Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 174

Pitcher done, batter up -173

It was a moment no one expected.

Everyone was focused on the winning streak, never imagining that such a monumental record would suddenly appear out of nowhere, especially from a pitcher no one had anticipated.

[Alan O’Donnell achieves the 25th perfect game in the modern era, a feat unseen for 8 years since Bob Feller’s perfect game!]

[‘Perfect game with unprecedented luck,’ experts say, shaking their heads…]

[‘Live ball era, fewest strikeouts, fewest pitches perfect game!’ A game sent from heaven! Alan O’Donnell, 90 pitches, 4 strikeouts, perfect!]

That’s why people were even more enthusiastic. Four strikeouts. 90 pitches. And perfect.

In terms of pitch count, he tied with Charlie Robertson for the fewest pitches in a live-ball perfect game, and in terms of strikeouts, only Addie Joss, who recorded a 3-strikeout perfect game during the dead-ball era [early 1900s, characterized by low scoring and emphasis on base stealing], had fewer.

A game that could be described as divinely ordained. The perfect game, where the ball seemed to roll to the fielders on its own, was as bizarre as the pitcher’s unorthodox pitching style.

-I’ve seen a total of seven perfect games since I started watching baseball. Mark Buehrle and Dallas Braden’s were truly heaven-sent. Halladay, Humber, Matt Cain, King Felix, and Bob Feller’s perfect games were very impressive. But none were as surprising as this one.

-Sir, how old are you?

-I felt like I was watching the game under a spell. Is this what a perfect game is? They say it’s a record sent from heaven. It felt like God was manipulating the batted balls at will.

A perfect game that was absurdly anticlimactic. But like all perfect games, people believed without a doubt that this one was also divinely ordained.

It was as if the ball was just going into the glove on its own, so it was hard to argue otherwise. The entire Major League was buzzing about the first perfect game in 8 years, and Atlanta, which was already in a festive mood, started to erupt even earlier than expected. In that atmosphere, mockery towards someone naturally followed. The destination was almost always the same: New York.

Divided into Queens and the Bronx, depending on the recipient.

[‘Humiliated Mets!’ Will they become the victims of consecutive record achievements…]

[‘Mets the scapegoat of records?’ From perfect game to winning streak?]

[‘Myopic Yankees?’ Yankees kick away the perfect game that rolled into their hands!]

[‘New York brothers defeated by the Braves side by side’]

One media outlet explained the series of events with a comical cartoon of the Braves sitting on the Yankees and Mets side by side. If the Braves were the biggest beneficiaries of this game, and the other teams gained some minor enjoyment, the biggest losers were the two teams from New York.

-Now that I think about it, were the Yankees really in their right minds? The Braves have a solid 3rd starter, but in other teams, he could be a 2nd starter, even a 1st starter. They traded him for just Rodrigo Albelda and two minor leaguers whose names I don’t even remember? Seriously?

-Our team is bad, but the Yankees’ general manager is seriously messed up.

-Instead of selling one or two expensive players, they could have brought in a good defensive infielder, and O’Donnell would have been useful, right?

-Ugh… don’t rub it in. It already stings like hell. Seriously, why did that stupid GM…

The Yankees were the ones who felt the most pain more than any other team. Even when they were recording good results, their stomachs were already churning. Now that he had achieved a perfect game.

The Yankees fans couldn’t contain their resentment at the thought that the glory the Braves had seized was originally theirs.

Naturally, the front office was flooded with calls, and there was a barrage of abusive language filled with curses.

While the Yankees were rolling around in agony, expressing their regret… the Mets were just…

-Were they killed alive?

-There’s no interview. Why don’t they say something?

-Didn’t they all jump off a hotel together? There was no such article.

They were dead. Definitely mentally dead. They already had a headache because they were the sacrifice for the winning streak. Now they had been hit with a sudden left hook. They couldn’t come to their senses.

And they were anxious. The team had even suffered a perfect game. But there were still two more games left. And there was also the biggest problem.

-Why is Lee acting like that? A teammate is attempting a perfect game, and he hits a home run. It’s going to cool down his shoulder.

-He’s so sly. We deliberately sped up the inning to be considerate of the Braves.

-Don’t try to rationalize… he just hit a home run, and the batters just got beat.

-I thought he was getting tired, but he’s so energetic… what’s wrong with him?

It turned out that Lee Jung-woo’s batting sense was still intact. At least, that’s how it looked on the surface.

It was a lucky home run, and Lee Jung-woo himself was dumbfounded, but his usual indifferent face didn’t reveal his true feelings.

In addition, it was connected to the home runs he had been recording almost every series this month.

-4 at-bats, 3 hits, 2 runs, 1 home run, 3 RBIs. He scored 3 out of 4 points by himself. He’s a crazy bastard.

-O’Donnell’s was just heaven-sent, but this guy’s skill is real, right? That’s the biggest problem.

-We can write off O’Donnell’s one game, but we have to face Lee for two more games. Is there a way?

At least, the Mets fans thought that special measures were needed. Otherwise, they would be devoured by the monster at his peak and become the victims of a great record that would go down in history.

####

Before the second game. Lee Jung-woo, who was lightly warming up, snatched a small gift box thrown at him as if he were catching a batted ball. When a question arose on his face, Alan O’Donnell, who had delivered it, shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s this? All of a sudden.”

“It’s nothing much, just a gift. I had a perfect game, I can’t just sit still. I already gave one to the captain and Michael, so you should accept it quietly too.”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve a gift…”

Lee Jung-woo was serious.

Even if it was other games, Lee Jung-woo himself had clearly not made any remarkable plays yesterday. Everything that came his way was easy to catch, things that he would have to retire immediately if he couldn’t catch, according to Peterson.

He caught an ambiguous ball at the last moment to complete the perfect game, but at least the previous day, his performance at the plate was all there was to it. So, Alan O’Donnell smiled and left behind a cryptic remark to Lee Jung-woo, who was showing signs of declining.

“Your share is at least 50%, so just accept it quietly. I don’t want to leave the wrist of a grateful guy empty.”

“Is it a watch?”

“It’s a little better than the captain’s, so wear it secretly.”

Then, Lee Jung-woo, who chuckled at O’Donnell’s appearance as if he were a natural hermit, opened the package.

And he chuckled again. He thought it would be a mid- to low-priced brand at best. Even Lee Jung-woo himself, who was ignorant of watches, had heard of the one that was gently placed inside the box.

‘The shortstop receives a Rolex from the pitcher.’

Lee Jung-woo, who had inadvertently received a gift that a pitcher who achieves a perfect game often gives to the catcher, shook his head, but felt a sense of pride rising in one corner of his heart.

“What’s that? A Rolex.”

“Well, Lee deserves it.”

“If I were a pitcher, I would have given him a Patek Philippe [high-end Swiss watch brand] instead of a Rolex. How much is his salary going up thanks to him.”

The surrounding players who caught the scene nodded while envying him. Honestly, they felt like they would have done the same to Lee Jung-woo if they were pitchers.

In that situation, Christensen, the starting pitcher for today’s game, who was lightly warming up while preparing for his appearance, also approached Lee Jung-woo and whispered.

“I’ll buy you a Rolex too, so can you help me with a perfect game?”

“Well, I’m always welcome. Let’s take this opportunity to get watches from the pitchers and open a museum when we retire later.”

####

The Braves’ mood in accepting the second game was sky-high. It was the moment to challenge for their 20th consecutive win. The brilliant number of consecutive wins was a symbol proving that the Braves were the strongest team this season.

And the Braves fans wanted the symbol to be a little higher, so that they could tell their grandchildren in the future that they were the most powerful not only this season, but throughout the entire league.

[The second game of the Braves vs. Mets is about to begin. The Mets had a rough time yesterday. I’m curious to see how this game will go.]

[The starting lineup is the same as the previous day. Except for the starting pitchers. Today, the Braves are starting Christensen, and the Mets are starting Frederick Iron.]

So, when the broadcast started, people gathered in front of the TV or computer, listening to the commentators and focusing on the screen.

Perhaps even more people gathered than the day before. Those who regretted missing the historic scene of the perfect game flocked in, feeling like they were settling for second best.

The commentators, unable to hide their smiles at the soaring viewership, recited information back and forth as if to liven up the atmosphere, such as the head-to-head record of the two teams, the recent performance of the pitchers, and the recent batting sense of the two teams’ batters. People scanned the field with eyes full of anticipation.

Not only the viewers, but also the spectators watching the game live had a solemn atmosphere.

“Damn it… I had to sit in the front row during this series…”

McCleroy, a bearded man built like a Viking, couldn’t hide his regret. The seat that was almost his designated seat was sold out in an instant.

Only his seat.

“Sanders, you heartless bastard, you just left…”

Sanders, a longtime friend and fellow Braves fanatic, somehow bought the front seat and ruthlessly abandoned him.

McCleroy had never resented himself as much as he did now. He should have stayed up all night to get a ticket…

‘It’s a relief that I got even this… And I witnessed the perfect game with my own eyes, right? That’s enough, that’s enough. Hmph, I’ll definitely regain it tomorrow.’

Although he was a little further away from the moment of the 20th consecutive win, he vowed to be with them at the historic site. McCleroy soothed his bitter heart.

Then, he greeted the players with enthusiastic cheers. The other spectators around him also shouted or applauded, heating up the atmosphere of the stadium.

The Braves players, who were heading to the field for defense, waved or bowed in response.

“Christensen! Christensen! You bastard! I believe in you! Old fans believe in you! Damn it, you’re a little behind now, but you’re one of the aces!”

Gordon Christensen. Commonly known as Christensen. The starting pitcher for the Braves in this game was a pitcher with mixed feelings for the old fans of the Braves who had experienced the dark ages in the past.

Just two years ago, before Mason Looper came, he was in charge of the formal ace as the 1st starter, then the 2nd starter, and then the 4th starter due to the recruitment of competitive pitchers and the decline in skills.

Although he had been a 1st starter because the Braves’ starting lineup was weak, he would have had to work a little harder to be a 2nd starter in other teams. But he was clearly one of the heroes who supported the Braves’ dark ages.

That’s why there are still many fans who like him even now, when there are several starting pitchers who are achieving great results.

There were also people who wanted him to play a big role in the moment when the Braves won the World Series someday.

That’s why McCleroy, who calls himself the most passionate fan of the Braves, also liked him. Whether he heard his voice or not, McCleroy felt more at ease with his confident appearance.

‘He looks good today. Christensen is a guy who can complete a shutout if he’s in good condition. We’re going to eat the second game too.’

“Christensen! O’Donnell had a perfect game! You should have a shutout!”

A loud shout.

But in the end, whether it didn’t reach him, the Braves showed a slightly faltering appearance from the beginning, unlike the previous day.

“Ah…”

Knowing it was impossible. Some fans, who wondered if this game could be something close to perfect, sighed as if they were disappointed. Their expectations were shattered, as they were hit hard from the very first pitch. A clean hit to the right-center field. First base was filled in an instant.

“Why are the Mets so normal? They even suffered a perfect game… shouldn’t they be out of their minds?”

“Maybe they’re angry? They even suffered a perfect game. I think they’re working harder because they’re more pissed off?”

As Christensen allowed a walk and created a crisis, the atmosphere in the stadium calmed down a bit. They looked at the Mets with worried eyes, who seemed more energetic than the previous day, or rather, a little more intense.

“Damn it, shut up! Lee is here! Lee will take care of everything!”

“That’s right! You know what’s up! Lee has often made triple plays!”

McCleroy was unhappy with such pessimistic thoughts and shouted loudly. His voice was full of faith.

Because the player who had always overcome these crises was in the shortstop position.

McCleroy, who calls himself the number one fan, fluttered the uniform with Lee Jung-woo’s autograph and incited the people around him. The other fans who responded to him also shouted hard.

And that belief was always certain.

“That’s right! That’s it!”

A cool diving catch. The sound of applause rang out loudly as Lee Jung-woo and Derek flew like a decalcomani [image created by pressing a painting between two surfaces].

Two outs in an instant. Soon after, Christensen, who regained his senses, finished the inning with a strikeout, and the worried eyes were now filled with greedy desire.

It was the Braves’ time.

“Leeeeeeee!”

“Captain! Just one clean hit is enough! Lee and Joey will take care of it!”

“Derek! Let’s start with you! Damn it, show it to the juniors! Let’s go from a leadoff home run to back-to-back-to-back!”

The Braves’ attack, starting with Captain Derek, made the fans like children. It makes them fall asleep with inflated dreams.

And most of those dreams came true.

In particular, Lee Jung-woo’s batting sense, which had been sharp recently, even recording a home run the previous day, was always right.

Because May was full of home runs that burst out like lightning in an instant.

“Opportunity after crisis!”

“Mets, you’re screwed! Why? Because there will be a back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back home run from Captain to Popin!”

People were waving their rubber axes and shouting hard. In the intense atmosphere, McCleroy also led the atmosphere around him, sneering at the pitcher who was trudging up to the mound.

It was only the top of the first inning, but he was already friendly, or rather, he was shouting with his arms around the shoulders of the spectators on both sides, which told how thick his fandom was.

And in the attack that finally started, when leadoff hitter Derek received the ball on the 6th pitch and connected it with a hit. He cheered, splashing beer everywhere.

“He hit it!”

“That’s it! Captain! That’s Captain Derek!”

“Derek! Derek, your number is unconditionally retired forever! Do you know that? The uniform I’m wearing now will only remain yours!”

When one of the Braves’ winning formulas was completed, Derek’s hit or on base, and the next batter Lee Jung-woo, the surrounding spectators who had been splashed with his beer shouted without regard.

The magnificent howling sound was shot at the ground with a lot of anticipation. It was combined with Lee Jung-woo, who was trudging to the plate, giving the pitcher a feeling like a funeral song.

“Kuhahahahah! You X-babies!”

“Hey! Why don’t you just admit you lost and get out of here? Then your body will be more comfortable!”

The people who sneered again at the pitcher’s appearance, narrowing his brows at the words that seemed to be making fun of him, became quiet as if nothing had happened when Lee Jung-woo took his stance.

In particular, McCleroy looked at Lee Jung-woo with a reverent face, holding his hands together tightly like a devout believer, not a Viking.

The appearance, like a religious ritual, was a very unbalanced sight that was far from the background of the baseball field.

There was no one who thought it was strange.

Because everyone around him was doing that. And the game that followed. McCleroy spilled beer again at the swing that swatted the first pitch coolly.