Chapter 38
38. Minor League Championship
The minor league regular season ended in early September.
But like postseason baseball, the teams that had reached the top were preparing for their final battle.
September 2012.
The scoreboard at the 7,000-seat Whataburger Field showed the top of the eighth.
Score, 3 to 2.
A one-run game.
Below it, three yellow lights were glowing.
Bases loaded.
No outs.
In the infield seats along the third-base side, the nacho cup in John’s hand tilted.
Cheese spilled across his jeans.
He did not even think about wiping it away.
His eyes remained fixed on the field.
“It’s over, Mike. Still, finishing second isn’t bad.”
Mike, sitting beside him, removed his cap and covered his face.
“Second means nothing if we don’t win! Who’s even left in the bullpen? We used everyone just getting to Game Five of the championship series.”
“The manager is going to the mound. Look at him. That walk looks like a funeral.”
The entire crowd of five thousand home fans had sunk into silence.
The away fans were already burning with excitement.
Then it happened.
Beyond the outfield fence, the bullpen gate slowly opened.
A familiar intro song spread through the stadium speakers.
Mike slowly lowered the cap from his face.
“Wait. That song... No way?”
John jumped to his feet and pointed toward the fence.
“Isn’t that Ji-tae Seo?”
“No way. Didn’t he go to Korea for a tournament?”
“He returned on the tenth. Today is the sixteenth...”
The tournament had ended on the eighth.
He had received a decent amount of rest.
And it was the eighth inning.
One or two innings should be manageable.
“He’s even pitching in the minor league championship? Ji-tae Seo! He’s young, but that kid is incredible.”
The sixteen-year-old pitcher walked through the bullpen gate and onto the outfield grass.
He did not hurry.
He did not hesitate either.
The stadium announcer’s voice cut through the cheers.
[Corpus Christi Blue Ghosts pitching change. Number 58, Seo! Ji! Tae!]
The genius boy who had created a sensation before leaving for Korea.
The entire crowd rose.
Without realizing it, John began hitting Mike’s shoulder repeatedly.
“Look! He came! He’s here!”
“I know!”
The stadium had felt like a funeral moments ago.
Now Houston’s trusted young prospect had appeared.
Seo Ji-tae stopped once on the way to the mound.
Tyler was leaning against the bullpen fence with a grin.
“Hey, don’t come back after all this time just to get crushed.”
Seo Ji-tae tightened the strap on his glove.
“If I didn’t have a pitch limit, I’d throw a perfect game.”
“Still overflowing with confidence.”
“Just watch.”
Seo Ji-tae stepped onto the dirt mound.
Josh lifted his catcher’s mask and handed him the ball.
“Which hand? Bases loaded, nobody out. Their number three hitter is coming.”
“Right hand is better for this situation.”
Seo Ji-tae glanced at the scoreboard and put the glove on his left hand.
Right-handed underhand.
“Then I’ll handle the pitch calling.”
“Fine. I still have veto rights, so we discuss things.”
“That’s not much of a discussion.”
Josh complained but ran back behind the plate.
Frisco’s number three hitter, Coleman, entered the box.
A right-handed power hitter with 28 home runs that season.
Coleman made a large circle with his bat behind his helmet.
Seo Ji-tae lowered his upper body toward knee height.
The first pitch left his hand from a point that almost brushed the dirt.
The ball stayed low, then lifted its head around 1.5 meters before home plate.
Up-shoot.
Coleman’s bat swung toward the lower half of the pitch.
But the ball traveled above it and rose into the mitt.
[88.23 mph, 142 km/h]
“Strike!”
Coleman stared at his bat, then stepped out of the box.
Underhand pitchers were becoming increasingly rare in Major League Baseball.
Like a knuckleballer, they were difficult to prepare for.
But Seo Ji-tae’s true weapon was switching itself.
No Venditte Rule yet. Convenient.
Seo Ji-tae tossed aside the rosin bag.
Then he moved the glove from his left hand to his right.
Left-handed.
Even from the mound, he could see Coleman’s eyes shake.
A pitcher who had just thrown from below the knees now raised his left arm high during a leg kick.
A release point difference of more than 1.5 meters.
The batter’s brain and eyes became confused.
Seo Ji-tae released from his three-quarter slot.
A high fastball attacked the upper zone.
The bat passed under the ball.
[98 mph, 158 km/h]
A 15 km/h difference in velocity, combined with opposite heights?
Coleman’s upper body wobbled.
[Oh my! That pitch was a rising fastball! 158 km/h from the left arm of a sixteen-year-old, ladies and gentlemen!]
The radio announcer shouted.
Seo Ji-tae changed the glove back to his left hand.
Coleman’s expression twisted.
Right-handed.
Third pitch.
Coleman shortened his grip and changed his swing path.
A swing designed to lift from below.
But Seo Ji-tae’s pitch starting from knee height mocked him.
Right before home plate, it ignored his bat and swept far outside against the right-handed hitter.
Frisbee slider.
Coleman stared helplessly as the ball settled outside.
“Strikeout!”
One out, bases loaded.
Coleman looked stunned.
Then the cleanup hitter, Santos, entered the box.
A left-handed hitter.
If anything, he was even better than Coleman at producing hits.
Josh set his mitt low and inside.
Let’s go.
Seo Ji-tae remained right-handed and threw from knee height.
Santos swung for the center of the ball.
But he missed the sweet spot.
The pitch dropped a hand-width at the last moment.
Heavy sinker.
The ball lost its power and rolled directly toward the shortstop.
The shortstop fielded it and immediately threw home.
Josh stepped on the plate and received the ball.
“Out!”
Two outs, bases loaded.
