The Dodgers finally win!

Anyway, in this kind of game, all that matters is winning.

Winning is my top priority more than ever. So even if I can’t pitch a complete game, I have no regrets. As I always do, I thought of the opposing team’s batting lineup from number 1 to number 9, and headed to the mound with only the thought of keeping them to zero runs in mind.

September 30th, 1995, against the Padres at San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium. I was starting in a game that would decide the championship, but I kept my cool.

To tell the truth, I wanted the championship to be decided the day before Valdez pitched. I was absolutely sure that we would win that day, so I went back to the hotel in San Diego early, feeling excited. I was going to be the starting pitcher the next day.

And if we won, someone would call out to go home… I was looking forward to that call so I could quickly return to the stadium and splash champagne on them.

However, the game ended in a 6-5 loss.

And then it was my turn to start in the game that would decide the championship.

With two games remaining and a magic number of one, this game against the Padres was not only a win, but also a game in which I was very satisfied with the pitching I performed.

What made me especially happy was Mondesi’s home run in a 1-1 situation in the 7th inning.

Even though he had left the previous day’s game due to injury, it felt like he was providing cover fire, and I was so encouraged by that. The home run was triggered by Wallach’s earned double to right field. I felt the same way about the veteran who continued to play despite his leg injury.

In the eighth inning, Piazza hit a two-run home run to add to the lead. When the Padres’ offense finished with just one run in the bottom of the inning, we were sure we could win the championship.

After handing the mound over to Worrell, I quickly changed my undershirt and returned to the bench without icing my ball. I was so excited, both physically and mentally, that I somehow remembered the game in which the representatives for the Intercity Baseball Tournament were decided. “Ah, the atmosphere was like this at that time too.”

The ideal victory scene that I imagine is the final scene of the movie “Major League,” as I wrote in “My Tornado Wars.”

The stage for the match of the century that would decide the winner was a big, beautiful stadium. The stands were packed with spectators. On this stage, where the tension was constantly rising, each teammate put on a show, one by one, until the final inning.

And when the crowd’s excitement reaches its peak, the game is decided with a dramatic walk-off win. Ever since my days with the Kintetsu Buffaloes, I have longed for this final scene.

Winning. In the end, I was not able to experience that same thrill as a professional in Japan.

When I was working, I won the Osaka regional qualifying for the Intercity Baseball Tournament. At the time, I drank a limited number of beers with my friends in a hall-like space in the company dormitory, but it was still an emotional experience.

He added, “If even a small beer shower like this can be so moving, then a professional victory must be even better.”

That’s what I thought when I joined the pro team, but the championships were always snatched away by Seibu. When I saw the scene of them smiling and throwing beer on the team and having fun, I just couldn’t sit still.