Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 235

Pitching Ends, Hitting Begins – Episode 234

Human concentration has a shorter shelf life than you think. Whether you achieve your goal or fail, you lose focus in that moment.

Conversely, if you set a goal that’s too high from the start, your concentration won’t even kick in.

[Lee! He’s running!]

In the bottom of the first inning, the Miami Marlins’ goal was to prevent Lee Jung-woo from stealing. Ideally, they wouldn’t even let him get on base, but that’s nearly impossible with him, so they aimed for the next best thing.

Frequent pick-off attempts. Strict vigilance. The moment they felt they had contained the runner to some extent, a slight sense of relief crept in. And that soon led to a stolen second base. The moment their primary goal of blocking the steal failed, the Marlins’ focus vanished. Gone with the failed objective.

[The Marlins’ infield is utterly helpless!]

The field, now devoid of concentration, quickly became chaotic, and the players shouted blame, whether for the pitcher’s sake or just empty words. But no one truly took responsibility.

If they had, they wouldn’t have all just stood there, blankly staring.

“Safe!”

In the silent field, the catcher belatedly tried to make a throw, but due to a slight hesitation caused by the loss of focus, he froze, unable to throw the ball.

With a CS% [caught stealing percentage] of 31%, not outstanding but decent enough to catch runners three out of ten times, the catcher couldn’t even bring himself to throw the ball at this moment.

The timing that governs everything in baseball had deeply affected him. Just like a batter who misses the timing and strikes out looking, unable to even swing the bat.

‘Should I have not even bothered to get into throwing position?’

If he hadn’t gotten into throwing position, since everyone was frozen anyway, the scorekeeper might have ruled it as defensive indifference [when the defending team does not attempt to prevent a player from advancing], implying the defense had no intention of stopping him. It sounds absurd, but there was a possibility.

Until he caught the pitcher’s throw and got into throwing position. After that, even that slim possibility vanished.

Yes, this is a steal. An undeniable steal, with no room for errors or indifference, just a perfect steal.

“F*ck.”

The catcher realized what he had done only after seeing the runner touch third base and casually stand up, stretching his arms towards the stands with an indifferent expression.

A surprise steal of third base, completing the 40-40 club [40 home runs and 40 stolen bases in a single season]. A catcher just standing there, blankly watching. Isn’t that a great visual?

When that guy’s 40-40 is talked about again, it’s enough to add flavor like a seasoning, enough to be the licorice root in the herbal medicine [a metaphor for something that adds a crucial element or finishing touch].

“Congratulations, buddy. A very tasteful assist. You directed it perfectly. Thanks to you, you’re also part of a historic scene. A moment in the legend that guy will build from now on.”

As if to confirm that, Derek, the batter at the plate, grinned at him while the catcher was still dazed. You’ll be remembered too.

Faced with that cruel remark, all the catcher could do was slam the ground and hang his head. As if mocking him, a thunderous voice followed.

[The 40-40 Club! The moment a new member joins this great gathering! His name is!]

“Jung!”

“Woo!”

“Lee!”

The stadium announcer, excited, passed the baton to the crowd, who shouted Lee Jung-woo’s name one syllable at a time. The scene almost felt sacred.

If someone didn’t know anything about baseball, they might think the name the crowd was shouting was the name of a god, their faces filled with indescribable joy.

[After stealing second base, Jungwoo Lee immediately attempts to steal third, etching his name as the fifth member of the 40-40 Club!]

[I’m speechless. Innate guts? Recklessness? Courage? Or thorough calculation? I don’t know how to explain it. The Marlins came out fully prepared, and they were, but he single-handedly shattered all those plans and seized his crown, his sacred laurel wreath, himself.]

The first game of the series between the Atlanta Braves and the Miami Marlins. The first inning of the game that everyone was watching.

Perhaps earlier than expected, the record was set. The name Lee Jung-woo was added to the scoreboard below the four names already inscribed.

####

#

Feeling drained, Derek hit a home run off the pitcher, who seemed to have lost all his strength, and Lee Jung-woo, returning to the dugout as a scoring runner, shrugged at the stares he received.

Just like the Marlins, they still seemed to be recovering from the shock. Even Joey, the number three hitter who passed him on the way home, seemed to have a more vacant look in his eyes than usual.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

His teammates, who would normally have rushed in and playfully beat him up, didn’t readily approach him despite his provocative words. The base-running coach was the only one who came over and praised him for the great steal, but even his hand patting his shoulder couldn’t stop trembling.

40-40. Only two stolen bases added to his existing record, but the weight of it was so heavy that it felt almost sacrilegious to call it just two stolen bases.

Even his teammates, who had been joking around, putting their arms around him, and playing pranks with him just moments ago, felt a slight distance.

“I still don’t understand what I just saw. What did you just do?”

“I just saw an opening and thought I’d get it done quickly. It’s easier to finish it in the first inning, right? The fans seem to like it too.”

“I don’t think so?”

Rollins said, gesturing slightly outside with his finger. Lee Jung-woo followed his fingertip and shook his head. The people who had been shouting so loudly just a moment ago suddenly seemed to have come to their senses, and now they were frozen stiff like his teammates.

“First… go calm them down. We’ll calm down in the meantime.”

Saying that, his teammates forcibly pushed Lee Jung-woo towards the dugout steps. Manager Mancini seemed to think the same, letting out a long sigh and nodding.

Lee Jung-woo, who had worked hard and couldn’t even sit on the bench, awkwardly showed his face to the crowd once more, and like a lie, the frozen people thawed.

A curtain call. It was a bit funny to do that with just one hit and two stolen bases, but it was only natural. He had achieved 40-40, so what couldn’t he do?

“Lee! Lee! Lee! Lee!”

“40-40! 40-40!”

“MVP! MVP! MVP!”

People shouting his name, saying 40-40, or chanting MVP [Most Valuable Player]. The first two were undeniable facts, and the last title wasn’t exactly a lie at this point either.

No matter how tough the competition, they wouldn’t not give the MVP to a player who achieved 40-40. Especially if he was a shortstop who was also damn good at defense. Even if he struck out in all his remaining at-bats, the regular season MVP was almost certain.

So Lee Jung-woo didn’t deny it, not taking off his hat or bowing his head, just standing there and scanning the stands with his eyes. Like a triumphant general returning from war.

The cheers grew even louder, and the spectators sitting in the seats right above the dugout rummaged around, wondering if they could give him a gift.

In an atmosphere somewhere between frenzy and riot, the security guards were sweating, but even they couldn’t hide the corners of their mouths from creeping up. A pleasant smile was leaking out.

“Thank you!”

After showing his face to the crowd for a moment, Lee Jung-woo shouted loudly, took off his hat, and bowed slightly. As he went back down the steps and returned to the dugout, his teammates said to him.

“Ah, I guess they’re still not calm. Can you stay out there a little longer? Lee, seeing your face makes my heart race.”

“Yeah, yeah, please be considerate of us too. I feel so blah that I don’t think I can play the game properly. Go say hello one more time.”

Unlike the crowd, who seemed to have calmed down after shouting so much, Lee Jung-woo sighed at the still dazed faces of his teammates.

There was nothing as unbalanced as burly, hairy men acting like teenage girls.

“There’s no encore.”

Saying that, Lee Jung-woo confidently took his seat on the bench. The players whispered that he was a scary guy, then suddenly pounced on him all at once.

####

‘It still hurts. No, why is me achieving 40-40 any of their business…’

In his second at-bat, returning a little earlier than usual, Lee Jung-woo clicked his tongue at his still sore back. When did they act like girls, and suddenly his teammates ganged up on him, leaving marks all over his body.

‘Hairy old men have such rough hands, they’re ruining the body of a young man with a bright future—no, saying it like this sounds a bit weird. Has discipline become lax because I got 40-40? I’m getting strange thoughts.’

Shaking his head at the stray thoughts wandering off in the wrong direction, Lee Jung-woo refocused on the mound. It seemed he was feeling the emotion too, as his concentration had slipped a little.

Fortunately, the opposing team, the Marlins, were far more out of it than Lee Jung-woo, whose concentration had only slightly wavered.

‘They still look dazed. They seem pretty numb too.’

They were still unable to shake off the shock, staring at the pitcher with tightly closed lips, and the pitcher was deliberately avoiding eye contact with Lee Jung-woo.

It made him feel uneasy, as if he had become Medusa from mythology, who turned people to stone when they met her gaze.

‘Not that it’s a bad thing. The more a pitcher fears a batter, the more advantageous it is for the batter. But if he still can’t concentrate when pitching, I might have a chance for a big hit?’

Lee Jung-woo scanned the pitcher’s body and tapped the bat handle with his finger. In the first inning, it was important to get on base no matter what, so he used a shorter bat than usual, but the one in his hand now was the same as usual.

Heavy and long. A bat that can create fast and heavy hits if you just make contact. And it seemed like he could hit it.

‘If he stays like that, he might throw a mistake pitch. If I don’t miss it and just hit it, a long hit will be easy. Maybe even more than that.’

As if he wasn’t satisfied with the laurel wreath on his head, or as if he didn’t need the fish he had already caught, Lee Jung-woo quickly regained his focus. His gaze, zoomed in like a camera, was fixed on the pitcher, capturing every movement and tremor of his body.

And finally, as if the opponent had finished preparing, the pitcher took his stance, and before the pitch clock, which had already fallen considerably, ran out completely, the pitcher threw the first pitch.

“Ball.”

The result was a ball. He made a face as if he had intended it, but strangely, it was palpable. The pitcher’s agitation. Yes, as expected, he clearly hadn’t shaken off the shock. He intended to throw a strike to do so, but he failed to control it and threw it to a different course.

Lee Jung-woo wasn’t the only one who noticed it. The Braves’ bench moved immediately.

‘Hit and run [a play where the runner on first base attempts to steal second as the batter swings at the pitch]. One out, runner on first. Even though Rollins is fast, the Marlins are terrified of steals right now, so if I don’t hit it, he’s likely to be out. Even if I do hit it, if the course isn’t good, it could be a double play. But I didn’t take that into account.’

Because of me. Lee Jung-woo swallowed the words, feeling like he was praising himself, but even though it was embarrassing, it was the truth.

Perhaps the manager and hitting coach didn’t even assume that Lee Jung-woo would be pushed back against a pitcher who was quite broken. He was such a player that it was meaningless to make such an assumption in the first place.

‘It’s not an unexpected tactic. We’ve done it often. Mostly from the runner’s perspective.’

Hit and run. A familiar tactic for the Braves and Lee Jung-woo. When he got on first base with a single or a walk. He mainly played the role of the runner, provoking the pitcher. If the pitcher reacted, Joey, in the role of the hitter, would invariably connect with a long hit.

It was a familiar tactic, even if the roles were slightly reversed.

‘And maybe it’s even more effective. On a day like today, if a runner runs when I’m at bat…’

Lee Jung-woo looked at the pitcher. A pitcher burning with the will to catch him no matter what. It had been tattered for a long time, but his will was so admirable that he deserved praise.

Meanwhile, his thoroughness in glancing at first base told him that Lee Jung-woo’s steal had given him a considerable trauma.

And the Braves and Lee Jung-woo exploited that trauma.

‘He’ll definitely falter.’

The original plan was to wait for a mistake pitch, but in this case, a mistake pitch was essentially created. The runner ran, and he faltered at the last moment, despite setting up his position.

A slight hesitation against a batter who is difficult to face even when giving it your all and making the best choice.

[He hits it!]

It leads to thorough retribution.

Everyone was looking forward to 40-40. Lee Jung-woo had already achieved and won it, but sorry to the Marlins, neither the Braves nor Lee Jung-woo were going to stop there.

As if they didn’t care about the Marlins’ mood or feelings, which had slumped as if they felt drained after finishing the meal as desired and feeling full. Lee Jung-woo drove the final dagger into their necks.

[It goes over! Two-run homer! Jungwoo Lee! His 41st home run of the season! 40-40. It was a hit that properly captured Lee’s will not to stop there!]