Korean slugger Seung Yeop Lee, in the first inning of his sixth game in the inaugural World Baseball Classic, had just crushed a 2-2 pitch from Japanese starter Shunsuke Watanabe and watched along with everyone else as his towering drive soared toward to right-field seats.
When the ball hooked foul before landing about 20 rows deep, out came a collective groan from the mostly pro-Korea crowd. On the mound, Watanabe took a deep breath, shook his head, trudged back atop the rubber and did the only sensible thing under the circumstances.
Having been sufficiently reminded of Lee's growing legend, enhanced daily by his five homers in the first five games of the tournament, Watanabe threw ball three and four.
It's called respect, and in leading Korea to a 6-0 record and a berth in this weekend's Classic semifinals with a cadre of gaudy statistics against elite international competition, Lee has earned a ton of it.
"I feel like a big star," he admits. "But there are bigger stars. Look at the USA and Japan players."
Respect and stardom are nothing new for Lee. A left-handed hitter, he earned the nickname "Lion King" while drilling 324 home runs and winning five MVP awards in nine seasons with the Samsung Lions of the Korean Baseball Organization, and in 2003, at age 26, he became the youngest player in the world to reach the 300-homer mark for his career. Also that year, he broke legendary Japanese slugger Sadaharu Oh's long-standing single-season Asian home run record with his 56th in the final game of the season.
Having opened some eyes in the United States, Lee got an offer from the Los Angeles Dodgers, but it wasn't attractive enough to entice him to follow in the footsteps of fellow Korean first baseman Hee Seop Choi and move to America.
The Chiba Lotte Marines of the Japanese Pacific League trumped the Dodgers' offer, so Lee signed with them before the 2004 season. He struggled in his first year in Japan, batting .240 with 14 homers and 50 RBIs in 100 games, but in 2005 he went deep 30 times with 82 RBIs while batting .260 during the regular season, and by the time the Japan Series rolled around, he was at his best.
In going 5-for-11 with three homers and six RBIs, Lee led the Marines to a four-game sweep of the Hanshin Tigers and was recognized as the outstanding slugger of the tournament.
After the season Lee signed with the Yomiuri Giants, the team with whom Oh broke Hank Aaron's all-time home run record, for three reasons: more money, more exposure and a chance to start at first base; he was the Marines' designated hitter. Japanese contracts are fairly easily broken, though, and Lee entered the Classic hoping to show the scores of big-league scouts trolling the event enough to prompt another offer.
"[The Classic] is very good experience," says Lee, now 29. "It's another way to face the best in the world, and if I get to go on [to the Major Leagues], it will be the best thing that ever happened to me."
Through two rounds of the tournament, Lee is averaging two hits every five at-bats (8-for-20; .400). His pace of a home run every four at-bats leads the Classic, as does his 23 total bases, and he ranks second in RBIs (10), third in slugging percentage (1.150) and has an on-base percentage of .480.
"I'm doing better than I thought I would, but I prepared a lot," Lee says. "Actually, I'm doing better than I could have imagined, and I am just happy with the good results."
Whether such results will eventually translate to Lee's dream job, however, remains to be seen.
"We knew who he was before the tournament started; he's been a star over in Asia for a while," says one American League scout assigned to the second round in Anaheim. "We didn't know he was this good, though. And to be honest, we still don't.
"Yeah, he's been dominant for six games, and he's a better defensive player than I'd been told. But six games is a small sample size. So is eight, which is the number of games he'll have played here when it's over. So you wonder what might happen if he comes over here and everyone gets to start studying tape on the guy, breaking down his weaknesses."
A National League scout echoes those concerns, noting that he'd already identified a hole or two in Lee's swing.
"But," he adds, "there aren't many guys in the big leagues right now who don't have a hole or two. I think he's shown enough that there are going to be a lot of teams interested. The question is whether a team over here thinks enough of him to give him enough money to leave Japan.
"If not, he's gotta decide what's more important to him -- being a big-money star over there or challenging himself against the best players in the world in the big leagues."
What's most important to Lee right now is helping Team Korea maintain the momentum it established by running the table in the first two rounds of the Classic. He says he's over the fact that Korea didn't qualify for the 2004 Olympics, but not everyone in the country is.
"If there is one fan out there still disappointed, I am playing for him," Lee says.
That would be Team Korea manager In Sik Kim, whom Lee gives a great deal of credit for the team's surprise run to the semifinals.
"Not only do we have skill, we have chemistry," Lee says. "And we find a way to win."
To win it all, Korea will need its pitching staff to remain as stingy as it was in the first six games, when it compiled a Classic-best 1.33 ERA. And given that the rest of the team has a combined one home run, it's fair to say it will need more fireworks from Lee.
Lee probably knows that, but the Lion King isn't one to roar. When he hits a ball out of the yard, there is no dramatic flip of the bat, no showing up the pummeled pitcher. Lee puts his head down and circles the bases as though he's left something on the clubhouse stove.
Respect begets respect.
"It feels so great to be hitting like this, but our whole team is good," he says. "I've got this Korean flag on my chest, and I am proud to be hitting home runs for Korea.
"Very proud."
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