Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 97

“Are you guys resting too much? I’m getting a little tired now?”

Bottom of the 5th. After giving up 2 runs and allowing the comeback, Stuart jokingly chided the batters.

Unlike before the game, the Braves’ dugout atmosphere was subdued.

Until the 5th inning, they had consistently strung together singles, creating frequent scoring opportunities. However, their only run came in the top of the 2nd when Lee Jung-woo, after hitting a triple, scored on Poppin’s sacrifice fly.

Now, even that lead had vanished.

Overall, there was a palpable sense that the team wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

Consequently, the morale, which had been high after scoring the first run, had plummeted.

“Alright, everyone, let’s sharpen our focus. We can’t afford to keep playing like this, right? Nobody wants to lose a game we should win, do they?”

“It’s just 1 run, guys, 1 run. It’s nothing. Why are you acting like this when you usually put up 4 runs an inning?”

The captain, Derek, and the coaches encouraged the players, attempting to lift their spirits.

Even in a tough situation, maintaining a positive atmosphere is crucial for a comeback.

Thanks to their efforts, the lowered morale was slowly beginning to rise again, when the inning ended, and the fielders switched positions.

Derek sighed briefly and then spoke to Lee Jung-woo, who was heading to the plate as the leadoff hitter for the inning, as if asking for a favor.

“Lee, please throw some cold water on them, will you?”

Lee Jung-woo nodded.

He, too, felt it was necessary to halt their momentum.

‘It won’t do to let them keep rolling like this.’

Their morale was a concern, but their opponent’s momentum was a serious threat.

If the D-backs kept heating up like that, it would eventually explode. They had barely held them to 2 runs so far, but if they continued on this path, they might give up a lot of runs in the next inning, or the one after that.

Lee Jung-woo knew he had to put a stop to it.

‘Ideally, I’d tie the score with a home run in one swing, but even a solid hit would shift the atmosphere again.’

“Stop hitting so much, you showoff!”

“My kid loves you! So you owe him one! Just close your eyes and swing three times!”

Derek nodded at Lee Jung-woo as if he believed him implicitly, and Lee Jung-woo, after waving his hand slightly, slowly walked to home plate.

The hostile gazes directed at him always pleased him.

Especially when he was performing well, as he was today.

[Top of the 6th. Jung-woo Lee steps up as the leadoff hitter for the inning. In today’s game, he has 2 hits in 2 at-bats, including a triple and a double, and 1 run scored.]

[As always, but especially now, Lee’s contribution is vital. The momentum has swung from the Braves to the D-backs, so he needs to seize it back as the leadoff hitter.]

The fans watching the game, whether at home or cheering loudly at Chase Field, believed that Lee Jung-woo would deliver a clutch hit.

He was a player who had consistently lived up to such expectations, so they watched the game with anticipation, though Lee Jung-woo himself was a bit skeptical.

‘They probably won’t give me anything good to hit if they can avoid it. They might even walk me outright.’

In reality, the game unfolded much as he anticipated.

It was almost embarrassing to think he’d “throw cold water” on them, because Lee Jung-woo didn’t even get a decent swing, except for fouling off two pitches.

The pitcher only threw pitches that were clearly unhittable.

“Ball.”

[The 6th pitch is a ball. It’s a full count, but… actually, Bob Potts only threw balls.]

[Lee’s foul tips brought it to a full count, but if he had waited, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d been walked.]

Full count.

It was a count that put pressure on both the pitcher and the batter, but it was slightly more uncomfortable for the pitcher.

However, the pitcher, Bob Potts, looked very relaxed, while Lee Jung-woo wore a more serious expression than usual.

[It might be a wise choice. Rather than facing a batter who is in good form and has a keen eye at the plate today, it might be better to walk him.]

[Yes, because he is such a dangerous hitter. And Bob Potts’ pickoff move is good, so even if he gets on base with a walk, they might think they can keep him from stealing.]

[That’s right.]

Lee Jung-woo briefly stepped out of the batter’s box, took off his helmet, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He needed a moment to clear his head.

‘Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t be easy.’

He knew the pitcher would avoid challenging him directly. He would have done the same if he were the pitcher.

‘Hoo. Should I just take the walk?’

The opponent was offering him a free pass to get on base, so he didn’t need to get frustrated.

However, Lee Jung-woo wanted to rattle the pitcher, to inflict a little damage rather than simply letting him dictate the situation and gain confidence.

He also felt it was a bit of a waste to have battled this long.

‘I’ll swing no matter what if it’s even close.’

He gripped the bat tightly.

He was determined to swing if even a remotely hittable pitch came his way.

There was a risk that he could ground out weakly or strike out swinging, which would be worse than walking, but it was a gamble he was willing to take.

Just as Lee Jung-woo made up his mind, the pitcher, who had been watching him with cold eyes, suddenly threw a surprise first-pitch strike.

It was meant to disrupt his timing, but Lee Jung-woo had anticipated it from the previous at-bat and was ready for it, so he calmly tracked the ball.

It was an obvious changeup, a circle changeup. Seeing that, Lee Jung-woo made a decision.

‘It’s low, but I can hit it.’

Lee Jung-woo immediately started his swing. Even though it was a bit low,

at least it was the best pitch the pitcher had offered him in this at-bat, so there was no need to hesitate.

Lee Jung-woo swung his bat.

‘Damn it, it’s breaking even more.’

Lee Jung-woo, cursing the changeup that was spinning backward and dropping more than expected, forced himself to follow through with his swing.

He could have struck out swinging, but Lee Jung-woo somehow managed to make contact and tossed aside the cumbersome bat.

[He hit it – a ground ball towards 3rd base! What’s going to happen?]

[The 3rd baseman is charging quickly, but Lee is also quite fast. It’s going to be close.]

‘I’m screwed if I’m out.’

Lee Jung-woo ran desperately.

In the current atmosphere, if he, a batter in good form, grounded out weakly, the cold water that Derek wanted to pour could end up dousing the already chilly Braves instead of the D-backs.

That’s why he ran like a madman, faster than ever before.

He stretched out his last step with every ounce of strength and determination he possessed.

[Now, a play at 1st base. The umpire’s call – Safe!]

[Yes, he beat the throw. It might look different from another angle, but from what I see, Lee got there first.]

“Safe!”

The opposing team’s manager immediately ran out and requested a video replay at the umpire’s declaration, but Lee Jung-woo had no time to pay attention to that.

Even though he was quite fit, he was completely out of breath, probably because he had run so desperately.

“Good job. You were incredibly fast. You could really be a pinch runner later on.”

“Haa, I’ll think about it when I get older.”

Lee Jung-woo, who had caught his breath, straightened his lowered upper body again, and then he noticed someone’s gaze fixed on him.

It was the pitcher on the mound.

He scratched his chin as if he was disappointed and looked at Lee Jung-woo, and only then did Lee Jung-woo realize that his goal was not to walk him, but to get him out.

Lee Jung-woo slightly raised the corners of his mouth and thought.

‘Interesting, this is how it should be.’

####

Thwack-

“Waaaaaa!”

[Poppin connects cleanly – the ball drops right in front of the left fielder for a hit. 1st base runner Lee advances to 3rd base.]

[It was a little shallow, so the runner couldn’t score, but it’s still a great opportunity. The Braves create another golden chance. Now, just one sacrifice fly will tie the score.]

[Yes, the Braves squandered previous opportunities, but they are still consistently creating chances. Now, top of the 6th. Game score 2 to 1. With runners on 1st and 3rd with no outs, 7th batter Gary Winters steps to the plate.]

“Hoo.”

Another crisis loomed, and he took a deep breath.

Even though the air conditioning was working perfectly, sweat was pouring down like rain, and his body was creaking and groaning like a broken machine.

‘I guess I’m getting old.’

If his worn-out body were a real machine, he would have loved to replace it with the same young and energetic body as before.

Knowing that it was a futile dream, he was satisfied with his current self and tried to be as efficient as possible.

The thorough routine he created with the trainer, based on his peak performance, had at least slowed the decline to this extent, but he was still very different from the self he remembered.

Just the fact that he was so out of breath was proof of that.

‘But I still have some gas left in the tank. I can probably go until the 7th, maybe even the 8th.’

He nodded.

Fortunately, his condition was holding up.

He had only given up 1 run against the Braves, one of the most explosive hitting teams in the league since June.

‘Alright, let’s go all the way.’

After calming his tired body, he looked at home plate again.

The batter in the batter’s box wore a mix of emotions on his face.

And among them, there was definitely a hint of looking down on him, Bob Potts, the pitcher.

At one time, that would have been incredibly unpleasant, and he would have resented himself for not being able to dominate those guys like he used to.

But not anymore.

He just focused on the pitch that would get the opponent out most effectively.

‘Gary Winters. Hoo. Why does it have to be this guy? My chemistry with him hasn’t been great this season… but I’m glad he seems to be a little off his game today.’

He looked at the catcher.

Unlike the old battery [pitcher-catcher duo] that had now retired, this catcher had been with Bob Potts since his decline began, so he was accustomed to the current version of him.

That’s why they were on the same wavelength.

Before he could signal his intentions, the catcher called for the pitch he wanted first.

‘Smart guy. If his hitting was a little better, he could have been more successful than he is now….’

He felt sorry for the catcher, whose hitting was a bit lacking, as if he couldn’t excel at everything.

He accepted his sign and nodded, then took another short breath.

“Hmph-”

Soon, he inhaled again and smoothly continued the motion he had performed countless times.

The outstretched leg stepped on the ground, and the long, strong arm bent flexibly.

The ball, imbued with the power of the body that had been channeled through all the movements, was released, and fortunately, the ball went exactly where he wanted it to go.

“Strike!”

’87 miles. It’s completely a changeup.’

Although he looked expressionless, the batter seemed a little surprised.

He probably didn’t expect him to throw such a slow fastball in a crisis like this.

The velocity wasn’t great either, so if the batter had swung, he would have made solid contact.

It might have even gone over the fence, but in the end, the result was one strike.

‘Alright, I’m comfortable now.’

He relieved a bit of tension and threw the ball comfortably.

He was so relaxed that anyone watching might have mistaken it for carelessness.

All the speeds were slower than in the previous at-bat, and the control was erratic.

It seemed like he had lost his strength at first glance, but the batter seemed to have seen through it.

[Now, the 7th pitch, a curveball, slightly grazed the bottom of the strike zone. The umpire calls it a strike. Gary Winters seems to have been trying to draw a walk, but it’s a full count.]

[Yes, it barely caught the zone. That’s up to the umpire’s discretion.]

[But it’s still a favorable situation for the batter. Especially since the opposing pitcher’s intentions are so obvious.]

[It’s a classic strategy.]

Slow ball followed by a fast ball.

As the commentator said, it was a classic combination, and it was still highly effective.

As expected, the batter, Gary Winters, seemed to have figured out the opposing battery, and he adjusted his bat.

At that, Bob Potts slightly moistened his dry lips.

‘Will it work?’ The setup was perfect, but he wasn’t sure.

He wondered if he should change his mind now, but he smiled wryly at the catcher’s confident signal.

He had taught him a lot as a veteran, but he was the one who was feeling apprehensive.

‘Hoo. It’s ridiculous to be scared after coming this far. Let’s go with confidence.’

He confidently straightened his shoulders.

The batter glared at him as if telling him to throw the pitch already.

He gladly accepted the challenge.

[Now, the 9th pitch. He throws it-]

The bat whips around.

The bulging veins in his arms showcased their strength as he swung the long wooden bat.

The solid waist and lower body also displayed their taut muscles and contributed to the swing.

The centrifugal force of the smoothly rotating waist was already powerful enough.

It was so powerful that it could easily split the head of an average adult male.

Because the power was so immense, the aftermath of the swing that didn’t connect was also significant.

“Strike out!”

The umpire made a forceful gesture.

The batter was so off-balance that he could barely stand after spinning almost a full circle.

[Ah… Gary Winters was completely fooled.]

[Actually, not only him, but we were also fooled.]

[Was it a change of pace? It looked like a slow fastball.]

[No, it’s not a fastball. It’s not even a disguised ordinary changeup.]

The commentator shook his head at the caster’s question.

He also thought it was a slow fastball? But no. It wasn’t a fastball type.

‘Haa, I was fooled. Thank goodness.’

The winning shot was a slider that had completely lost its bite, or rather, what used to be a slider.

The slider, which didn’t break at 80 miles per hour, floated like a slow fastball and had the same effect as a changeup.

It induced a clean swing and miss from the batter, who had timed it for a fast fastball.

He clapped briefly and then watched the batter walk away, and then he smiled brightly.

“Wooooaaaah!”

“Bob Potts! Bob Potts! You’re still the best! You’re still the best!”

The roar that seemed to burst his eardrums filled Chase Field.

Perhaps because of the echoing cheers, it felt like a concert by a famous rock star.

The batter’s reaction was dramatic, which amplified the excitement.

Of course, the biggest reason was that it was a thrilling match that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

‘Let’s get one more out. The next one is the pitcher’s spot.’

He wiped his sweaty forehead and focused all his attention on the next batter who was coming up to end this inning.

Michael Lipton. The average batter had been showing signs of mistiming often in today’s game.

His bat speed also seemed a little slower than usual.

‘Let’s go.’

He winked at the catcher.

The catcher gave him the sign he wanted this time as well.

[Oh! Bob Potts is shifting gears.]

[He’s thinking of ending it decisively without dragging it out. He engaged in a meticulous battle of wits in the previous at-bat. But this time it’s different.]

[It’s a scene that will warm the hearts of fans who remember his prime.]

94-95-95 miles per hour.

The voices of the people grew even louder at the feast of fastballs that marked the highest speeds of this game.

Of course, there were sighs when the fastball that was hit squarely went foul, barely outside the foul pole.

‘Whew, almost screwed up.’

Fortunately, it landed just outside the foul pole, and when the batter, who was fooled by the low curve, soon swung and missed, only pure exclamations of joy were heard from all over the stadium.

And finally, when he struck out the pinch hitter who came up in the pitcher’s spot, whether the Braves had made a desperate move or not,

a magnificent cheer erupted that seemed as if it could not possibly be louder.

“Bob! Booooob! You’re still the best! You’re still the best!”

“No matter what your skills are, no matter how old you are! You’re forever the D-backs’ ace!”

“I came to cheer in this terrible weather because of you! Keep going!”

If the fans who were cheering for Lee Jung-woo at today’s game were young children with fluffy hair,

the people who were cheering for Bob Potts, who was finishing the inning and the crisis and trudging into the dugout, were mostly people with hair on their chins and lower bodies.

Some of them were soaked in beer and shouted without even wiping their dripping beards.

Whether it was because fathers and sons resembled each other,

the father shouted Bob Potts’ name with the same face as his son, who had been shouting Lee Jung-woo’s name earlier.

“Wooooooooaaaaah!”

As if responding to such cheers,

when Bob Potts came out of the dugout slightly and bowed his head, the stadium was electrified by the unexpected encore.

It was a wonderful scene that even the commentators praised as a beautiful sight, and everything was like a perfect fairy tale up to that point.

The problem was that the game was not over yet,

and the ferocious monster that could devour the beloved hero was still lurking.