The Shizuoka Oceans ended this season with a record of 51 wins, 87 losses, and 5 draws, securing their position at the bottom of the league for the third consecutive year and the sixth time in the last decade. Aside from a third-place finish seven years ago and three fifth-place finishes, the team has been stuck in a dark age.
I found out about Manager Tanaka Daijiro's dismissal from a newspaper article. It was his fourth year with the team, and with only one fifth-place finish and the rest in last place, it wasn't a shocking revelation. The day after the news broke, players from both the first and second teams were called to gather at the team office.
The night before, I headed to the riverbank with my ball and bat, just like always. Coach Yamashiro, who usually arrived late, was already there.
"Hey, second-rate and a half," he called out. It seemed I'd been promoted from third-rate over the last four months.
"When will I be second-rate?" I asked, a hint of hope in my voice.
"If you become a regular player on the second team, I'll consider you second-rate," he replied, not quite the encouragement I was hoping for.
"Alright, let's get to it, Mr. utility player," he said.
Coach Yamashiro's grounders was as challenging as ever. Despite his rough demeanor, foul mouth, and intimidating looks, he was an exceptional coach.
"Okay, that'll be 12.57 million yen," he said as we wrapped up the night's practice. I gathered the balls, my movements more fluid and less tired than before—proof that the hard work was paying off.
Usually, Coach Yamashiro left while I was collecting the balls, but tonight he stood there, staring at the riverbank with a cigarette in his mouth. When I finished, he put out his cigarette and handed me an A4-sized piece of cardboard, rolled up and secured with a rubber band.
I opened it to find "Not Certified" written in marker.
"What is this?" I asked, confused.
Coach Yamashiro chuckled. "It means you're not quite there yet. You still have some work to do before you're fully certified."
"I know that, but why did you make this? Do you have too much time on your hands?"
"You idiot. I regret that I couldn't even raise you to be second-rate, but you'll have to grow up on your own," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
"What do you mean?"
"I got fired today. They let me go as the second team coach."
I was stunned into silence. Coach Yamashiro had gotten the job through his connection with Daijiro Tanaka, the head coach, and with the team's poor performance, it wasn't unexpected.
"But I'm glad I found someone to take over as my successor," he continued.
"Is that about me?" I asked, feeling a mix of pride and apprehension.
Coach Yamashiro was known as a weak hitter but a first-rate defender during his playing days. While I was happy to be considered his successor, I also felt uneasy.
"So, tonight's practice is our last."
"Oh really?" I asked, surprised.
"Here, take this," he said, handing me an envelope.
I opened it to find it filled with 10,000 yen bills.
"What is this?"
"This is the money you gave me. I've been holding onto it from the beginning."
"But…"
"I was testing your resolve. I know your salary is minimal and you send money to your family. Ten thousand yen is a lot for you. But you said you wanted to take my knocks, even if it meant spending all your savings. That made me happy."
Coach Yamashiro's eyes looked distant, then he turned back to me.
"I don't think there's a big difference in talent among pros. Looking back, I wasn't successful because I didn't try hard enough. I practiced hard, but effort isn't just about time. It's about thinking how to improve, understanding what your team expects, and practicing to meet those expectations. I realized that too late. But I saw many talented guys leave the team without ever understanding it. I was lucky to realize it while I was still active, and that's why I managed to stay a pro for 14 years.
You might not have a great physique, but you've got speed and agility. Always practice with the goal of being a professional. Stick to second base or shortstop. If they offer you the outfield, decline. You have the potential to be a great infielder. I guarantee it. That's my final lesson."
"What are you going to do now, Coach?"
"I don't know. I have a family to support. I've got some savings, but my kids are still in elementary school, so I need to work."
I looked down at the envelope filled with 10,000 yen bills.
"Don't worry," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'll stay in baseball, maybe as a little league coach. I have a dream of one day coaching my alma mater and taking the team to Koshien. I look forward to seeing you grow."
"I'll become a regular player soon and repay the 12.57 million yen," I said.
Coach Yamashiro grinned. "You idiot. I don't need money. I want to see you succeed. You're probably my first and last student as a pro coach. If you do well, it's thanks to me. I'll enjoy watching you. See you later."
With that, Coach Yamashiro turned and walked toward the dormitory.
"Thank you very much," I called after him, bowing deeply. Coach Yamashiro raised his right hand slightly and walked away.
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