Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 254

After being retired with a disappointing ground ball in his first at-bat, Lee Jung-woo stepped into the batter’s box with a fresh mindset for his next turn.

‘Let’s just test the waters this time.’

Having already used up one at-bat, Lee Jung-woo approached the plate with as much composure as possible, making eye contact with the pitcher. The pitcher’s face flushed red just from the sight of him.

“You son of a bitch….”

“Such harsh words. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

The catcher also muttered a curse while biting his lip. It was an overreaction considering it was directed at a batter who had only hit a ground ball.

But since it was the Phillies and not another team, Lee Jung-woo let it slide with a generous attitude, trying to gauge the pitcher’s mood beyond mere anger.

Giovanni Tucci. A very familiar player. The pitcher who was the victim of his first debut home run had been pitching well without giving up any runs, yet he still seemed displeased, sulking and glaring at the catcher.

‘Doesn’t seem like he’s having a particularly great day. His control was a bit shaky even in the previous matchup. But his aggressive pitching is working well.’

In fact, the other players were saying there was not much to worry about. Even Lee Jung-woo thought the pitcher’s condition didn’t seem to be at its best.

With that in mind, Lee Jung-woo watched the first pitch and tilted his head slightly.

‘Four-seam fastball on the first pitch. 93 mph? Strike one. Doesn’t seem like he’s holding back…’

It wasn’t a full-power pitch. This pitcher usually throws around 94-95 mph throughout the game and has a top speed of 97 mph. Maybe he’s trying to control his pace? It was a bit strange since he’s the type of pitcher who usually goes all out until he’s taken out, trying to seize the momentum.

Especially since his curveball, his usual finisher, is forcibly restricted, it was even more unexpected that he wasn’t throwing with all his might, treating Lee Jung-woo like his mortal enemy. Lee Jung-woo tilted his head slightly and watched another pitch. It was quite an aggressive one.

“Strike!”

‘Changeup. But he barely got a grip on it. Did he do that on purpose?’

He glanced at the catcher, but judging from his sulky expression, he wouldn’t get a plausible answer. Lee Jung-woo looked forward again and timed his swing.

‘He might hold back on one pitch, but just in case, I’ll time it for a fastball. If he throws it, it’ll be fast.’

Adjusting his grip on the bat and maintaining a straight posture, Lee Jung-woo nodded at the pitcher as if telling him to throw one. The pitcher’s face turned as red as a beet as he took a deep breath and fired the ball.

‘Fastball. Inside?’

A quick swing. Swinging at the timing derived from the accumulated experience of facing him, the swing split the home plate. The straight trajectory stretched out towards the ball, but.

“Strike out!”

[Swing! Lee strikes out on a swing.]

The result was a clean swing and a miss. A common sight among slugger-type hitters. The kind they call fanning.

That in itself is a common sight in baseball, so there’s nothing to worry about, and if it were a player they were cheering for, they would just offer encouragement.

However, when the one fanning is Lee Jung-woo, and the opponent is the Phillies, it turns into a rather rare and unusual sight.

“Ugh—how did he miss that?”

“Still, he seems to have good power, right? If he hits it, it’ll go over, right?”

“Lee, it’s okay! Everyone swings and misses sometimes!”

“There are still two more at-bats left. Let’s just wait quietly.”

Especially since the pitcher is Giovanni Tucci, who is practically a pushover for Lee Jung-woo, it was so unfamiliar and awkward that the home fans paused for a moment. But since it was only his second at-bat, they just shouted words of encouragement like usual.

‘He came in aggressively. I thought he would try to hold back. Well, he’s not the type to do that anyway. No matter who the opponent is or what their head-to-head record is. But still, my timing was a bit early. Or, the ball was slow. What is it?’

Bouncing the bat off his helmet, Lee Jung-woo returned to the dugout with a hint of disappointment on his face, but like the fans, he didn’t pay much attention to it.

A swing and a miss after misjudging the pitch is always common, no matter how much stamina you have or how tired you are. Like home runs are for pitchers, it’s like a tax for hitters.

So, shaking off his lingering feelings, Lee Jung-woo sat back on the bench and immediately asked the hitting coach.

“How fast was that pitch? I didn’t see.”

“94 mph.”

“94 mph….”

Combining the latest information, Lee Jung-woo calmly reviewed the previous at-bat and pondered.

‘So far, the speed has been around 93-94 mph. It’s early in the game, so he might be trying to control his pace. But he’s not that type. If anything, he’d try to overpower from the start.’

As a result of checking during his and leadoff hitter Derek’s at-bats, the pitcher on the mound, Giovanni Tucci, had a slightly slower speed than usual. His stuff also seemed a bit ambiguous compared to other times.

Since he’s not the type of pitcher who cares about controlling his pace, there are two hypotheses. One is that he suddenly and unexpectedly changed his pitching style, but the probability is naturally low. He’s been pitching like that throughout this season, no, throughout his career, so there’s no reason for him to suddenly change his style today.

Then there’s only one thing left. This was the most likely culprit. It’s something that any baseball player in this period experiences.

‘That guy’s stamina is dropping. They say you can’t fool age. Even a guy who was energetic throughout the full season is getting tired now that he’s older, even though it’s only the 4th inning.’

The decline in performance due to stamina depletion at the end of the season. That thing that Lee Jung-woo is also subtly experiencing has also swallowed Giovanni Tucci. And that was good news for the Braves, and for Lee Jung-woo.

‘He’s a good pitcher. He got pushed out of the 1-starter spot because of Iwakuma, and now he’s even down to the 3-starter spot. But even considering that. He’s not the same right now. And…’

Lee Jung-woo got up from his seat and watched Giovanni Tucci face the following batters. A player who shows off aggressive pitching with a large, bull-like physique and a red face, befitting his nickname, which combines the Italian words Toro, meaning bull, and Rosso, meaning red.

In the end, he retired all of them with ground balls, ending the inning with a three-up, three-down. He roared loudly, not caring about the tens of thousands of home fans.

Naturally, boos poured out from the crowd towards him. But instead of joining in, Lee Jung-woo noticed something else.

‘And he can’t admit it.’

Pitching as confidently and aggressively as usual, like a bull with his eyes rolled back. The old bull, who has stubbornly walked his own path despite giving up a lot of home runs due to his style, didn’t seem to be acknowledging his aging no matter how you looked at it.

He must think he’s okay. That he’s still okay. He played like this last year, and he did the same before. Without getting tired, until the end. Confidently. So he’s okay now too. He’ll be okay. Hypnotizing himself like that.

Of course, that might not be the case. This is all just assumptions and speculation.

But regardless of his mental state, the given data is certain. There’s no harm in preparing.

‘Bat speed is fine. On the other hand, the pitcher’s speed is slower than usual. The previous swing and a miss was actually a problem of timing being too early. Then…’

Lee Jung-woo thought. He thought he would need a spear. A long, heavy spear that could stab and kill the angry bull in one go. Fortunately, he had one that he was familiar with.

All that’s left is to wait.

‘I hope he doesn’t collapse too badly and holds on well. Until it’s my turn again.’

####

“Catch it! Catch it!”

“Throw it quickly!”

“Out!”

“That’s right!”

The ground livened up as the out count increased. The pitcher also smiled and expressed satisfaction. One run allowed through the 6th inning. This is a very good result, if not the best. Especially if the opponent is the Braves and the team is winning.

‘84 pitches so far. If I think about finishing within 90 pitches, I can still go for one more inning, or even two more.’

Counting his pitches, Giovanni Tucci thought about a hopeful future. He bit his lip and forcibly loosened his heavy shoulders.

He was annoyed at his body, which had been stubbornly refusing to listen to him lately, but it was still, still okay.

‘I’ve been holding them off well so far. Just a little more.’

Giovanni glared at the still-shouting crowd with a disgruntled look and then turned his gaze to the next batter. And he frowned as if he had eaten shit.

Because it was a face that now felt sickeningly familiar. He was also the most likely candidate to disrupt the plan he had just made.

‘Jung-woo Lee. You son of a bitch.’

You son of a bitch. Within the Phillies, it was a term used instead of a name when referring to the batter at the plate. Not only the players but also the fans would call him that.

Giovanni Tucci hated him. He hated him so much. He hated him to the point where it wasn’t just hatred or aversion like the fans or other players.

Was it because he hit a home run against him? Of course, that was one of the reasons. The disgraceful bench-clearing [a fight where both teams rush onto the field] where he was ‘suppressed’? That wasn’t even a reason. He charged in like a man, and he lost, so he didn’t hold any grudges about that.

‘Damn it, 50-50? Like hell I’ll let that happen.’

Those reasons were no problem at all. The reason he hated and loathed that guy was simply because that guy seemed to be the start of the problem. No, that guy is the start of the problem. He was sure of it.

At first, he was just one of the passing rookie scrubs. Those nobodies. Guys who play for one game, or maybe a little more, and then disappear. He thought he was the same as those guys.

It was quite disgusting to have given such an insignificant guy his debut home run. It was as if a guy who wasn’t even worth remembering his name or face had become the main character in a scene that he would later remember when he was old.

But it didn’t take long to realize that it wasn’t just that. He was more of a son of a bitch than he had imagined.

‘Why the hell are you always messing with me?’

Regular season, postseason. Appearing in all the moments that might have been remembered for the rest of his life and ruining them.

This year, he was running wild to the point where he had no choice but to forcibly hear a name he didn’t want to hear, scratching at his nerves.

And, contrary to that damn guy, just when he was starting to soar, he was starting to decline.

‘I’m going to catch him no matter what. Even if my shoulder breaks. I’m going to kill him and die right there.’

Unlike that guy’s fresh body, his youth, which always seemed like it would last forever, was gone. When that guy, who was a common rookie in the league, reached the top, Giovanni Tucci himself, who had been pushed down to the 3-starter spot, fell to just a ‘good pitcher’ that was common in the league.

That home run at that time, that home run that can be said to be the beginning of the legend of Jung-woo Lee, seemed to have given fame to that guy and taken something away from him at the same time.

Of course, he knows. He knows it’s just bullshit, ugly jealousy, or futile resentment. Even if he hadn’t been the one to get hit by the home run at that time, that guy would have become like this now. Even if he hadn’t been hit by the home run at that time, Giovanni Tucci’s aging curve would have started.

But it didn’t matter. Even knowing it was absurd, he was true to his feelings. Just like he always had been.

‘Absolutely no curveballs. Even if I get shot in the head, I’m definitely skipping that.’

His vision was clouded by anger, but he wasn’t so out of it that he couldn’t make normal judgments. Giovanni, who had erased one option for himself, knowing that it was an impossible situation, eventually loosened his shoulder and took his stance.

And he threw it.

“Strike!”

First strike. The first pitch was a strike, as it always had been in this game, no, throughout his career. And then he threw another fastball aggressively. This time it was inside, and the guy stuck out his bat slightly, but it ended with just a foul. That made it two strikes.

The tired shoulder screamed at its owner, and the heavy body, as heavy as moisture-laden cotton, screamed to rest now, but it was still okay.

The speed had dropped a bit, and the stuff was a bit weaker, but it was still enough. Enough to charge at the opponent again.

‘There’s not going to be that scene that you and your damn fans want today.’

Declaring that to himself, he spun his shoulder again and looked at the catcher. This time, the catcher wanted to take a step back, asking for a ball that would fall outside, but he shook his head.

‘Fuck off and catch the ball.’

At his firm, almost angry expression, the catcher grumbled something but sent the sign again. After a long argument, he finally took off his mask and came up.

“What’s wrong? Let’s take it easy. We’ve already put him in a two-strike count, so we just need to get one more slowly, right?”

“Eat shit, Jimmy. You think I’m going to be intimidated in front of that bastard?”

Even with the coaxing words, he didn’t budge, so the catcher sighed and said with a firm expression.

“Damn it, you know too. That this is a damn dangerous situation right now. That that bastard is sharpening his knife. And…”

That you’re tired.

The catcher couldn’t bring himself to say those words and trailed off, but since they had been working together for a long time, Giovanni could roughly guess the unspoken words that the catcher had swallowed. So he shook his head again.

“Let’s go, until the end. Like you said, we’ve already gotten two strikes. Let’s just get one more. As quickly as possible.”

“You’re getting old too. Sometimes you can take a step back, right? Can’t you be a little intimidated?”

“No, I can’t. If you understand, get off my mound quickly. The umpire is giving me the eye.”

Giovanni, who had forcibly sent the catcher down, closed his eyes for a moment. When the things that had been clouding his vision disappeared, his mind calmed down, but on the other hand, he suddenly felt a wave of fatigue. But he endured it and opened his eyes, and the darkness was pushed back deep inside. That was enough.

‘One, just one strike. That’s all I need.’

Muttering as if appealing to his body, he took his pitching form again, and the batter also showed off his unique routine as if to show off, taking a damn, not in an emotional sense, but in a figurative sense, damn stiff batting form.

With each other ready, he slowly moved his body, erasing the falling pitch clock from his mind, as if it were the time when he first learned baseball and the coach forcibly corrected his posture.

‘Please—get out of here!’

Full power. He felt a tingling sensation as he pulled and threw to the last limit in a situation where he had already consumed many pitches. Fortunately, it wasn’t an injury, but just a feeling that was right below that, on the borderline.

So it was even better. Because it meant that he had really extracted the maximum output that his body could produce right now. The ball, which was a little faster and had stronger stuff than before, stretched towards home plate.

The goal was a course that was far away from the batter, low on the outside, and diagonally crossing. Yes, the trajectory commonly called crossfire.

‘It’s perfectly-’

It was perfect. He felt a feel on his fingertips that he hadn’t felt in this game, and the control was perfect. The ball flew in the desired direction. Giovanni wanted it to seduce the guy’s bat and create a swing and a miss like in the previous at-bat, but it was only half successful.

[He hit it!]!

The stadium announcer shouts as if to burst the speaker. But even that is just a drop in the bucket compared to the cheers of the crowd. The conclusion of the pitch, which succeeded in making him stick out his bat but failed to lead to the next step of a swing and a miss, was a ball that passed before he could even catch it with his eyes.

Watching the impudent brat throw his bat coolly and even admire the trajectory of the hit, Giovanni Tucci thought.

‘Damn it.’

After all, that home run that happened on the day he first met that guy should never have existed. Perhaps the butterfly effect it caused was this, Lee Jung-woo’s 47th home run of the season.

The trajectory flew through the cloudless sky, just like the first time they met. And its destination was also beyond the fence, very deep, just like then.