I spotted Yamashiro-san, affectionately known as White-san, wandering near the dugout. "Hey, Mr. White!"
"Who's White?" he replied, looking puzzled.
"No, it's just a play on words. You know, 'white' as in the color and 'unemployed' as in someone who's got a lot of free time."
"That's boring. White is a color, not colorless. And I'm not unemployed."
"But do you have time to be here on a weekday?"
"I had business in Nagoya, so I decided to drop by and check on my not-so-brilliant disciples and old friends."
"Thanks for stopping by. So, why has my batting been so poor recently?"
"I don't know. Ask the batting coach."
"And why am I making errors?"
"I don't know. Ask the infield coach."
His advice was as direct as ever, but always a bit frustrating.
"From an amateur perspective, if you notice anything technically, please let me know."
"Who's calling me an amateur? You really haven't changed at all," Yamashiro sighed dramatically.
"I haven't been watching minor league games all season, just caught a bit of your practice. It's not that I haven't noticed anything technical, but that's not the root of the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"You know it yourself. The fact that you're asking me about technical issues shows you're unsure."
*Was my slump due to something I couldn't see? Maybe it was something simple. Yamashiro-san, who once closely watched me play, might know.*
"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do for you right now. The problem seems to be mental, not technical. You have to overcome mental challenges on your own. Of course, counseling is an option, but only seasoned professionals can truly understand the worries of other professionals. If you can overcome this, you'll grow even more."
"Have you ever had a slump, Yamashiro-san?"
"Me? I've been in a slump all year round. When I hit the ball, it didn't fly forward, and I couldn't make any brilliant defensive plays. I wasn't as fast as you, so I was nervous every game."
"How did you overcome it?"
"I didn't. If I had, I might have gotten better numbers. Once I was in the game, I stopped thinking about trivial things. The ball in front of you, the hit in front of you. I focused on that alone with complete intensity. The result was fourteen years."
"So, is it okay for me to stay the way I am?"
"Dunno. Oops, I should be heading back soon. I don't have time to worry about things like I'm just a second-string player getting paid. See you later."
Yamashiro handed me a paper bag. "Ah, here's a souvenir. Everyone, please enjoy."
As I watched him leave, I looked inside the paper bag. It was eel pie. Great, my favorite.
That evening, Taniguchi and Mitamura joined me in my room for some sports drinks and eel pie. Taniguchi, still on the first team, returned to the dormitory because there was no game.
"That's what Yamashiro-san told me. What do you think?" I asked them.
Taniguchi, always earnest and serious, nodded thoughtfully. "As expected of Yamashiro-san. 'I was so absorbed in chasing the ball in front of me, the hit in front of me, that 14 years passed.' It's deep."
Taniguchi often takes coaching instructions too seriously, leading to frequent changes in his batting form. This might explain why he can hit in the minors but struggles in the majors.
Hirai, his high school classmate, is the opposite. He doesn't listen to coaches, maintaining his wild batting style from high school. He's already hit nine home runs this season, though his average has recently dropped, and he's now in the minors. Hirai can't grasp the coach's teachings, but together, Taniguchi and Hirai might make a great slugger.
"Me too," Mitamura chimed in. "When I'm on the mound, I try not to be afraid of getting hit or pitching a hit ball."
"No, no, be afraid of dead balls," I joked. "Getting hit by a ball traveling at 150 km/h can cause serious injury."
I guess I just have to concentrate as hard as I can on the play in front of me. Yamashiro's words made me feel a little relieved.