Hello folks, and welcome on back to Wrong Every Time. Today we’re returning to Big Windup! just in time for the first match of the summer tournament, as our boys face off against the actual winners of the previous year’s tournament. The unfortunate results of the tournament lottery have left them with an absurd challenge ahead of them, and given this tournament’s single elimination format, it’s more than likely their brilliant, ephemeral summer dreams will end just as soon as they’ve begun.

Fortunately, our team is well-equipped with both underappreciated talent and expert conditioning. Our core battery of Mihashi and Abe both flew under the radar in middle school; Mihashi because he had no proper training or support, and Abe because he was paired with a pitcher who had no interest in collaboration. The two of them had learned to see their teammates as either obstacles or objects of fear, but here at Nishiura, they have found both accommodating allies and trustworthy instructors, furnishing their initial talents with the confidence and mutual trust necessary to succeed. Still, there is simply no way to overcome the experience gap between them and their competitors, and it’s clear their opponents are prepared to take them seriously. Let’s see if our boys can triumph over the odds as we return to the field!

Episode 14

Aw shit, new OP. Damn, I really loved the first one – just a perfect summertime injection of adolescent nostalgia, lent a second tremor of personal resonance through my own appreciation for that ‘00s era of jangly Japanese pop-rock. Well, let’s see how this one fairs

This one opens appropriately for the tournament itself, with an initial verse of the singer alone contrasted against the pre-game stillness of the stands and dugout, followed by the drums and melody rushing in to accompany the players taking the field. Hushed anticipation into propulsive movement, an excellent aural echo of the start of a game

Also like the use of these urgent harmonicas, an instrument whose high, warbling pitch almost inherently conveys a sense of desperation or uncertain youth

The chorus isn’t quite as high energy as I’d like, but the song overall fits its dramatic role, and sounds nice enough to boot. A fine followup to our first OP

We open on Hamada and one of his cheer squad companions inspecting the ominous cloud cover. A fittingly dramatic backdrop for our first serious game

They then announce the batting rotation, with Tajima of course batting fourth, which is known as “cleanup.” Batting rotations are generally designed for the best-case scenario, and if all goes well, the first three batters will manage clean base hits, leaving the fourth batter to “clean up” by sending them all home with a massive hit. That’s why you generally put your strongest batter in the cleanup position – though of course, given Tajima’s small size, an actual home run is likely beyond his abilities

This role is so important that on professional teams, you’ll often have “designated hitters” who don’t play any role on the field, and simply step in to wing out home runs and send their teammates home. As a Boston native, I saw our famous designated hitter David “Big Papi” Ortiz play a few times, which taught me early on the glamorous nature of the role – Big Papi would always come out to his own theme song and wild cheers from the crowd. His nickname was no joke, either; the guy was large, far too big to speedily run the bases, because his job was home runs or bust

Mihashi and Abe round out the batting order, which seems smart for narrative drama – given a couple well-timed strikes, it’d be easy for them to be on-base when Tajima is up at bat

Mihashi is proud of how well-prepared he is, which Sakaeguchi helpfully translates for Abe

Mihashi’s mom continues to mirror his mannerisms, offering an extremely Mihashi expression of shock as Hamada calls out to her. Including parental figures like this doesn’t just expand the scope of the drama, or ground it in a believable human context – it also bolsters the characterization of the leads as well, by demonstrating how their own personalities emerged from their family influences

Seeing Nishiura’s unseasoned, all-freshman team, their opponents’ first challenge is to take them seriously, so as not to make their own underclassmen feel overconfident

Mihashi does fine through their warmup routines until he turns back to the dugout, and sees the massive crowd. They’re doing their best to drill confidence into him, but you can only change so much and so fast

“They all came to cheer somebody… they’ll all be disappointed if I give up a hit.” That’s how it goes with social anxiety – you imagine everyone is constantly judging you personally, just waiting for the chance to devour you. Of course, as the pitcher of a high school baseball team, everyone sorta is judging you personally – you have a wildly outsized impact on the team’s success or failure, which is precisely how Mihashi developed this anxiety in the first place. Kind of a nightmare scenario

Yep, he immediately starts having flashbacks to the crowds disappearing across his middle school career. His fear is not irrational, it’s based in direct lived experience

Abe briefly considers saying something, but is self-aware enough to know he might just make things worse. Fortunately, Hamada and Mihashi’s mom are there to encourage him, offering an assurance that this is no longer a hostile crowd

Mihashi’s mom is of course also a worrywart, and frets about Mihashi’s number not being sewed on straight

“The first time he asked me to sew that number one on his jersey, I suspected it was some kind of mistake.” Incredibly harsh, Mrs. Mihashi

“This number one is different from the one I had in middle school. I earned this one.” With Hamada and his mom’s affirmation, Mihashi is able to assure himself his team actually believes in him, that he has earned his position. Psychology is not rational, but it is a system with its own rules, and those rules can be manipulated to profound material effect

Basically, we have to find ways to trick our stupid, reactionary brains into letting us be our most confident, effective possible selves

Meanwhile, Hanai is admiring the strength of the opposing captain, catcher Kazuki Kawai

Nishiura is first at-bat, with Izumi facing Tosei’s ace pitcher Junta Takase

Izumi starts in bunt stance, which seems odd for a starting batter – generally you want to get someone on the bases before you make such a likely sacrifice play

Kawai first signals for a ball, then wonders if he’s being too careful, lamenting he doesn’t have any information on Nishiura’s players. The challenge of every battery is to acquire three strikes for every batter, and intentional balls are a key tool in arriving at that total, by manipulating the batter such that they swing at air. Opening with a clean pitch is often a good way to acquire that first strike, as the batter hasn’t necessarily adjusted to the pitcher’s style yet – but with no information on these batters, Kawai is playing it safe and seemingly seeing if he doesn’t need to give them clean strike opportunities

He wisely decides not to overthink it, and simply play towards a generic opponent

Another ball, and Izumi is ahead in the count. This is a dangerous position for the battery, as the batter knows valid pitches are likely coming, lest the battery risk a walk. Unsurprisingly, the more information one side has, the worse off the other side is – a truth that applies both to pre-game research and individual ball counts

With their pre-game research combined with the 0-2 count, Izumi is confident both that Takase is seeking a strike, and that when he’s seeking a strike he throws a slider. He thus gets a clean hit, illustrated through a welcome flourish of movement-out-of-depth animation as we follow the ball from the hit through the infield

“It went through!” cry his teammates. This is the objective of most hits – to somehow pierce the defensive perimeter of the infielders, forcing players to run after it and thus give up bases. Even if it’s not caught outright, if the infielders intercept it, there’s little chance a runner will outpace its journey back to first base

“The slider’s doable. It’s close to the machine’s arc,” Izumi informs Mizutani. Every piece of information is precious – baseball is as close to turn-based as you can get in sports, thus the flow of information is critical, and every at-bat should be assessed and relayed to the team

On the opposing side, Izumi swinging at the first valid pitch informs Kawai that he’s a smart, confident player

Next up is Sakaeguchi

Sakaeguchi also takes bunt position, which Kawai reads as a threat – now Izumi’s on base, so it’d be easy for a bunt to push him forward

The bunt succeeds – Sakaeguchi is out, but Izumi’s on second. Getting runners on base is important, but full runs are infinitely more important, so making “sacrifice plays” like this to push a runner forward at the expense of the batter is common. It is extremely difficult to score a point in baseball relative to most sports, leading to these unique all-or-nothing strategic gambits. This also makes it a great sport for narrative drama, as collaboration, sacrifice, and huge swings in fortune are all baked into the game’s design

Next up is Suyama, who Momoe informs us is also ready to take a sacrifice if necessary. Getting one point ahead while your opponents still aren’t used to your batters can make all the difference

Takase attempts a pickoff on Izumi, but Izumi gets back to second in time, due to the lack of signaling between Takase and the second base player. Even this apparent lack of coordination is key information for our team, perhaps demonstrating the opponents’ nerves

And Kawai takes the blame for this, worrying about throwing balls when the team is already off their rhythm. Baseball is often maligned for its slow pace, but it’s precisely this slow pace that allows such significant strategic and psychological factors to take precedence, rather than pure athleticism

Love all this commentary by the moms as Suyama achieves his bunt. Frankly surprised I haven’t seen more sports dramas employ a mom brigade as the peanut gallery, they’re fantastic

Everyone is very impressed by Suyama and her five kids

And at last, Tajima is up!

Kawai immediately notes Tajima is small for a cleanup hitter, meaning there’s little threat of a home run

“The best way to relieve your tension is to throw your best ball.” The first strike doesn’t just put Takase ahead in the count, it’s also a gambit by Kawai to keep his pitcher in top condition. Kawai’s clearly at least as dangerous as Abe

And a sinker takes a second straight strike. The crowd do their best to raise Tajima’s spirits in this difficult moment – it always sucks building a careful strategy across your batters, and then just failing at the finish line

Fuck! Another strike, and Tajima is out

I appreciate that this show isn’t slowing down the drama to explain everything, nor is it ratcheting up the nature of baseball techniques to put them in the realm of shonen superpowers. As with their training, the genuine strategy and interplay of baseball as performed by smart players provides more than enough crunchy drama by itself

“Well, leading the game with one point could put a lot of pressure on us anyway,” reflects Abe. An optimistic yet undeniable perspective – “they’re beating the champs” would indeed change the atmosphere of the game, while also putting Mihashi in the mindset of “my teammates succeeded, now I’m going to screw it up”

Aw jeez, Tosei’s got a whole band and massive cheer squad

Fortunately, Mihashi’s actually too deeply in his own head to even notice

And Done

Whew, goddamn! I’ve been waiting anxiously to arrive at the tournament proper, and our first clash certainly didn’t disappoint. In appropriate Big Windup! fashion, this episode was a feast of tactical interplay and psychological drama, fully explicating the complex back-and-forth of sizing up your opponents, stealing ground where you can, and ensuring your team is always in the best possible condition to succeed. There were no shortcuts and no protracted, exaggerated exchanges – just the pure, strategically grounded conflict that makes every duel between pitcher and batter so fundamentally compelling. And our two leads have only just now taken the field! This is going to be one hell of a battle, and I’m eager to get right back to it.

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