Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #73 — Dae-Sung Koo and one of the Greatest At-Bats in Mets History

Last week in Forgotten Faces of Flushing, we talked about Grant Roberts and how quickly baseball can take things away.

A live arm.

A promising future.

A career that looked like it was just beginning until shoulders, headlines, and bad timing stepped in like a seventh-inning rain delay nobody asked for.

This week is different.

Because sometimes baseball gives you one perfect afternoon instead.

One ridiculous, impossible, beautiful baseball memory that somehow lasts longer than an entire career.

Which brings us to Dae-Sung Koo.

Or as Shea Stadium lovingly screamed it back in 2005:

“KOOOOOOOOOO!”

Now if you’re under the age of 30, there’s a decent chance you know Dae-Sung Koo only as “that Mets pitcher from the internet clip.”

And honestly?

That’s fair.

Because Koo’s Mets career lasted exactly one season, produced zero wins, zero losses, zero saves, and just 33 appearances. On paper, he looked less like a memorable major leaguer and more like somebody your uncle vaguely remembers from a 2005 scorebook stained with mustard.

But baseball isn’t paper.

Baseball is moments.

And Dae-Sung Koo produced one of the greatest Mets moments ever created by a human being who absolutely looked like he should never be allowed to run the bases.

The amazing thing is Koo was already a baseball legend long before Queens met him.

Back home in South Korea, he was a star.

Not “nice little career” star.

Actual legend.

He won an MVP award. Won a Gold Glove. Helped lead South Korea to an Olympic bronze medal in 2000 by beating Japan in a complete game masterpiece. In Korea, they called him “The Japan Killer,” which sounds less like a baseball nickname and more like a 1980s Chuck Norris movie that somehow aired on Channel 9 during a Mets rain delay.

Then he pitched in Japan for four seasons before finally arriving in Flushing at age 35, carrying more international baseball mileage than most airline pilots.

And then Shea Stadium adopted him in about three weeks.

Part of it was the motion.

Koo threw from this twisting, ducking, side-angle delivery that looked less like pitching and more like a man trying to throw a baseball while avoiding bees.

Part of it was his personality.

He bowed to catchers after bullpen sessions.

He barely spoke English but somehow became one of the most beloved guys in the clubhouse.

And part of it was simply that Mets fans instinctively love anybody who looks slightly confused while succeeding in New York. We relate to that.

But then came May 21, 2005.

Mets vs.Yankees, Shea Stadium.

Randy Johnson on the mound looking approximately 11 feet tall and fully capable of throwing baseballs through concrete.

And batting against him?

Dae-Sung Koo.

Now this was before the universal DH, back when National League pitchers still had to bat and usually looked like Elaine Benes suddenly cast in the lead of Swan Lake at Lincoln Center—an idea that sounds awesome in theory, until you actually have to watch it unfold in real time.

Koo had not recorded a professional hit in something like eighteen years.

His first major league at-bat earlier that month ended exactly the way most pitcher at-bats ended: like ordering something off Temu and realizing the moment it arrives that you may not have fully understood what you were getting.

FOX analyst Tim McCarver basically announced Koo had no chance before the at-bat even started. McCarver described it as a “give-up at-bat,” which is baseball announcer language for, “This man is about to embarrass himself on national television.”

Then something magical happened.

Koo swung.

And absolutely smoked a Randy Johnson pitch into the right-center field gap.

Not a bloop.

Not an infield dribbler.

Not one of those accidental broken-bat things that lands between three fielders because baseball occasionally enjoys comedy.

No.

Dae-Sung Koo hit a missile.

Shea Stadium exploded.

The dugout exploded.

And then things somehow became even more ridiculous.

José Reyes dropped down a bunt.

Koo lumbered toward third base with all the speed and grace of somebody trying to run in ski boots through wet cement.

Then suddenly, realizing nobody was covering home, Koo made the boldest decision in modern human history.

He kept running.

Jorge Posada sprinted toward the plate.

The throw came home.

Koo launched himself headfirst like a man escaping a burning building.

And during that headfirst slide into the plate, he landed heavily on a weighted warm-up ball he had forgotten was still in his jacket pocket—as if he needed anything else to slow him down, nothing works quite like a weighted ball at full speed.

SAFE.

Shea Stadium lost its collective mind.

“KOOOOOOOOOO!”

His teammates mobbed him in the dugout like he had just won the World Series instead of surviving a basepath experience that violated several laws of physics and at least one traffic ordinance.

And the best part?

Koo later admitted he had no idea what anybody was yelling at him because he still barely understood English.

Which somehow makes it even more Mets.

Of course — because baseball enjoys emotional whiplash — Koo injured his shoulder on the play.

Naturally.

Because no Mets joy is ever allowed to travel unsupervised.

The slide that made him immortal also derailed his season.

After returning briefly, Koo was eventually sent down and his Mets career quietly ended after 2005.

But here’s what makes Dae-Sung Koo different from most Forgotten Faces.

Most forgotten Mets are remembered for almosts.

A prospect who never arrived.

A veteran hanging on.

A guy who had one decent month in August.

Koo is remembered for joy.

Pure baseball joy.

One insane afternoon where a 35-year-old Korean reliever facing Randy Johnson somehow became the most exciting baserunner in America.

And the funny thing is his baseball life kept going everywhere else.

Back to Korea. Then Australia. Then coaching. Then managing.

Then somehow pitching professionally again in his late 40s and even his 50s because apparently Dae-Sung Koo ages the way Keith Richards does.

At 53 years old, he came out of retirement again in Australia and still struck hitters out.

Which honestly feels right.

Because Dae-Sung Koo never really felt bound by normal baseball rules in the first place.

Some players leave behind statistics.

Some leave behind trophies.

Some leave behind arguments in sports bars.

Dae-Sung Koo left behind one glorious baseball fever dream.

A double off Randy Johnson.

A headfirst slide home.

A stadium chanting his name.

And one perfect reminder that baseball — at its absolute best — is wonderfully stupid.

And unforgettable.