Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 173

The Mets were reeling.

To be precise, their batters were utterly lost. Their series of bizarre offensive plays continued relentlessly. Pitch after pitch landed in perfect spots, the kind you might only see once in a lifetime, and they made solid contact repeatedly, each time thinking, ‘This is it!’ They were constantly filled with the certainty that victory was just a little bit better execution away.

One player even prematurely tossed his bat in the air, his face beaming with joy, convinced he’d hit a home run. But it wasn’t long before he returned to the bench, his face flushed with embarrassment, fuming and red-faced.

And these kinds of incidents kept repeating throughout the game.

“What on earth is going on?” the commentator asked, echoing the Mets’ bewilderment.

What is happening? What are we being subjected to? The Mets batters kept asking themselves. Though there was no answer, the questions grew more and more frequent, just like the increasingly varied ground balls to shortstop, third base, second base, first base, and even back to the pitcher.

“In seven innings, there have only been four strikeouts. But… yet, they’ve been completely shut down. How can we describe this situation? Magic? Yes, I’d like to call it that. Alan O’Donnell’s magic show is unfolding on the field.”

“The Mets batters must feel like they’re possessed by a ghost. How is this kind of pitching even possible?”

It wasn’t just the batters. Even the seasoned veteran commentators couldn’t hide their bewilderment. Even the stadium announcer, a staunch Braves supporter, was speechless. And the Braves players, like the audience, were silent.

Some of it was a genuine reaction from the heart, but some was forced restraint, just like the Rockies in the first game of the previous series.

“Nice catch. Things are going easy today, huh? How many have you saved already? Is it okay to be this comfortable? This is great~ If it’s like this every day, I’ll get the Cy Young [award for the best pitcher in each league] instead of Mason, right? Captain, Lee, let’s keep it up next inning. Oh! Peterson and Poppin are doing great too, so don’t be too jealous.”

“What have we even done? Only the kind of balls that would get us retired if we didn’t catch them are coming our way.”

“O’Donnell, are you using some kind of psychological trick? Do you have a bunch of psychology books at home?”

“Give me the winning Powerball numbers for next week. I’ll cut you in on a share when I sign my extension.”

The fielders awkwardly joked with Alan O’Donnell, who was playfully chattering, or they just shook their heads as if his behavior was absurd.

Seven innings, four strikeouts, and no runs allowed. If a starting pitcher recorded these stats, most people would say, ‘That guy’s lucky.’ Because the pitcher only had four strikeouts, yet he managed to prevent any runs during seven innings of offense, it would mostly be attributed to luck.

But if you add no hits, no walks, and no runners on base, the story changes.

It becomes a ‘blessing,’ not luck.

‘Yeah, a blessing. Is this even possible? How…’

Even Lee Jung-woo, who had anticipated this situation, couldn’t understand the repetition of this inning. He had expected O’Donnell to do better than usual because it was his ‘긁히는 날’ [a Korean expression for a player having a particularly good day], but this was on a different level.

‘It’s not just that the Captain and I are positioned well. It’s another thing entirely to have the ball go exactly where we are.’

Alan O’Donnell often induced easy ground balls, but today, it wasn’t just easy—it was as if the ball was coming right into the glove if you just put it on the ground and opened it. Lee Jung-woo thought, if it’s this absurd for the shortstop on the same team, what must it feel like for the opponents facing him directly?

‘If we’re like this… the Mets must be going crazy.’

Rotting away.

Deep down, their pride, confidence, and identity as batters—everything.

Lee Jung-woo saw a Mets player dry-washing his face with a look of despair. Right in the middle of enemy territory. He looked like he desperately needed a drink. It wasn’t just him; all the Mets batters had a similar look.

Before the game started, or even a few innings ago, they were warriors armed with a determination to win, but now they were just like addicts hoping for a miracle.

“Wow~ The Mets are completely out of it, aren’t they? What’s wrong with them? It’s making things easier for us, though. That’s why the Mets are hopeless~ They were terrible when I was on the Yankees too. They said it was because of the interleague games? But it’s no different here~”

‘They say a perfect game is a gift from heaven, but this is almost like it came down directly. And to this guy of all people.’

Lee Jung-woo thought as he watched Alan O’Donnell, who seemed to be mocking the batters or perhaps didn’t even realize what he was doing.

####

The Braves had already scored two runs in six innings.

It was a relatively modest score, which allowed the Mets to maintain some hope.

But that was the end of it.

“Ah~ I really love batting. I’m not even good at it, but I strangely like it. Should I try to get a hit? What do you think? Isn’t two points too unstable?”

“Just stay put and come back,” the pitching coach said, carefully shutting O’Donnell’s mouth. He looked like he had aged ten years.

The pitcher was doing well, so you might wonder why he was like that, but it was inevitable. Even if he just stood there quietly and came back, it was still unsettling, and now he was spouting nonsense…

The players were convinced by the comical scene between the pitching coach and O’Donnell. It was clear that the strange guy didn’t know what he was doing.

His eyes looked around at the frozen teammates with a strange expression, and the way he tapped his shoulder and swung his arm made their hearts pound.

“What if he actually gets on base?”

“Should we just send him to the plate without a bat? No, if we did that, the Mets might think we’re provoking them and throw a headshot…”

“Shouldn’t someone tell him now? Someone has to take the lead…”

“Can you handle the aftermath?”

“No…”

The people who whispered with serious faces hoped that he would come down from the plate quietly.

And then the bottom of the 7th began.

Whether their worries reached the heavens, after Rollins walked due to a wild pitch, Alan O’Donnell, who came to the plate, quietly struck out on three fastballs thrown by the opposing pitcher as if he was scolding him.

Many people’s hearts dropped when they saw him swinging with his eyes closed, but fortunately (?) it ended with a refreshing windmill swing.

‘The bomb is gone, so now the real attack starts. But it’s better to finish quickly if possible. 72 pitches so far, so he doesn’t need to conserve energy. As long as the pitcher’s shoulder doesn’t cool down too much.’

As if thinking the same thing, the hitting coach tearfully asked the batters to hit quickly. In other words, he meant not to drag out the offense.

It could be said that it was dereliction of duty as a hitting coach, but it couldn’t be helped. As long as the team’s starting pitcher was maintaining a perfect game, everything in this game had to be centered around that pitcher.

So, after Derrick stepped down from the plate with three powerful swings, Lee Jung-woo, who went up as the next batter, also gripped his bat a little looser than usual.

‘If you have any sense, you’ll know what’s going on, so throw it appropriately.’

As he glared at the pitcher with that thought, the relief pitcher, who had taken over the mound from the starting pitcher, nodded slightly as if he understood, and soon threw the first pitch. Lee Jung-woo easily struck out with a light swing.

“It seems like the Braves batters are being considerate of Alan O’Donnell.”

“Rollins is excluded because he walked due to the pitcher’s control issues. The batters behind him are trying not to break the pitcher’s rhythm.”

“Yes, they’re holding back their swings. Normally, there would have been a check swing at this timing. However… it seems like the pitcher’s control is a bit of a problem.”

The commentators seemed to have figured out the situation and were telling the viewers what was happening. And that’s when the problem, the Mets’ misfortune, began.

‘Five pitches. I was trying to finish quickly, but why is it dragging on like this?’

Lee Jung-woo glared at the pitcher. He had made up his mind to hold back, but the pitcher was throwing ambiguous pitches.

He thought they had understood each other telepathically, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

‘Is the Mets deliberately stalling? They let Rollins walk, trying to break the flow.’

Suspecting that the Mets were doing this on purpose, Lee Jung-woo glanced at the bench and made a decision.

And then the sixth pitch was thrown.

Lee Jung-woo swung almost blindly, like Derrick had done.

He swung a little earlier than his usual timing, a swing he made expecting a strikeout.

Paak-

“Oh- Oh?” the commentator said.

“What- What?” the players said.

That happened to split the ball.

Whether it was a genuine control issue without any dark intentions, the pitcher forced the ball into the zone. The fastball he threw with all his might stretched out.

So far so good, but the problem was that Lee Jung-woo’s blind swing and the trajectory of the ball coincided.

The overwhelming sound of the hit rang out, and Lee Jung-woo, who finally understood the situation, let out a hollow laugh.

‘What is this-‘

If Alan O’Donnell’s pitching today was a gift from heaven, then Lee Jung-woo’s home run was also a gift from heaven.

Lee Jung-woo, who was looking at the ball in vain, ignored the pitcher who was glaring at him with betrayal in his eyes and trudged around the bases.

“Oh… At a sudden timing, Lee’s quick swing! It’s his 15th home run of the season.”

“Haha, he almost swung with his eyes closed, but he hit it perfectly.”

“The game score is 4-0… The Braves are one step closer to victory.”

The Mets were glaring at him, and his teammates were looking at him with disbelief. Lee Jung-woo thought. It was probably the most awkward home run of his life.

‘Even if it’s a perfect game, the more points, the better… Let’s think positively. And it’s not dragging on that long. Surely the flow won’t be broken with this?’

Lee Jung-woo tried to think that way, but he couldn’t help but feel a subtle unease in one corner of his heart.

####

Alan O’Donnell hid the smile that was about to burst out in the quiet atmosphere around him.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

His teammates, who were startled when they made eye contact with him, were trying to pretend they weren’t. It was quite fun to watch.

His teammates didn’t seem to know, but he was already aware of it. It was his pitching, so how could he not know?

‘A perfect game… I never thought I’d have this kind of opportunity in my life.’

The pitcher, who had swept away all the batters so far, looked around the ground for a moment before going to the bench, as if he had new feelings.

Truist Park, he had played here for a long time, but he was still more familiar with Yankee Stadium, and he still felt strange sometimes. But he could say for sure.

That there would be much more to achieve here than what he had achieved at Yankee Stadium.

‘I already knew that I relied a lot on defense, but I didn’t know it would be this much.’

Of course, the Yankees were a good team, and he was a good pitcher there too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to secure a spot as the third starter on such a prestigious team.

But it felt different. This level of support was something he had never felt before in junior baseball, senior baseball, or the minor and major leagues.

‘It’s fun. How do they catch so well? They hit well too. Is that what a genius is like?’

He turned his head slightly and looked at Lee Jung-woo, who had a slightly stiff face. He had hit a two-run home run, but he looked like he had done something wrong. At least Alan O’Donnell didn’t care what Lee Jung-woo did.

Because he was the one who had erased the anxiety that he had always had since he started playing baseball and realized his own style.

He had always been afraid.

The innate talent that even he couldn’t understand had made him who he was now. But in the end, he needed the efforts of the defense. At one time, he wanted to have the powerful pitching ability of Mason or Ian Field, who were currently playing on the same team. The ability to create the game himself, without relying on the help of the fielders.

But not anymore.

‘There’s no need to do that when a guy like that is playing on the same team. I just have to keep rolling hard as usual. Then they’ll take care of everything. My salary and popularity will keep going up.’

Alan O’Donnell smiled and adjusted his cap, then confidently walked to the mound in front of tens of thousands of eyes watching him. All he had to do was roll hard.

‘They’ll take care of the rest. They always have.’

He was playing with the greatest genius that everyone praised.

There was no need to have a special mindset or mind control. Just believe and hope, as he had always done.

‘I don’t know when I’ll have another chance. I have to try it. This, I might actually win the Cy Young instead of Mason?’

The pitcher, who dominated the mound based on deep trust, raised his hand high at the last moment and pierced the bright blue sky.

“Alan O’Donnell seems a little tired. It’s time to draw out the last of his strength.”

“A pinch hitter is up. Will it be effective- Ah! He hit it! Center left! A rolling ground ball! A little fast-”

“Lee- Lee caught it! He caught it! Without missing it! He caught it perfectly! Barehanded catch! And then to 1st base! Out! It’s out!”

“Alan O’Donnell! Achieves the 25th perfect game in Major League history! And! The Braves achieve their 19th consecutive win!”

He showed a bright smile to his teammates running towards him.