Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today we’re returning to the field for a fresh episode of Big Windup!, in the wake of Nishiura’s upset victory against their top-seeded Tosei opponents. Hard-fought wins over ostensibly superior opponents are of course shonen and sports drama’s stock in trade, but rarely has the process of achieving that win been illustrated with such thought and precision, with practically every aspect of the field, players, and emergent competitive dynamics ultimately contributing to their desperate yet wholly believable triumph.
In the wake of that game, Big Windup! has been eagerly reminding us that it is far more than a tactical simulator, and that its core strength still rests in its ability to thoughtfully illustrate the psychological interplay of its young leads. With Mihashi still incapable of fully believing in his own worth, it came down to his teammates to stop on by, eat all his leftovers, and reassure him that he is a valued member of the Nishiura lineup. Even our persnickety Abe showed some welcome development, helped along by a team that have at this point learned when to step in and vouch for their admittedly frustrating pitcher. Izumi’s reflection that “we’re not especially nice people” might well sum up this production’s strength; characters here are neither good or bad, but they are extremely human, demonstrating compassion, irritation, and all the other contradictory feelings that make up any one identity. With the wind now at their backs, let’s see how they march towards the next stage of the summer tournament!
Episode 26
These OP cuts still impress. I particularly like the last toss from an outfielder back home, which manages to combine a strong sense of grounded weight and consequence with the exaggerated flourish of the outfielder’s body going almost fully horizontal as his feet leave the ground, before catching himself in the landing. It’s one thing to either embrace naturalistic physical movements or cartoonish exaggeration – it’s quite another to make both these extremes naturally contribute to the same motion
We then jump to reflections by Kaguyama, the pitcher who was replaced by Abe’s old battery partner Haruna on the Musashino team. He reflects on his fall from grace back in his sophomore year, and how seeing Haruna pitch practically killed his passion for baseball
Kaguyama and Haruna bump into presumed team manager Suzune on their way home. Amusing but understandable how practically every baseball manga uses the team manager position to sneak some girls into their otherwise male-dominated drama. It’s a necessary position that implies a sense of respect and parity, which generally makes for more compelling drama than having any female characters just be starry-eyed spectators
“Sorry, did you just say I’m cute when I smile?” Suzune seems powerful
Solid embarrassed expressions from Haruna, too. As is often the case, it seems like the production is working to end on a strong note, pulling off as much character acting as possible in its final few episodes
Though Kaguyama harbored obvious bitterness towards Haruna, it’s difficult for him to deny Haruna’s dedication to his performance, as he completes a grueling second workout after team practice
Haruna remains blunt and impersonable, though in a very different way from Abe – he has learned to be a lonely castle, relying on no-one. His eyes are on the horizon, not the teammates at his side
Nonetheless, he’s willing to at least offer advice in his characteristically blunt way, telling Kaguyama he needs to develop a personal exercise regime
We flash back to team captain Ohkawa actually kicking Haruna to the ground for the conceit of his limited pitch count. With teammates like this, it’s little surprise Haruna has decided to rely on no one
Given this, it’s understandable as well that Ohkawa’s support of Kaguyama’s pitching feels like hollow consolation. He’s not pitching because he’s earned it, he’s pitching because his captain has a grudge against a superior player
Kaguyama finally breaks through Haruna’s shields with his accurate assessment of how much Haruna has grown. Rather than just social niceties, this is something tangible, something that shows Kaguyama has genuinely been paying attention
Quite interesting seeing this show tackle the social acclimation of someone who’s so different from Mihashi, yet similarly incapable of connecting with his peers. Just like Mihashi’s insecurity, Haruna’s defensive pride has become a wall that only Kaguyama is managing to break through
Yet still, that bitterness remains. With Haruna so naturally growing into perfect pitching form, what is there for an also-ran like Kaguyama to aspire to?
Thus he announces he’s quitting the team
“It’s what I’ve been doing until now that’s weird! All I do is play friggin’ baseball!” It is a painful thing, to so deeply love a pursuit that will never repay that dedication. There are monstrous talents in this world, so what are those of us with nothing but passion to do? Perhaps it is less painful to simply make a clean break, to accept there are things you cannot do, and turn away from the light that will never do anything but blind you
Ohkawa ends up overhearing their conversation, and attempts to quiet Suzune through some delightful quick cuts. Suzune’s already proving a particularly expressive presence
Haruna offers natural Haruna-style advice, telling Kaguyama he should do more muscle training. But muscle training won’t close the fundamental gap in their body types
“If I were the kind of person to make my own training menus, I wouldn’t be here.” On the other hand, Kaguyama’s fatalism is undoubtedly a self-fulfilling prophecy to at least some extent. He can’t believe he might become the “kind of person” who works like Haruna
“The guys playing here are all prepared to lose all their games in high school.” Thus making it all the more painful they’re teamed up with a guy like Haruna, who’s so sure he’s destined for greater things
Kaguyama’s bitterness leaks out as he wonders why a guy like Haruna would come here, practically making a mockery of their efforts
Thus Haruna at last comes to understand his effect on the team
“Why do you decide you’ll lose games and fights for positions before even trying?” Even still, he can’t really understand the beaten-down perspective of Kaguyama, who has known nothing but defeat. Much easier to say “you just gotta try” when your prior efforts have actually borne positive results
Kaguyama’s actually reached the point of feeling embarrassed to even try, knowing it’s just misplaced effort. Much easier to pretend you never cared about the result in the first place, if you know you’re going to lose either way
“If you put everything into it and it doesn’t work out, won’t the disappointment crush you?” Kaguyama can’t imagine seeking a dream so distant and fragile
“Don’t you get that only people who’ve never done crap say they’re afraid of being crushed by disappointment?” In contrast, Haruna can only feel contempt and fury for this perspective, knowing that every dreamer’s road towards their goal is littered with crushing disappointments. He sees Kaguyama’s perspective not as that of a veteran too defeated by failure to try again, but that of a novice who’s scared themselves off the starting line
“You just saw my efforts, so how can you go off about ‘talent’ or ‘fate?’” Haruna is of course both right and wrong – he does indeed work incredibly hard for his achievements, but body type and mindset are also partially beyond our control
As Haruna prepares to say why he chose this team, Ohkawa and Suzune at last reveal themselves
Haruna states one of his main requirements for high school was a coach who actually wasn’t invested in the team, since his strength was abused to the point of busting his knee back in middle school by a coach who only saw him as a useful tool
“I hate to stand out, but I don’t know what to do.” Haruna doesn’t actively cultivate fame; if not for his clear skill, he’d happily fly under the radar
“I’ve never had such cool experiences. It only sounds like bragging to me.” I appreciate how honestly this conversation is portraying Kaguyama’s bitterness
Ohkawa’s also winning me over with his big, earnest emotional displays. Didn’t expect this first season finale to be spent selling us on an entirely different baseball team, but it’s certainly working!
Haruna ultimately proposes a contest where Kaguyama can show his effort in action: a fifty meter dash. Given Haruna’s put on muscle weight while Kaguyama’s gotten lighter, this might be one of the few spheres where Kaguyama can demonstrate he’s a stronger player than before
Through a couple well-chosen lies, Haruna is able to make Kaguyama recognize his own progress. Why should he fall into despair when he’s so swiftly improving?
As Haruna points out, if he’d been fighting this hard without any hope of victory, he must love baseball like crazy
And Done
Hahaha, what a wild changeup for our final episode! Rather than engineering an anime-original capstone that kept us following Abe and Mihashi’s narrative, we just stormed on into the manga’s apparent next act, concluding on a bunch of players we’d barely met before. And yet in spite of that wild swerve, this episode was actually one of the strongest of the season, fully luxuriating in the psychological inquiry and complex interpersonal dynamics that have made Big Windup! such a treat from the start. From a position of basically just knowing Haruna as an accessory to Abe’s story, this episode brought me to the point of mostly just hoping his team isn’t squaring off with Nishiura, so we end up with more time to appreciate them both. A fittingly confident finale for a show that breathed confidence from the start, paying no heed to its apparent ending, and instead setting its eyes squarely on the next round of the summer tournament. Onward to season two!
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