Mercenary’s War
Chapter 1193 - 1193 One Thousand One Hundred Seventy-Six Thanks to the New York Mets

1193: Chapter One Thousand One Hundred Seventy-Six: Thanks to the New York Mets 1193: Chapter One Thousand One Hundred Seventy-Six: Thanks to the New York Mets Gao Yang and those who were in the know didn’t react much, but Hank and Brian were visibly astonished.

After a long pause, Cecil said incredulously, “You can’t be serious?

Not play for the New York Yankees, but for the bottom-dwelling Texas Rangers?”

Frey shrugged and said, “That’s right, I need to join the Rangers, but when exactly I can go is hard to say.

Maybe this year, maybe next year, maybe I’ll never go.

As I’ve said, I won’t be playing professional baseball for the time being.”

Hank looked puzzled and asked, “Why can’t you play baseball now?

Why is that?”

Frey said solemnly, “No reason.”

It seemed there was no need nor possibility for the conversation to continue.

With a helpless look, Hank glanced at Brian and said with a shrug, “Well, it seems I have to accept the outcome.

However, Mr.

Smith, we are truly sincere.

What I mean is, if you ever change your mind, the New York Yankees will welcome you anytime.

Our doors will always be open for you.”

It appeared Hank was concluding the talk, but Brian urgently said, “Hey, Frey, since you’re here, why not have some fun?

We have hitters practicing; you could get some exercise, throw a few balls.

Our field is really good.

Also, do you know your own strength?

We have professional equipment that can help you figure out your capabilities.

For example, measure your pitching speed or something.

Isn’t that great?”

Frey was somewhat enticed.

He was unwilling to leave Satan to play professional baseball, but as long as he didn’t have to leave Satan, he was happy to spend all his free time playing baseball.

Moreover, he really wanted to know to what extent his abilities reached.

He only knew his pitching was fast, but he had no idea just how fast.

Frey looked towards Gao Yang, as he was already accustomed to following Gao Yang’s advice on what to do, of course, except when it came to leaving Satan.

Gao Yang smiled and said, “Go on, it wouldn’t hurt to have some fun.

We don’t have anything else to do anyway.”

Frey immediately nodded and said, “Okay, let’s have some fun then.”

Brian smiled and said promptly, “Great, we’re all set.

Please follow me.”

Hank looked at Morgan and Cecil and said softly, “Let’s go have a look too.”

Cecil urged, “Go, let’s go see.”

A large group of people walked onto the baseball field, where four or five people were already training.

They were Yankees players based in New York, and although the new season hadn’t started yet, they trained daily to maintain their condition.

The head coach of the New York Yankees was there, along with two members of the coaching staff, and the scout Roger Ruth as well.

Seeing Frey, Roger had a pleased look on his face.

He walked up to Frey, extended his hand, and said with a smile, “Young man, it’s good you came.

Otherwise, I would have been in a tough spot.

Come on, throw a few pitches and give them a scare!”

Frey shook hands with Roger and said with a smile, “Sorry, it was a bit unexpected for me at the time.”

Roger waved his hands repeatedly and said, “No problem, no problem.

Let’s get started.

Do you need to change clothes?

Warm-up first.”

Frey looked at the baseball field, realizing he had never played on such a fine field before.

A smile came across his face and while swinging his arms, he said hastily, “No need to change clothes, this will do.”

Brian yelled, “Turn on the radar gun.

Mr.

Girardi, please arrange a hitter for our guest.”

The head coach, Joseph Girardi, knew that Frey had arrived at the field and immediately came over with his staff.

There was no need for Brian’s instructions; he had already made arrangements.

“DiMaggio, you hit.

Carlisle, you catch.

Alright, let’s have a little practice session.

Is the radar gun ready?

Okay, let’s start.”

Two players took their positions.

The hitter was the Yankees’ leading hitter, usually batting second or third.

While not the most important slugger nor an All-Star, his ability was definitely first-class in Major League Baseball.

Having a first-team hitter practice for a rookie was somewhat annoying for DiMaggio, but DiMaggio was no fool.

He might be annoyed, but seeing that the big boss, the manager, and the head coach were all there and seemed to think highly of the rookie, DiMaggio would cooperate fully and even try his best to hit some good balls.

The head coach himself stood at the umpire’s position and loudly said to Frey, who was holding the ball, “Are you ready?

Start.”

Frey crouched and stretched out his body, then with effort, he threw the baseball in an overhand pitching motion.

With a whoosh, the catcher got the ball in his hand, and DiMaggio, named the hitter, after a big swing and miss, was awkwardly swinging the bat with an unnatural look on his face.

“Strike!”

After the head coach shouted, he turned his gaze to the group watching the radar gun, when Roger yelled excitedly, “103.6 miles per hour!”

Brian nodded repeatedly; he had finally witnessed Frey’s pitching with his own eyes.

In front of his boss, he confirmed that he hadn’t boasted or wasted his boss’s effort in personally recruiting Frey.

That was great, but what frustrated Brian was that despite Frey’s excellent performance, he refused to join the Yankees.

A single pitch had made him famous; that was just how it was.

The moment Frey threw a fastball exceeding one hundred miles per hour with his first pitch, many things had been destined to happen.

The head coach, his face alight with excitement, watched DiMaggio, the batter, once again rest the bat on his shoulder, making ready to hit.

The coach immediately waved his hand, signaling Frey could continue pitching.

Frey didn’t change tactics, throwing the ball out again with no changes – it was still a fastball.

“106.2 miles per hour!

106.2 miles per hour!”

This time, it was Brian who shouted out loud, and as Hank leaned in to look at the number representing the pitch speed, his gaze turned eager when it shifted back to Frey.

For the third time, Frey pitched the ball with almost no change in the trajectory or landing spot, yet the batter just couldn’t hit it.

DiMaggio tried his best, but he just couldn’t hit it.

“107.5 miles per hour!”

Brian exclaimed again, as the pitch speed continued to rise.

This was normal; Frey hadn’t really warmed up, and it was only his third pitch.

If he got his body moving, heaven knows how fast he could hurl the ball.

For a pitcher, almost all types of pitches can be mastered through training, except for the fastball.

The fastball is not something you can train for; it’s a talent.

Over one hundred miles per hour pitchers can’t just be trained; with the three pitches Frey had thrown, he was completely able to make every team in Major League Baseball throw him an olive branch.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t good at anything else; that pitch speed was enough.

But Frey wasn’t just about speed; he had talent, and it wasn’t just talent – he had skills too.

If this was a game, DiMaggio would have already struck out, especially since Frey hadn’t changed the ball’s path at all and threw with exactly the same trajectory.

But this was just to verify Frey’s capabilities, so the unfortunate DiMaggio had to brace himself and continue.

DiMaggio decided that as long as Frey was pitching, he would swing according to the previous trajectory, not caring about anything else, as long as he could get the bat to meet the ball in time.

For the fourth time, Frey pitched the baseball, and indeed, his pitch speed had significantly decreased, but once again, DiMaggio swung and missed.

“Ah, a butterfly ball, oh my God, He’s truly a treasure.”

Hank’s expression was complex, his brow furrowed, seemingly lost in thought, while the head coach and others looked terrified.

Roger was right; Frey had indeed successfully frightened them.

Frey smiled confidently and happily; he picked up the ball, each time pitching in a different way.

He was showcasing his specialty, telling others he was a monster.

The birth of a genius originated from a father who brought a baseball as a gift for his child.

Being able to toss a baseball around since the age of five or six without any playmates, any audience, and even without many people around who could spell the word ‘baseball’ correctly.

Frey’s path in baseball was a lonely one; no one could catch balls for Frey, so he had to pitch with precision.

With only one baseball that shouldn’t be lost, Frey could only practice by throwing stones as if they were baseballs.

Eventually, without anyone’s guidance, Frey began to explore every possible pitching method on his own.

And so he continued to hone his skill as he grew up; someone who could endure loneliness and persist with something so out of place in his surroundings, someone like that must have true love for the sport.

“Oh God, he is a masterpiece of the Almighty.

I’ve been watching baseball for so many years and have yet to see such an insane pitcher.

Now, I don’t want to know what he can do; I want to know what he can’t do!

Oh, poor DiMaggio, he’s really tough.”

Cecil is a baseball fan; his mouth hasn’t closed since he opened it.

The reason he sympathized with DiMaggio was that the top-notch batter hadn’t hit a single pitch.

Not a single hit; if this was a game, DiMaggio would have been crushed.

In reality, he was already nearing his breaking point.

However, in front of the owner, the manager, and the head coach, and being miserably beaten by a rookie, DiMaggio’s mental strength was already commendable.

He was tough.

Hank was fervent, speaking through gritted teeth: “I must have him!

No matter the cost, he must come to the New York Yankees.

The Texas Rangers don’t deserve him; he belongs to the New York Yankees!”

Anxious, Cecil pressed: “Hank, you must do something!

We absolutely can’t let him go to the Texas Rangers.

He has the potential, no, he has the ability to revolutionize the whole league’s dynamics.

He’s a gem, and you were the first to contact him.

If even then the Texas Rangers manage to snatch him away, it would be a disgrace!”

Hank nodded and with a look of relief said: “That’s right, that’s right, we’re so lucky.

No, perhaps we should thank the New York Mets.

If we really can get him, I’ll definitely make an official statement to thank the New York Mets for that.

Just you wait and see, buddy, Frey will definitely play for the Yankees!

And I will indeed thank the New York Mets!” (To be continued.

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