A Rookie In The Baseball Team Is Too Good [EN]: Chapter 468

The New Recruit of the Baseball Team is Too Good 468

The New Recruit of the Baseball Team is Too Good 468

99 Last Man Standing (7)

Top of the 6th inning, score tied 5-5.

Two outs, runner on first.

As Vincent Hiyama stepped into the batter’s box, the Tampa Bay dugout called a timeout.

It was the pitching coach visiting the mound.

“Hey, tough guy!”

Tampa Bay Rays’ pitching coach, Thomas Culkin.

He looked at Brett Evans on the mound and said,

“The manager has a message for you.”

“The manager?”

Brett Evans glanced at the home team’s dugout before looking back at the pitching coach.

“Yeah, the manager was wondering if you might want to consider calling it a day and looking forward to the ‘next’ one.”

Next.

The pitching coach emphasized the word.

“You’ve already achieved a lot, haven’t you? You showed you wouldn’t collapse after giving up 5 runs in the first inning, and you proved you can still throw 100 pitches even after turning forty.”

He was implying that the perception of Brett Evans must have changed significantly by now.

Before the game, Brett Evans was a player with little to look forward to except a grand retirement ceremony.

But now, as the game entered the top of the 6th inning, he was still a Major League starting pitcher with something left to prove.

“But unfortunately… people only remember the last scene.”

The pitching coach stroked his stubbly chin.

“It would be great if you could get Vincent out here. But what if you get hit hard? What if you end up being the losing pitcher and have to come down from the mound? Maybe then…”

“The most beautiful song is sung by the bird just before it dies.”

Brett Evans grinned.

“Are you saying that’s how people will see it?”

“This isn’t something to laugh about, my friend.”

The pitching coach frowned.

“I don’t know if you think you can just listen to the world’s opinions with one ear and let them out the other… but I know it eats away at your heart. It makes it impossible to get back up.”

Thomas Culkin had experienced life as a player before Brett Evans and had faced the moment of retirement.

Perhaps that’s why there was a sense of urgency in his voice today that was different from usual.

“I think it would be a wise choice to step down now and look forward to the next one… What do you think?”

Thomas Culkin looked at his student with a serious expression, but all he got in return was a faint smile from Brett Evans.

“Coach.”

He held out his glove and said,

“Will you give me the ball?”

He didn’t say anything else.

* * *

MAKE SOME NOISE!

Waaaaa!

MAKE SOME NOOOOISE!!!

Waaaaaack!!!

The fervent cheers of 25,000 spectators poured into Tropicana Field.

Brett Evans was feeling an immense sense of happiness as he bounced the rosin bag on the back of his hand.

It wasn’t for any other reason; it was because of one word the pitching coach had mentioned.

‘Next…’

This felt particularly special.

Was it from the time he passed his 35th season, or from the time he entered his 40th season?

At some point, Brett Evans had been hearing the word ‘last’ more often than ‘next’.

This might be his last season. This might be his last chance.

In fact, there was no need to go far. Brett Evans himself had mentioned ‘last’ just a few days ago.

-I want to go head-to-head one last time.

-This is really the last time. You know that too, Coach, don’t you?

For Brett Evans, who had lived like that for the past 7-8 years, ‘next’ was something very fresh.

He was just grateful to the manager and coaches for thinking about the future of the 42-year-old veteran pitcher.

He felt like giving a thumbs up to Jisub from the Future Strategy Planning Department for creating this opportunity.

Also, in some ways, he felt very proud of himself for bringing the situation this far.

Thud.

In Brett Evans’ eyes, as he dropped the rosin bag, there was a sharpness like a well-honed blade.

He knew it well. Managers and coaching staff always have to think about ‘next’. And there was no need to mention the front office staff.

But for the players, for the players who throw, hit, and run on the ground, breathing in the dirt-

‘Next is a luxury.’

That was the conclusion of Brett Evans, who was once at the top of Major League Baseball.

For a player, now is everything. At this moment, when the opportunity is given, you have to pour out everything you have. That’s the answer.

A guy who foolishly thinks about the next one doesn’t last long. The next batter, the next inning, the next game, and even… the next season?

Where is the time to think about that? Where is the room to make fancy plans? As far as he knew, Major League Baseball was not such a leisurely place.

The only option a player has is to do his best ‘now’.

Brett Evans had followed that thought like a religion, so he didn’t hesitate at all at this moment.

Just like he had done for the past 20 years, he started throwing the best ball he could throw at Vincent Hiyama.

Whoosh- Bang!

The first pitch was a sweeper.

Outside course. Called strike.

Whoosh- Bang!

The second pitch was a curveball.

This time, inside course. Called ball.

Whoosh- Bang!

As the third pitch attacked the outside course once again and got the second strike call, a chant like a spell poured out into Tropicana Field.

K! K! K! K!

K! K! K! K!

K. As the chant for a strikeout filled the ground, Brett Evans was being cautious.

When to throw the finisher. When to go for the win and get the final strike count.

After throwing a couple of pitches to distract the batter, Brett Evans lightly pressed the button on the PitchCom [a device allowing the catcher to communicate pitch selections to the pitcher] attached to his glove.

‘Let’s go, now is the time.’

It had been decided in advance what kind of ball to throw to Vincent Hiyama at the decisive moment.

It was a four-seam fastball. After setting him up with slow breaking balls, a sudden fastball. Because Vincent was so good at responding to breaking balls, it was virtually the only weapon the Tampa Bay battery [the pitcher and catcher] could choose.

Brett Evans, who had avoided throwing fastballs to other batters as much as possible for this one matchup, slowly went into the set position.

“…….”

Tension was hanging heavy in the air, but Brett Evans was still a veteran.

Even in the suffocating pressure, he properly checked the runner on first, and the runner, overwhelmed by his gaze, flinched without realizing it.

Without missing that timing, Brett Evans lifted one leg up to belt height.

K! K! K! K!

K! K! K! K!

The crowd’s chants were hitting the dome’s ceiling, making a tremendous noise, but Brett Evans was unwavering.

With a movement like flowing water, he stretched one foot forward, and at the same time, his hand holding the ball went behind his head.

Having finished his preparations, Brett Evans gripped the ground firmly with his spikes and swung his left arm like a whip.

“Euh-ryaaaap!!!”

When the 145g baseball left his fingertips, when he felt the tremendous spin created at his fingertips,

Brett Evans clenched his fist without realizing it.

‘……That’s it.’

He felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips.

That’s it. This is it. It went in perfectly.

It was a perfect spin, and a perfect course attack.

This was the best four-seam fastball he could throw right now.

‘Yeah, with this ball…’

He might be able to do it.

He might be able to get Vincent out.

He might be able to get the New York Yankees’ best hitter out, finish this inning without giving up a run.

And maybe, just maybe, he might be able to have the best moment as a pitcher once again.

That thought flashed through the 42-year-old veteran pitcher’s mind for just a moment-

Crack!!!

The most intense sound of the day echoed through Tropicana Field.

* * *

It was a home run.

Vincent Hiyama’s two-run home run.

It was a home run that broke the 5-5 tie that had been going on since the bottom of the 1st inning.

At the same time, it was a home run that signaled the end of the last man standing, the matchup between the two starting pitchers.

Above all, Yankees fans had come to Tropicana Field in a ratio of almost 7:3 that day.

Of course, cheers should have erupted, and thunderous applause should have poured out.

“…….”

“…….”

While Vincent Hiyama was rounding the diamond, a heavy silence fell over Tropicana Field.

They were the ones who wanted the Yankees to win more than anyone else, the ones who had prayed for the Yankees to come back.

But perhaps it was because even those Yankees fans could vaguely sense it.

That the ball just now was the best ball that pitcher Brett Evans could throw.

And that the one pitch, thrown with all his might, had crossed the fence so easily.

That perhaps at this very moment, we were witnessing a legend slowly losing his brilliant light.

“……Haa.”

“Damn it, of all things…”

The players right next to him couldn’t possibly not know the fact that could be felt even from the distant stands.

The Tampa Bay Rays’ fielders were also looking at the mound with very sad eyes.

“…….”

Brett Evans, without saying a word, with his mouth firmly shut, was looking in the direction where the batted ball had disappeared.

“Damn it, that’s why I tried so hard to stop him…”

Tampa Bay dugout’s Thomas Culkin was about to run straight to the mound.

That was the best thing to do in this situation: to take the pitcher down as soon as possible, to get him off the mound and take care of his mentality.

The pitching coach reached out his hand to ask the umpire for a timeout, but there was a touch on his shoulder.

“Coach, just a moment.”

“Yes?!”

It was manager Mike Clemmblas.

“Even if you’re going to go up there, let’s watch for a moment.”

“Yes? No, what are you telling me to watch… Ah.”

The pitching coach, after checking the direction Clemmblas was pointing, soon closed his mouth slightly.

“…….”

It was Vincent Hiyama.

He had rounded the diamond and stepped on home plate, but he was not returning to the Yankees’ dugout.

At first, they thought he was going to do some kind of ceremony. They thought he was going to declare that he had won.

But contrary to everyone’s expectations, he quietly took off his helmet, looking at the senior pitcher on the mound with a truly complex expression-

Bow.

He bowed very politely to Brett Evans.

“?!!”

“!!!”

“!!!”

A batter showing respect to the opposing pitcher in the middle of a game.

At first, everyone’s eyes widened at the sight.

Because it was an unfamiliar sight. Because it was Major League Baseball, where it was considered a virtue to fight tooth and nail without rank on the ground.

But that was only for a moment, and then the sound of clapping came from the third base stands.

“Brett, that was a great game!!!”

It wasn’t heard clearly on the broadcast, but it seemed to be a shout with roughly that meaning.

And as that someone’s shout became a signal flare, thunderous applause and cheers began to pour into Tropicana Field.

“That’s right, Brett! It was a really amazing game!”

“Damn it, I’m a Yankees fan, but… I’ll never forget today’s game!!!”

“Don’t make that dead face! There’s still a lot of season left!!”

Evans! Evans! Evans! Evans!

Unsparing applause and cheers, and the 25,000 baseball fans constantly chanting Brett Evans’ name.

“…….”

Unfortunately, at this touching moment, Brett Evans was unable to show a proper reaction.

He couldn’t return Vincent’s polite greeting, and he couldn’t raise his hand to respond to the cheers of the crowd.

“……Ahem.”

He just clenched his molars.

He just clenched his molars so tightly that he wondered if he would have to go to the dentist, and then he turned his gaze to the dugout with great difficulty.

“Coach! Coach Culkin!”

The living legend was shouting for the pitching coach and sending a substitution signal to the dugout.

Brett Evans and Vincent Hiyama. Two starting pitchers who once created the best moments together for the Tampa Bay Rays.

The last man standing between the two, the truly fierce starting match, was coming to an end.