The game was winding down in the eighth inning, with our team trailing by four runs. There was no outs and a runner on second base. To create a big inning, it was crucial to accumulate runners. A hit and run would have made sense, but the sign from the bench was to steal third base.
Stealing from second to third is significantly more challenging than stealing from first to second due to the shorter throw distance for the catcher.
The first pitch was a pickoff throw. The opposing team wasn't letting their guard down. If the battery believes there's no intention to steal third, there's a chance, but under full guard, stealing third is exceptionally difficult.
I was resigned. A sign from the bench meant if I failed, it wasn't entirely my fault—probably. All I could do was give it my all.
Another pickoff throw came before the second pitch. They were fully alert. Maybe the sign would change. I glanced at the bench, but the steal sign was still there.
I took the lead again, and another pickoff throw came. They were very cautious. After a long pause, pitcher Daito threw the second pitch. At that moment, I ran. Catcher Takeda was quick, and his throw was a bullet to third base. The timing seemed completely off, but I slid around the left side of the bag, delaying the third baseman's tag.
"Safe!" the third base umpire called. I couldn't believe it—I had successfully stolen third. With no outs and a runner on third, the count was 2-0, a golden opportunity.
Given the score difference, a squeeze play was unlikely. The sign wasn't for a squeeze, but a steal. I signaled the third base coach to confirm. It was indeed a steal sign.
"No way," I thought. "This isn't the time to force it." With my speed, even a grounder to the infield could score a run. The score difference was four points, and we were in the eighth inning. Forcing a run here wouldn't change the game outcome. Moreover, the count was 2-0. If a strike came, it would almost certainly result in an out—a wasted death.
Pitcher Daito got into his set position. Since he was a lefty, his back was turned towards us. He glanced at me but quickly moved into his pitching form. They weren't wary of a home steal. As soon as he threw, I took off. The pitch was a curveball.
"Did the bench read this? No way," I thought, running frantically. Katsuyama swung and missed intentionally. The catcher grabbed the ball and went for the tag. The timing was off, and the catcher's mitt touched my foot just before I could reach home plate.
"Safe!" Huh? Why? I looked and saw the ball had slipped out of the mitt. Even the experienced catcher Takeda seemed to panic, not expecting a home steal. I pumped my fist in excitement and returned to the bench.
The bench was in a frenzy.
"Good job, you maniac," Takeshita said, slapping me on the butt.
"You idiot. Who actually runs on that?" laughed head coach Ichikawa.
"That was the sign," I replied, confused.
"Normally, you'd doubt the sign. I didn't think you'd actually run," said batting coach Onda.
It was a strategy acceptable because it was an exhibition game. It was good that I was safe, but if I had been out, it would have been called a runaway.
In the end, Katsuyama and the next three batters struck out, leaving me with just one run from stealing home. My excitement didn't end there. I took my position at second base, ready for defense, but there were no opportunities that day.
The next day, the sports newspaper featured a large picture of me stealing home. One headline read, "A Fast Run? A Crazy Run? Shizuoka's Takahashi (Takashi) Steals Home."
It was good to be talked about. Did it leave a mark?
I later learned that the management was testing how aggressively I could start. Even though it was just an exhibition game, I was genuinely happy with recording three stolen bases and one run. I hope that, when I look back, I can say that this day was a turning point in my professional career.
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