That day began like any other, following my usual routine.
The start of my routine was to watch videos of Woo Seung-geon.
On the screen of the sports specialty channel, Woo Seung-geon stood on the mound.
He gripped the rosin bag, set it down, and dusted off his hands twice.
The rosin powder from the bag smudged white on his cap as he adjusted it.
Beneath it, his dark eyes gleamed.
They were the eyes of a predator.
Eyes like a tiger starved for victory, or a hawk watching its prey.
His competitive drive, enough to make spectators nervous, was filled with high-level concentration and a thirst for victory.
The catcher gave a sign.
Woo Seung-geon shook his head once, side to side, then finally settled into his stance after receiving the second sign.
His gaze fixed on the player at first base.
The runner, perhaps lacking the confidence to steal a base against Woo Seung-geon, couldn't widen his lead and remained stuck close to the base.
Woo Seung-geon confidently went into his windup.
As his long leg rose, the dry sand stuck to the sole of his shoe came up with it.
That dynamic posture was like a gun being loaded.
The moment his left arm, stretched far back, released the ball from its high release point, a powerful ball was fired, as if pulling the trigger of a loaded gun.
Pang!
A four-seam fastball slamming into the catcher's mitt.
The speed on the screen clocked in at 102 mph.
102 miles per hour, 164 km/h.
It was a powerful speed and perfect control unseen in the Korean league.
The voice in the video spoke with excitement.
On the screen, his performance records from last season were introduced with flashy graphics.
150 innings pitched over 26 games.
14 wins, 7 losses.
ERA 3.1
The characteristics of his pitches also flashed by in the video's subtitles.
Max velocity: 164km/h.
Average spin rate: 2500.
Spin efficiency: 92%.
Out pitch: Cutter.
The video also showed Woo Seung-geon as a closing pitcher who had saved his team's victory last season, pumping his fist toward the sky.
The video switched to the press conference.
Instead of his US uniform, he was wearing the Guardians' striped uniform, accented with their black and gold point colors.
He spoke into the microphone with a cheerful and confident smile.
Amidst the reporters who burst into laughter, a rather serious question was asked.
Like the player who had always broken through any challenge in any game, Woo Seung-geon answered without any shame or awkwardness.
Lonely, he said.
Who could have imagined that such words would come from a player who is considered one of the best, not just in our country, but in the world?
Public reaction to his candid answer was split in half.
[Free Board] Not even a WSG fan but I'm pissed
[Content]
An athlete needs to focus on their performance, not say they're lonely?
You think he can just waltz back into the big leagues after his prime is over and the aging curve hits?
[Comments]
(Anonymous 1) Heard he was getting weekly therapy ever since his time in the majors.
(Anonymous 2) Racism must have been bad.
└(Anonymous 1) Whenever Woo Seung-geon got hit by a pitch, the other team's batters would cause a bench-clearing brawl, like it was planned.
└└(Anonymous 2) Are the majors just a collaboration of stats-freaks and insular-freaks?
(Original Poster) Ah f*ck, racism or whatever, why come back to Korea when the Cy Young is right there. If he's so lonely, he should've brought his family to the US.
└(Anonymous 3) His dad is Manager Chaser, you think he'd drop everything to go babysit his kid?
└(Anonymous 4) Did you put his performance on layaway? Treat him like a human being.
From opinions furious that such a precious talent was "rotting away" in our country...
[Free Board] He said himself that he's hurting, just leave him alone
[Content]
It's not like Woo Seung-geon ever lacked competitiveness, he's the guy who said in every interview he was aiming for the Cy Young. Do you think he'd return to Korea for no reason?
He came back because he truly couldn't take it anymore.
He can get therapy and rehab in Korea, and if he goes back to the US and does well, that's great. And even if he doesn't, why curse him out?
[Comments]
(Anonymous 1) Agreed. There are foreign players who hit a slump, regain their form in our league, and go back to the majors to do well. Woo Seung-geon can do the same.
(Anonymous 2) The bastards who haven't contributed 1 won to Woo Seung-geon's career are always the loudest.
(Anonymous 3) People said he even has a panic disorder, so the fact he held a press conference smiling is amazing. People just don't get it.
…to voices pleading for people to stop pushing the struggling athlete and just cheer for him quietly.
The assessment that Woo Seung-geon was the most watched athlete in Korea, not just in the baseball world but in the entire sports sphere, was no exaggeration.
He had even earned the nickname "The Nation's Pitcher," so the amount of national interest and support he shouldered was likely beyond anything I could dare to imagine.
I stared intently at his high-spirited face, which broke into laughter several times even during the interview.
For a man who seemed to be a solid mass of competitive spirit, who one would think believed records were the only source of happiness, to speak of loneliness…
'It seems like an excuse. His expression is that of someone who doesn't want to state the real reason.'
The Woo Seung-geon I had watched for years was not the type of person to declare at a press conference that his mental strength had weakened.
It seemed more like a plausible excuse to hide a different reason.
'Though I have no way of knowing what the real reason is.'
It wasn't something I could figure out just by speculating.
I turned off my phone before the video ended.
I, too, kicked off the covers and got up.
"Time to warm up."
It was a Friday, a day I would normally be preparing for a game.
But due to the rainy season, all baseball games across the country, save for the dome stadium, had been rained out since yesterday.
It wasn't even 9 AM, and the rain was pouring down, so there was no need to go to the ballpark early, but I moved according to my routine.
While planning my schedule for the day in my head, my phone, which I'd left face down on the bed, vibrated.
Zz-ing.
It seemed a message had arrived, but I didn't look.
I was in a hurry to wash up and get ready to leave.
[Let's have lunch together today, Seong-ha.]
Sender: Woo Seung-geon.
I only checked the message he had sent after I had already boarded the bus to the ballpark.
I stopped at the entrance of the ballpark building.
My reflection was visible in the closed glass door.
I shook out my wet umbrella. My hair and clothes were soaked from the wind and rain, making me look damp.
My face, with only a hurried layer of sunscreen, looked expressionless and lifeless.
From playing so many games under the blazing sun, my arms had tanned, leaving a clear line under my shirt.
The fabric of the sneakers I'd worn for half a year because I had no money was old and frayed, and the skin under my eyes was dark and hollow.
Holding an iced Americano I'd bought from a cafe near the ballpark, this was, without a doubt, the very picture of a wreck.
'Anyone who saw me would think I'd been out drinking all night.'
I rubbed my dry face with my hands and mumbled.
"Whatever. What's an athlete going to do with good looks anyway."
No sooner had I opened the glass door and stepped inside, I ran into a front-office employee.
She greeted me happily as soon as she saw me.
"Shin Seong-ha, you're the first one to clock in again today!"
'Wh-who was she?'
Flustered, I hesitated, not even knowing how to respond.
I just wondered why, of all times, I had to run into her when I looked like this, making me feel even more embarrassed.
Unaware of my feelings, she added with a bright smile, "I'm Park Hyun-ah, from the scouting team."
'Ah, right. The new person who came a few months ago.'
I was so awkward at dealing with people that I just moved stiffly, like a robot.
"Hello."
I was worried I'd appeared too blunt, but just then, other front-office staff passed by holding coffees and chimed in.
"Shin Seong-ha, you're so diligent!"
"It's not easy to come here this early in the morning during the season."
"If you have time today, would you like to do a shoot? To upload on YouTube!"
My biggest problem was probably that I didn't know how to navigate interpersonal relationships.
I had been on a baseball team ever since elementary school.
My entire social circle consisted of managers, coaches, seniors, and juniors—all athletes.
Having lived a life dictated by rules from a young age, making small talk like this was awkward.
Inevitably, this time too, I just bowed my head and fled.
"Hello, I'll be on my way."
I was worried my attitude might have been offensive, but…
"Don't you think Shin Seong-ha is cute?"
"Yeah! The other players are so slick, but Seong-ha is still like a kid."
Their cheerful chatter and laughter felt like they were teasing me, and my ears turned red.
I rubbed my hot ear with one hand as I headed for the indoor practice facility.
As expected, there was no one in the practice room.
"Whew."
I let out a sigh of relief and set my bag down on a bench.
Thump.
I looked around while drinking my coffee.
Boxes filled with baseballs were placed in each practice area, which was divided by nets.
I could go in there and practice pitching by myself.
If I did it alone, I couldn't check my pitching form, so I'd have to set up my phone on a tripod and review my posture myself.
Of course, it was more effective to have someone watch my form directly and correct it on the spot, rather than struggling alone like that.
I finished the last of my coffee and threw the empty cup in the trash.
Then I began to warm up with some light stretching.
I used a nearby foam roller to loosen up my shoulder blades and the muscles around them.
My muscles were a bit stiff since it was the morning, but my flexibility wasn't bad enough to interfere with pitching practice.
As I took the practice glove out of my bag, the phone I had packed with it lit up, signaling an incoming call.
The LCD screen showed only a phone number, with no name saved.
I didn't answer.
I knew who it was; I'd seen the number to the point of exhaustion.
With an uncomfortable feeling, I waited for the call to end.
Only after the bright screen turned black did I tap on the display.
Seven missed calls.
The caller was Woo Seung-geon.
He had been calling me consistently for the past hour.
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