Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 131

‘My timing is getting better. I’m getting used to it.’

Mason Looper, who struck out the leadoff hitter, wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was starting to run out of steam. It was already the bottom of the 8th. The Dodgers hitters, who had been studying his pitches for a full eight innings, were getting closer and closer to making contact.

‘Pitch count is 92. No, was it 91? I’m still okay. Still.’

No, he wasn’t okay. Honestly, he was pretty tired. His uniform, soaked with sweat and humidity, felt heavy, and his body was protesting with fatigue.

After the Wild Card game, he had a decent amount of rest, but it still wasn’t enough to completely shake off the fatigue from the regular season.

‘But… I can’t go down. The moment I go down, the leash comes off.’

Mason knew it well: he was the one holding the Dodgers back right now. So he knew that the moment he came out, the cage holding the beast would be opened.

It wasn’t about skill. The Braves bullpen [a team’s relief pitchers] was strong and solid, much better than a starting pitcher who was already exhausted.

But momentum wasn’t something that could be easily explained. The Dodgers were being held in check by pitcher Mason Looper.

Just like the Braves had been shut down by Billy Nixon, who was relatively weaker compared to the aces they had faced so far.

In that situation, if he faltered, no matter which pitcher came up, it would be hard to expect the same impact as he was having.

‘Fortunately, there’s a way. A way the opponent doesn’t know at all.’

His tired body, decreased control, and reduced speed were all bad, but fortunately, he had a trump card.

‘Not bad. They’re used to my pitches so far, so they’ll definitely fall for it. And I can throw one pitch properly even in this situation.’

He couldn’t execute it perfectly. He could throw it well, but he was too tired now.

But there was one thing he could throw perfectly. However, Mason held back.

Rather than waste his secret weapon, it was better to throw it at a crucial moment to erase the crisis.

He waited, even when the next hitter got a hit.

Even when he allowed consecutive hits to the next hitter.

So, with one out and runners on 1st and 2nd.

When the most threatening crisis of the game finally arrived, Mason made a decision.

‘If this chance flies away here, the mental impact will be huge. Here I go. Just one is enough.’

Mason, lightly dissuading the pitching coach who was trying to come up, took a deep breath. In fact, if anyone knew, they would call him crazy.

If he were to throw a pitch he had only practiced for a few months in the postseason, in the championship series with the World Series right in front of him, it probably wouldn’t be good. It would be even worse if the result was bad.

But he believed—in the name of Mason Looper and his body, and in Lee Jungwoo, who had willingly given him the weapon.

‘First, a regular fastball.’

A fastball that slightly grazed the outside. Maybe it was because his condition was good, but even though the speed had dropped, his control was still intact.

Now one strike. The hitter, who seemed to be aiming for a big hit, watched once and clicked his tongue in disappointment. That wasn’t bad either.

‘Changeup? No, the timing is being read and hit. Let’s seal the changeup for now. Then a curveball.’

A cleanly dropping curveball. The hitter let the curveball that went out of the zone pass this time as well. A ball, of course. That’s what he wanted.

That way, Mason slowly, very calmly, created the match according to his intentions.

Perhaps having read the fastball timing, the hitter waited, repeatedly fouling off the ball, and Mason waited for his moment as well.

And finally, on the 6th pitch, Mason took another breath. It had to go in properly. If he went in carelessly, he wouldn’t see a good outcome.

‘Just go in like you did in the bullpen. That’s all.’

Tapping the ball as if caressing it, Mason wound up at length. He created the same posture as when he threw the most accurate practice pitch. He stretched out his raised stride foot and stepped on the ground.

Like a slow-motion scene, the pure white ball flew to the location he wanted—a course slightly low from the middle of the strike zone.

The hitter’s face seemed to fill with joy for a moment. He was already used to the fastball timing, so a ball that was perfect to hit had come.

‘He’s been fooled. The ball just needs to go in well.’

He desperately hoped, and the ball, the ball he believed in, moved as he wanted.

The ball changed at the last moment. The hitter’s eyes, which had been filled with joy, shook violently, and a weak sound of impact came out.

“To second!”

“Throw it back to first!”

“Hell Yeah!”

The rolled ball went in order of shortstop-second baseman-first baseman. Yes, it was the most common double play. The bottom of the 8th ended as it was, and silence fell on Dodger Stadium, which had been filled with anticipation.

The hitter, who was out before even reaching first base, threw his helmet and tore at his hair, but no one sympathized with him.

“This crazy bastard! Is he really trying to pitch a shutout?”

“No, I honestly thought he was crazy for stopping the coach, but this is adorable!”

The infielders who ran over cheered and praised Mason, and among them, shortstop Lee Jungwoo, while applauding the pitcher’s good pitching, gave him a slightly subtle look.

“That was it, right?”

He whispered quietly so that others couldn’t hear. Mason grinned.

“You recognized it? I only threw one.”

“I taught it to you. There’s no way I wouldn’t know. I knew you were brave, but… amazing.”

“It’s the postseason, right? You have to have a secret weapon to feel comfortable.”

Then Mason smiled again. Lee Jungwoo subtly gave him a thumbs up, and Mason shrugged his shoulders. Then he asked.

“I think I’ve done my best so far. Can I ask you to take care of the rest?”

“Of course. I’ll have you throw in the 9th too. I’ll make you a shutout pitcher.”

The other teammates, who were laughing among themselves at the quiet conversation, must have heard the last words, as they all shouted to trust them.

Watching that, Mason praised his choice.

‘Braves, there weren’t many good things said when I first signed.’

Three years, $85 million. It was a great amount, but he didn’t hear good things. First of all, it wasn’t a long-term contract, and it was because he went from a team with postseason aspirations to a team that didn’t have them.

He was ridiculed.

That he chose the Braves because his pride was hurt by being pushed back by Ilya and he wanted to be the boss, or that he was blinded by money and only looked at the money, or that all he would get from the contract with the Braves was money.

Well, most of them were Giants fans who thought of him as a traitor. But even to people other than them, it wasn’t a very congratulatory contract.

Except for the Braves.

‘Say goodbye to the postseason with a kiss, was it?’

That was a comment written by a netizen when he had just signed the contract and was having his introductory ceremony. It suddenly came to mind.

Thinking about it, a smile appeared on Mason’s face again. Now that he thought about it, wasn’t it funny?

He had made it to the postseason, passing through the Wild Card, beyond the Division, to the Championship, and even dropping his stingy former team along the way.

He had become an ace—not a boss in a weak team, but a real ace that all baseball fans recognized.

He had a new weapon, a weapon that would give him the specialness he had so desperately wanted, something that wasn’t lacking in any way.

And now, he was vying for a glorious Game 1 victory in the Championship. In this situation, he wanted to ask those who had ridiculed or cursed him again: Did they really think he would only be left with money?

“Let’s win, no matter what.”

“Of course, we have to!”

“One home run is all we need! Mason will stop them in the 9th too!”

He wanted to say, unlike those curse-like words, he would be a winner.

####

Top of the 9th. The Braves’ last attack in regular innings. Both teams were filled with tension.

Since the score was still 0-0, the side that scored even one point first was likely to be the winner.

‘Let’s go calmly. Think as usual. Swing the same way.’

Lee Jungwoo, the leadoff hitter in the top of the 9th, tried to be as calm as possible. His performance in today’s game wasn’t good.

In the previous at-bat, Billy Nixon walked him, realizing that he was aiming for a home run. Two at-bats, no hits, and one walk were all he had recorded.

But in the end, the opportunity came again. A new pitcher would come up to the mound. After finishing the top of the 8th, Billy Nixon iced his arm.

Unlike Mason, he had thrown over 100 pitches, often getting hit with singles, so it was an unavoidable choice.

But whoever it was, he didn’t think they would walk him this time either. One runner, one hitter would be a threatening moment.

‘Get on base somehow. Go to at least 2nd base.’

He wanted to aim for a home run, but honestly, even Lee Jungwoo was tired now.

Playing shortstop on a ground that was still slippery even after removing the moisture required a great deal of stamina.

So he didn’t want much. He just went to the plate with the thought of doing whatever he could for the team’s victory.

“Wooooooo!”

“Strike out again this time!”

“I know you’re tired, so just stay still and go.”

Lee Jungwoo welcomed the cheering of the crowd and filled the batter’s box.

The sky was still full of dark clouds. It wasn’t raining. Rather, it was more nerve-wracking because it wasn’t raining.

‘It’s LA. Let’s think of it as dark clouds for the Dodgers.’

Lee Jungwoo, who slowly took his batting stance, looked straight ahead with an upright posture.

The closer [a relief pitcher who specializes in pitching the final inning of a game], a left-handed sidearm pitcher armed with a fresh arm, was a good pitcher, but he didn’t have the same intimidation as the previous starting pitcher. It couldn’t be helped. It was hard for a pitcher on a hot streak, who had blocked up to the 8th inning, to be similar to a pitcher who had just come up.

‘Let’s wait. I need to get used to the timing, or at least the changed speed.’

Maintaining his composure, Lee Jungwoo watched the pitcher’s ball.

Unlike the previous pitcher, whose fastball speed maintained the low 90s and sometimes dropped to 88-89 mph as his stamina gradually decreased over time, the pitcher in front of him boasted the high 90s. The full-force pitch recorded a top speed of 99 mph.

He was used to slower balls, so it felt much faster, but Lee Jungwoo tried to get used to it as much as possible.

‘Still, his control isn’t there. He’s not used to the current ground.’

If they had all come into the zone, he would have already struck out, but the pitcher’s balls were slightly off.

That long match created the opportunity that Lee Jungwoo had so desperately wanted.

‘Four-seam fastball and sinker, and slider. None of them are easy. The only one worth aiming for is….’

Lee Jungwoo swallowed hard. Ironically, the pitch that was most worth aiming for was the one he was weakest against.

‘Slider. It’s worth hitting.’

The rest were still difficult because he hadn’t adapted to the speed, but the slider he had thrown just once was worth hitting—if it came again.

‘Does he know me? Has he seen my record, my data?’

If so, he might throw a slider one more time. Among the tremendous records, his batting average against sliders was relatively low, so he might try to target that.

Lee Jungwoo put all the strength in his hands, which had definitely decreased since the start of the game, into the bat.

‘It’s coming.’

His heart was pounding.

It wasn’t certain yet, but he had a good feeling for some reason. It felt like a slider, just as he had thought.

Taking a deep breath, he moved his bat—the angle of the break and the location where it would drop slightly, the trajectory he found by combining those things.

‘Ah, fastball.’

But the ball didn’t break as expected. No, it had a slight tailing effect, but it wasn’t a slider anyway.

All time felt slow. Lee Jungwoo was momentarily stunned, but ironically, his body took the swing on its own.

‘The last at-bat. I can’t just waste it like this.’

Lee Jungwoo, with his eyes wide open, made a judgment. It wouldn’t be the center of the bat, but it seemed like the ball would hit. Then what he had to do was…

‘I’ll swing it by force.’

Drawing all the strength from his body, he swung the ball, which was far off the sweet spot, with all his might.

Unlike his usual swing, which even experts praised as beautiful, it was a bad swing that often appeared when a foul ball came out—a swing that was unlikely to pass the infield and likely to be caught as a foul fly.

“Huh? Uh- uh?”

“What, why isn’t it falling?”

“Isn’t that a foul?”

The ball that floated up strangely didn’t lose its power until the end, and surprisingly, it didn’t cross the foul line either. The commentators on each broadcasting channel, who had predicted it would be an ordinary foul fly, now quietly closed their mouths and chased the ball.

While everyone was watching only that, Lee Jungwoo ran like a madman alone.

‘It felt clean, but because of the weather, I don’t know until the end. I have to step on at least one more base.’

He had what they commonly called dung power [unexpected luck or resilience]. He had hit it high, but he wasn’t as sure as the many home runs he had hit, so Lee Jungwoo stretched his legs without resting. He passed first base in an instant. By the time he stepped on second base, the 3rd base coach waved his hand at him.

‘Ah…’

It meant to slow down. If it was a hit, he would have told him to stop. If it was caught, he would have encouraged him. The words to slow down…

“It went over….”

“No, did that go over?”

“Didn’t you say earlier that the air density was so-and-so because it was humid today, and the ball weight was so-and-so? So no home runs would come out?”

“F***, I don’t know either. That f***ing bastard must be f***ing strong. F***….”

Only then did Lee Jungwoo raise his hand in the air. It was a joy he realized a little late, but that didn’t matter.

The balance of 0-0 was broken, and one more point came out.

####

“This is it! This is it!”

“Hit it! Hit it, Joey!”

The players mauled Joey, who had easily entered home with Peterson’s sacrifice fly after the double, just like they had done to Lee Jungwoo earlier.

The top of the 9th ended as the next hitters were all out, but the score of 2 points floated on the scoreboard like the sun.

“Are you going to be okay? Your record isn’t normal, you know?”

“I’m already tired. And… I think this is enough.”

Bottom of the 9th. Like the opposing starting pitcher, Mason didn’t come up either.

The great achievement of a postseason shutout was shimmering before his eyes, but he gave up cleanly.

The Dodgers, who had already lost their morale, would struggle until the end, but rather than his tired self, he thought it would be better for a fresh pitcher to go up and crush them.

“I know that anything more than this is greed. Records are important, but first, we have to win.”

Then Mason, with a relaxed face that he was showing for the first time in today’s game, sprawled out on the bench. The head coach nodded.

“Contact the bullpen. It’s Stevenson’s turn.”

The bullpen door opened. When the pitcher appeared, the Dodgers fans and hitters were disappointed. That was their last hope.

Their last hope was that a tired pitcher would go to the mound out of greed for the record.

He gave up cleanly.

“You vicious bastard….”

“As expected of someone from the Giants, he’s not helping until the end.”

“Hey! If you’re a starting pitcher, you have to finish it yourself! Are you just handing it over to someone else!”

When the spectators hurled abuse at Mason, who was leisurely icing his arm, the newly arrived pitcher, Braves closer Warren Stevenson, gave Mason on the bench a thumbs up as if to say good job. Then, with a powerful pitch, he crushed the already exhausted Dodgers.

[KKK! Warren Stevenson finishes the bottom of the 9th with three consecutive strikeouts-]

[The Braves win Game 1 of the NLCS!]