, stopping at this point was the wisest move.
But if things were still basically the same, why would the first-team players be petitioning for their return? What on earth was going on?
"Eat up, everybody! This is Alabama-style special barbecue!"
The grill sizzled and crackled. Where the hell had he gotten it — the man had hauled in a full-blown barbecue setup.
"What is all this?"
The interpreter had suddenly rounded up the second-team players, saying Walker was calling for us, and I'd wandered out of curiosity — only to be met with this overwhelming sight.
Walker flashed a grin.
"We're heading back up to the first team, see. Back in the majors, when a guy comes down to the minors, he throws a big feast like this. Normally I'd take everyone out to a nice restaurant, but there's nothing in this one-horse town, and Korean beef all tastes like garbage. Ah, that wasn't racism."
Looking closer, Matt and Paulo were out there grilling meat too. The second-team players eyed them warily at first, but once the interpreter explained what was going on, they all thanked the trio, grabbed plates, and dug in.
I carefully pulled a breast off one of the chickens at the edge and brought it to my mouth.
"...What. Why is this good?"
The flavor that hit me was genuinely shocking. Is real Southern barbecue just on another level?
When I went speechless with surprise, Walker roared with laughter and came over to me.
"You like your present, rookie?"
I nodded solemnly. No wonder this guy plays baseball — he'd make way more money opening a barbecue joint in Korea.
As I mulled that over, tearing into a chicken leg, Matt and Paulo came over.
Paulo spoke to me first.
"I heard from Han. Friend — you proposed a fundraiser for our Maya?"
Han was what everyone called the interpreter, his name being Han Jong-soo. So much for asking him to keep it under wraps — apparently he'd told them everything anyway.
I shot the interpreter a brief sidelong glance, then answered as if it were obvious.
"We're one team, aren't we? Everyone donates regularly anyway, and if we can, it's best spent on a teammate."
Not all baseball players are like this, but ballplayers do tend to give back to society often. So when I told them about Paulo's situation, everyone chipped in, ten coins apiece, to help out.
Matt offered his thanks too, more hesitantly.
"And I heard from your agent that you were the one who requested the invitation for my daughters to visit Korea."
"Ah... well, I did go around playing wise mentor, so it felt wrong to just leave it at talk."
I'd wondered for a moment whether I was overstepping, but it was for a teammate's morale, so I'd made a special request to Seo-hee. Since the invitation had come at the Seoul Group level, beyond the club itself, the girls could make a proper trip of it — maybe even build some real memories with their father this time.
Anyway, Min-ah had been right. Even the people who looked like lunatics were human beings just like me, and truly senseless madmen were rarer than you'd think. Talk to them, understand each other, and sometimes the solution turns out to be far easier than you expected.
"Alright, rookie. So now, if you just introduce me to a Korean woman, everything will be perfect."
Though I suppose it's not that there are no senseless madmen at all.