A Rookie In The Baseball Team Is Too Good [EN]: Chapter 391

야구단 신입이 너무 잘함 391화

87. At the Highest Point (4)

After that commotion, it seemed Benjamin Oznovich had completely given up trying to issue ‘final instructions’ on the field.

It was inevitable. He knew he wasn’t in top condition. Even if he gave instructions now, it would be hard to get good results.

So, there was nothing else he could do. He had to get on the treadmill and walk slowly, as the trainer told him.

But that,

wasn’t a bad time.

“So… what’s the secret? How did you figure out Vincent Hiyama’s pitching habits?”

“Hey, you can’t ask me that. If I tell you my trade secrets, what will I live on?”

“What do you mean, what will you live on? You’ll live on bread! Your salary must have gone up a lot when you became the general manager, can’t you just tell me?”

“…Lama, just shut up.”

That’s right. It was nothing special.

As Oznovich started walking, Jisub and John Lama slyly approached him from either side.

Walking together at a slow pace of about 2 km/h, they unpacked the stories they had been saving up.

They talked about the strategies of both teams during the World Series, debated who would be the MVP [Most Valuable Player], and talked about the Phillies’ infamous fans.

Furthermore, they discussed Oznovich’s time with the Tampa Bay Rays, John Lama’s high school days, and their time studying at Fort Myers University.

“Hey! Is this a cafe? Should I get you some coffee? Why don’t you ever stop talking?!”

The trainer’s nagging could be heard from behind, but Jisub and Benjamin didn’t pay much attention.

Even as he said that, he was listening to their stories.

As they spent a comfortable time on the treadmill, this story seemed to come up.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while…”

It started with John Lama.

“The front office! Doesn’t that sound weird? Ben, haven’t you ever thought about that?”

“The front… is weird?”

Oznovich blinked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, isn’t it? The front means ‘front,’ but look at us now! Are we in the front? It’s always the players who are in the front.”

Why is it called the front when they’re not in the front?

Oznovich chuckled at John Lama’s question.

“Well…”

It wasn’t a term that originated in baseball.

The term ‘front office’ existed since baseball was just an ordinary ball game.

The people who deal with customers at the very front of the company. That’s why it’s the front.

This was almost common sense, but Benjamin Oznovich suddenly became curious.

“Kim.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think? Why is the front called the front?”

There was no special intention.

He was just curious about what a foreigner would think, since Jisub was from far away Korea.

But Jisub’s answer left a deep impression on Oznovich.

“Well, I don’t know, but…”

Jisub looked up at the ceiling.

“I’ve thought about it. The term ‘front’ might have been coined by someone with player experience.”

“Someone with player experience?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Jisub slightly increased the speed of the treadmill and continued.

“Usually, players don’t know much about the front office, do they? They don’t know what it is, what it does, or what kind of help it provides… Some of them don’t even realize it exists.”

Of course, they wouldn’t be very interested in ‘where’ the front office is.

Whether it’s in the front, in the back, or tucked away in a corner of the stadium.

“But when players are in trouble, they become aware of the existence of the front office. And the first people they meet are the front office staff.”

“That’s true.”

John Lama nodded.

“But what does that have to do with the term ‘front’?”

“Lama, think about it.”

Jisub shrugged.

“Let’s say that player has retired. Let’s say he looks back on his past after retirement. Then, in his memory, where would the staff we call ‘front’ be?”

“…Where?”

Maybe he won’t remember.

That there were people watching from behind when he debuted in the professional league.

That there were people helping him from the side when he was at the peak of his career.

‘Because they don’t come into view at that time.’

Therefore, there would be only one location he would remember.

When he was having a hard time in the pros. When he was in a slump or considering retirement.

The people he went to see first. The people he met, discussed his problems with, and found solutions with.

Therefore, in his memory, the location of those trustworthy team staff would ultimately be-

“The front. It’s the front.”

Oznovich laughed.

“So that’s why it’s called the front? Because they’re always there to help the players when they ask for it. Because they don’t hide in the back or step aside, but come forward and discuss things together?”

“Haha, right. I feel like I’m pushing it too hard…”

Jisub scratched the back of his head and laughed sheepishly, but Oznovich was looking at this Korean employee with a fresh perspective.

‘So that’s how he felt.’

Oznovich’s eyes narrowed.

‘This man… has he been working in this industry with that mindset?’

The more he knew, the more amazing he was.

That’s how he saw it.

In Major League Baseball, the front office is the people who try to achieve maximum results with minimum investment.

The people who analyze data, customize development plans, and build up their strength through free agent contracts and rookie scouting.

While everyone is focused on a single number, this man was looking at the players.

And was he just looking at the players? He was also looking at the fans, the team staff, and even worrying about himself, the head of the rival team.

‘Damn, he’s an incomprehensible guy.’

How could he be so different?

How could he be so different from me?

Just as Oznovich was shaking his head and staring at Jisub, someone’s footsteps were heard outside the training room, and the door opened with a ‘creak’.

“Excuse me… Mr. Olson?”

It was an employee of the hotel.

He came in very cautiously and handed a memo to Frank, the trainer.

“A little while ago, from a guest.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you.”

Frank opened the memo and checked its contents.

At this moment, Oznovich could feel the air around him becoming frighteningly calm.

It was more than two hours after the game had started. Then the memo would say.

What happened in Game 7.

Who is gaining the upper hand.

Everyone held their breath and stared at the trainer’s face, and then Frank finally looked up.

And his gaze was directed at-

“Kim.”

It was towards the Tampa Bay Rays.

“Please prepare to leave. Mr. Brian Sphan, the general manager, has sent a car this way.”

* * *

The moment Frank said that, cheers erupted in the training room.

“Yes!!!”

John Lama clenched his fist.

“Yes, yes! Kim, we won! David, we won!!!”

“Oh oh!!”

“Woo-hoo!!!”

The fact that the general manager had sent a car meant that Tampa Bay had gained the upper hand.

It was a message to come and enjoy the moment, as the first championship in franchise history was just around the corner.

Just as Jisub, John Lama, and David Wilson were hugging each other and screaming,

“…”

Oznovich closed his eyes tightly.

‘In the end… it turned out that way.’

He wasn’t angry. He didn’t wonder who had given up the runs or what mistakes the manager had made.

It was a little funny, but at this moment, what came to his mind was the past years he had been involved with the Tampa Bay Rays baseball team.

“…”

He remembered when he was holding his father’s hand and entering Tropicana Field before he even started school.

He also remembered when he found out that one of the stupid guys who had transferred from New York was actually the son of the Tampa Bay owner.

The time he joined the Tampa Bay Rays, created the Future Strategy Planning Division, and fought with Brian Sphan, the general manager, until the veins in his neck stood out.

And finally, until the very day he felt it wasn’t the right time yet and accepted the Philadelphia Phillies’ offer.

What were all those countless hours for?

‘I thought I would achieve it.’

The Tampa Bay Rays’ championship.

The first championship in franchise history.

‘The dream that I thought I would achieve… is slipping out of my hands like this.’

Oznovich was in a complicated mood.

He couldn’t tell what this feeling he was feeling was.

Was it regret for not achieving his dream, regret for not waiting a few more years, or hatred for that man who had newly appeared in Tampa Bay?

“…Hoo.”

Just as a long sigh escaped from Oznovich’s parched lips,

Aaron Vinson, his right-hand man, slyly approached him.

“Boss.”

He also had a gloomy expression.

“Shouldn’t we send our congratulations to Tampa Bay? After all, there’s a custom in the industry…”

“Ah, that’s right. It’s right to say hello.”

Oznovich smoothed his disheveled hair with both hands.

And while trying to make a calm expression as possible, he approached the Tampa Bay people.

“David, Lama, and…”

Oznovich turned his gaze to the person who had now become the Tampa Bay Rays itself to him.

“Kim.”

“Benjamin.”

The first words Oznovich said to Jisub, who was looking at him with a changed posture, were as follows.

“I’m sorry. No matter how I think about it… I don’t think I can congratulate you.”

There was a slight commotion at those words.

Aaron Vinson’s eyes widened, and John Lama pouted, saying, ‘That stingy bastard!’

But Oznovich didn’t care much about such reactions.

“Kim, I think you know. The Tampa Bay’s first championship… I was going to achieve it with my own hands.”

“That’s right. I understand.”

Jisub nodded calmly.

“But I can say this. And with a very happy heart.”

It was at this moment that Oznovich reached out his hand to Jisub.

“Thank you, Kim.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, thank you. For giving us a blood-boiling match, for showing me the world of the front office that I didn’t know, and as a result…”

Sigh, haa.

Oznovich took a deep breath and glanced at John Lama.

“For bringing great joy to my stupid friends and old colleagues, and above all, to my beloved hometown of Florida.”

My hometown of Florida.

At this moment, Jisub could see for the first time a bright expression on this cruel man’s face, like a true Floridian.

Although that moment was very short.

“Of course, next year will be different. Our Phillies will be even stronger. But what about Tampa Bay? Will you be okay? Vincent Hiyama won’t be on the team next year either?”

“Anyway, that bastard…”

Listening to John Lama grinding his teeth behind him, Jisub slightly raised the corners of his lips.

There was no need to respond to the last provocation. Jisub knew. That it was just a story he brought up out of embarrassment.

Therefore, at this moment, Jisub decided to only answer Benjamin Oznovich’s sincerity, the Phillies’ general manager.

“I… was also grateful.”

Jisub took his hand.

“I also think it was a wonderful match that will remain in my memory for a long time.”

8th inning, score 11-2.

It was about an hour before the Tampa Bay Rays’ first championship in franchise history.