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$Title{Managers and Coaches}
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Stein, Fred}
$Subject{Managers managing manager Coaches coaching coach Wright Anson Hanlon
Mack McGraw Griffith Clarke Chance Huggins Ruth McCarthy Stengel Durocher
Smokey Alston Anderson Weaver Williams Martin Managerial Styles Hornsby Sawyer
Robinson Traynor Maranville Grimm Berra Herman Kuenn Altobelli Brosnan Lopez
Terry Larussa Leyland Herzog Kelly Latham Altrock Simmons Slaughter Ferraro}
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McGraw, John*0039901.scf
Clarke, Fred*0013501.scf
Chance, Frank*0012901.scf
McCarthy, Joe (left), Bill Terry, and Jake Ruppert*0039001.scf
Durocher, Leo (left) & Fred Fitzsimmons*0019601.scf
Alston, Walter*0004301.scf
Martin, Billy*0037501.scf
Thomson, Bobby (with audio:  Thomson's 1951 NL Playoff series home run)*0057001.scf,50080074.aud}

Total Baseball:  The Registers, Leaders, and Rosters


Managers and Coaches

Fred Stein


     Baseball, established as a "gentleman's sport" by the 1840s, attained a
degree of commercial success by the end of the 1860s. Within this transition
from a participatory, upper-class social game to an organized professional,
spectator sport there developed a need for accountability, both as a sporting
endeavor and as a money-making enterprise.
     Harry Wright was the first important manager, and his functions in the
1860s were typical of the workload carried by managers of that period. A
former professional cricket player, Wright saw his first baseball game at age
twenty-two, and it was love at first sight. A decade later, he helped
organize the famous Cincinnati Red Stockings, the first all-salaried team,
which won 84 consecutive games in 1869-1870. Wright's duties included the
following: field manager, center fielder, relief pitcher, team trainer,
tracker of team baseballs and field equipment, disciplinarian, scheduler of
games and travel arrangements, checker of gate receipts, and bursar.
     Wright continued his managing career with the advent of "organized
baseball" in 1871, winning four straight pennants with the Boston Red
Stockings from 1872 through 1875. He managed National League entries through
1893. The highly moral, immensely popular Wright is credited with playing the
dominant role in establishing the integrity of professional baseball in its
critical, formative years.
     It bothered Wright to hear that other managers felt they could do as well
as he had done with his players. He felt that managing a team effectively
involved handling players with proper recognition of their human frailties as
well as capitalization of their physical skills.
     The baseball manager's role became more clearly defined in the 1870-1900
period, as increased revenues permitted clubs to hire people--"managers" akin
to today's general managers--to handle such administrative functions as
monitoring gate receipts, paying salaries, and supervising equipment and
stadium operations. But these business managers, twenty-eight of whom have
been carried in the Macmillan Encyclopedia as managers, never filled out a
lineup card or accompanied the team on a road trip. The research of Rich Topp
and Bob Tiemann has set the matter straight in this volume. Scheduling of
games became the function of league offices, relieving the manager of this
responsibility. Still, for economic reasons, the on-field manager (or
"captain," as he was often designated) usually was expected to perform double
duty--serving as a player as well as the field boss. He was also responsible
for disciplining players, keeping them in condition, and, depending on
circumstances, handling player transactions. The 1890s in particular featured
increased emphasis on scientific baseball, and the strategies employed by
managers became a matter of increased interest and importance.
     Adrian "Cap" Anson was the most prominent manager and player of the 1880s
and '90s. The massive (for the time) first baseman hit .336 for his full
twenty-seven-year career, and was the first National League player with more
than 3,000 career hits. The gruff, no-nonsense type, Anson ranked high on the
all-time managers list with a .578 won-and-lost percentage over twenty-one
seasons as a manager. He directed Chicago to five pennants in his first eight
seasons.
     The outspoken Iowa native was a stern taskmaster who ruled his club with
an iron hand. He was an innovative manager--he utilized spring training for
conditioning purposes, encouraged base stealing, rotated pitchers with
contrasting styles, used signals, and employed the hit-and-run play. On the
down side, Anson played an important role in barring black players from
organized baseball. He had little of the philosophical concern for the game
which characterized the gentle, high-minded Harry Wright. Yet Anson, not
Wright, became the principal hero of the era.
     Ned Hanlon was an important manager in the 1890s, a prime exponent of the
rough-and-ready, anything-to-win approach typical of the play of that decade.
Hanlon's famed Baltimore Orioles won three successive pennants in 1894-1896,
then finished in second place twice before Hanlon moved to the Brooklyn club,
which he led to pennant wins in 1899 and 1900. The bookish-appearing Hanlon
headed a Baltimore cast which included such legendary players as McGraw,
Keller, Robinson, Kelley, and Jennings. Even allowing for hyperbole, the club
was noted for its "inside baseball" and rowdy antics. Scholars differ as to
who invented strategies like the squeeze play, the "Baltimore chop," and
judicious doctoring of the baseball diamond, but there is little doubt that
the Orioles, under Hanlon, perfected these techniques.
     Managing in the 1900-1920 period was marked by continuing emphasis on
scientific baseball, in a dead-ball era when runs were hard to come by.
During these two decades, the game reached new popularity, and some managers,
along with players, became national heroes.
     Connie Mack and John McGraw were the towering managerial figures of the
period. Mack was a journeyman catcher whose managing career began with
Pittsburgh of the National League in 1894. After three seasons, he managed
Milwaukee of the Western League until 1901, when he and Benjamin Shibe were
awarded the Philadelphia franchise in the new American League.
     Nicknamed "The Tall Tactician," Mack put together, and then took apart,
dominating teams in two different eras. Between 1910 and 1914, his Athletics
won four pennants before, feeling the need for financial retrenchment, he
began shedding such high-priced stars as second baseman Eddie Collins and
pitchers Jack Coombs, Eddie Plank, and Chief Bender. As a result, the A's
finished dead last from 1915 through 1921.
     Beginning in the mid-1920s, Mack gathered several future Hall of
Famers--Cochrane, Simmons, Foxx, and Grove--and the A's won three straight
pennants starting in 1929. However, with the Depression deepening and
attendance dropping drastically, Mack again was forced to sell his stars. It
was all downhill for the cash-poor Mack as the A's finished in the second
division from 1934 through 1950, his last year as manager.
     During Mack's fifty-three-year managerial career, he won and lost more
games (3,731 and 3,948) than any other major league pilot. In addition to his
records, he is remembered for managing from the bench in street clothes and
for deploying his fielders (usually with remarkable precision) with a wave of
his ever-present scorecard. Many felt he remained at the helm for too long,
simply because he couldn't be fired. They pointed to the Athletics'
ineffectual showing over his last seventeen years and his tendency to nod off
on the bench. Regardless, baseball men respected his shrewd judgment of
talent, his ability to manage unlettered eccentrics and college men with equal
effectiveness, his skill in building great teams in both the dead- and
live-ball eras, and his entrepreneurial skill in keeping afloat on a financial
shoestring. Mack's players revered the dignified, old man with the New
England accent--a link between them and when baseball was barely beyond its
infancy.
     John McGraw shared Connie Mack's Irish background and his acumen, but
they were direct opposites in most other respects. "The Little Napoleon" was
a scrappy little third baseman whose .334 lifetime average, fielding skill,
and driving aggressiveness would have justified Hall of Fame recognition if
his managing had not done so. McGraw was the ringleader of Ned Hanlon's
Orioles. After moving to St. Louis of the National League in 1900, he went to
the new American League, accepting Ban Johnson's offer to manage the Baltimore
club in 1901.
     Unable to get along with Johnson, McGraw jumped at the chance to manage
the New York Giants in July 1902. The Giants became the most successful team
for the next thirty years, with McGraw engendering high emotions. As
Grantland Rice wrote, "His very walk across the field in a hostile town is a
challenge to the multitude." McGraw is credited with stimulating the growth
of baseball during the 1900-1920 period, just before the the lively-ball era.
     Most experts consider McGraw the greatest ever. He ranks second only to
Mack in games managed (4,845) and in games won (2,784). His teams captured
ten pennants in thirty years with only two second-division finishes. McGraw's
genius produced strategic and tactical innovations, and attracted and
developed many superb players. His career evoked continuous arguments,
fistfights, and controversies with league presidents, owners, umpires,
managers and players, and off-the-field acquaintances. However, this bon
vivant, and man of varied nonbaseball interests was also famous for helping
downtrodden former players.
     Clark Griffith, Fred Clarke, and Frank Chance were three other prominent
managers of the 1900-1920 period. Griffith had pitching credentials (237-146)
which would have justified his election to the Hall of Fame as a player as
well as a manager. The pocket-sized righthander, nicknamed "The Old Fox,"
relied upon control, guile, and uncanny skill at nicking or otherwise
doctoring the ball to fool the hitters.
     At the request of President Ban Johnson, Griffith managed the New York
Highlanders from 1903 through 1908. He managed Cincinnati in 1909-1911 before
purchasing a 10 percent interest in Washington. During his managerial tenure
with the Senators from 1912 to 1920, Griffith operated with little capital, as
evidenced by only two first-division finishes during the period, both largely
attributable to the superhuman efforts of speedballing Walter Johnson.
Griffith gained controlling interest in the Senators in 1920 and vacated the
manager's slot to become club president.
     Fred Clarke, another outstanding player, was a field manager in nineteen
of his twenty-one major league seasons. The compact outfielder had a .312
batting average while collecting 2,672 hits. He hit a career high .406 in
1897, stole over 30 bases in seven seasons, and was a superb left fielder.
     Clarke managed Louisville from 1897 to 1899 and Pittsburgh for the next
sixteen years, ranking among the top managers with 1,602 wins and a .576
winning percentage. Led by Clarke himself, shortstop Honus Wagner, and center
fielder Ginger Beaumont, the Pirates won consecutive pennants in 1901-1903,
then won the World Championship in 1909. Hallmarks of the energetic Clarke's
teams were their excellent physical condition and tight discipline, both on
and off the field.
     Clubs managed by Frank Chance, along with McGraw and Clarke, won every
National League pennant from 1901 through 1913. Chance is best remembered as
the first baseman of the famous "Tinker to Evers to Chance" double-play
combination of the Chicago Cubs, as the Cubs won three straight pennants in
1906-1908 and added another in 1910.
     Chance, a smart, natural leader, took over the Cubs in midseason of 1905
from Frank Selee, himself a great but little-remembered pilot, and remained
through the 1912 season. During his 7-1/2 year tenure, the "Peerless
Leader's" clubs won 768 games and lost only 383, for a remarkable .667
percentage. Handicapped by recurring headaches attributable to several
beanings, Chance withdrew from active play and later managed the Highlanders
in 1913-1914 and the Red Sox in 1923, but with none of his earlier success.
     The lively ball changed major league baseball and managerial strategy
after 1920. Such offensive baseball tactics as the stolen base, the sacrifice
bunt in early innings, and the squeeze play were virtually ignored as the long
ball came into vogue. "Big bang" baseball became the rule rather than the
exception, with only occasional aberrations. Big-inning baseball strategies
had largely replaced those of the dead-ball era, and baseball managers were
forced to adapt to the changes.
     Connie Mack successfully shifted his managerial focus to the new
offensive game, and the Athletics won pennants in 1929-1931. John McGraw won
four successive pennants in the early twenties, largely on the strength of
strong, well-balanced teams rather than offensive powerhouses. After 1924,
McGraw's failure to adapt to the power game prevented him from winning any
more pennants before he left the game in 1932.
     The powerful Yankees of the twenties, thirties, and early forties were
famed for power hitting complemented by exemplary pitching and fielding.
Yankee managers Miller Huggins and Joe McCarthy were the beneficiaries of
crushing offenses led by Ruth, Gehrig, Meusel, Combs, Lazzeri, and Dickey,
then later by DiMaggio, Henrich, Gordon and Keller.
     Miller Huggins was a tiny second baseman, considered an excellent fielder
but a weak hitter (.265 lifetime average with little power), whose offensive
forte was drawing walks and stealing bases. The bright "Mighty Mite," a law
school graduate, managed the St. Louis Cardinals in 1913-1917 with modest
success. He was then hired by Yankee owner Col. Jacob Ruppert against the
wishes of co-owner Col. Tillinghast Huston, who was overseas in World War One
action at the time.
     Huggins' masterstroke was in convincing the Yankees to purchase Babe
Ruth from the financially troubled Red Sox. Ruth was largely responsible for
the Yankees' developing dynasty, which brought Huggins six pennants in twelve
seasons. Ruth was important to Huggins in another respect: maintaining
player discipline. Ruth regularly broke club rules until Huggins fined him
$5,000 (a lot of money in 1925) and suspended him. Management strongly
supported Huggins, and Ruth and his fellow recalcitrants bowed to Huggins'
authority.
     Huggins died unexpectedly at fifty in 1929, and Joe McCarthy took over as
the Yankees' manager a year later. Another weak-hitting infielder, "Marse
Joe" never made it to the majors as a player. After gaining recognition as
one of the leading minor league managers, McCarthy managed the Chicago Cubs
from 1926 to 1930, winning the pennant in 1929. McCarthy went on to win eight
pennants and seven World Championships in fifteen full seasons as Yankees'
manager, with only one finish as low as fourth. Under McCarthy the Yankees
did not merely outshine the competition, they annihilated them, winning the
1936 flag by a record 19 1/2 games and winning the 1932, 1938, and 1939 World
Series in four games straight.
     McCarthy's teams were noted for their attention to detail and their
teamwork, as well as their overpowering talent. McCarthy was a strict, if
undemonstrative, disciplinarian (ties and jackets were compulsory, and even
pipe smoking was discouraged) and was adept at maintaining the defensive
excellence which undergirded his teams' successes. McCarthy ranks first among
all managers with a .614 winning percentage.
     Charles Dillon "Casey" Stengel was the third in a line of great Yankee
managers. He was a sometimes comic journeyman outfielder (.284 career batting
average) whose playing career is best remembered for his sparkling hitting in
the 1923 World Series, when he won two games for the Giants against the
Yankees with home runs.
     The lovable "Ol' Perfessor" with the great sense of humor, total recall
of game situations, and gift of gab (he specialized in long-winded non
sequiturs) began his fabled major league managerial career with Brooklyn in
1934. After three mediocre seasons with the Dodgers and one season (1937)
when he was paid not to manage the Dodgers, Stengel spent six seasons managing
the Braves, still unable to rise into the first-division.
     After managing in the high minors from 1944 to 1948, Stengel signed with
the Yankees for 1949. He took the club to an unprecedented five consecutive
pennants, finished in second place in 1954 (despite 103 wins), then won four
more consecutive pennants before falling to third place in 1959. He closed
out with another pennant in 1960, a total of ten pennants and seven World
Championships in twelve seasons. Dismissed as "too old," Stengel managed the
fledgling Mets from 1962 to 1965, finishing in last place each season, before
retiring two-thirds into the 1965 season. Stengel had a won-lost percentage
of .508 for twenty-five seasons, ranking sixth in games managed and seventh
in games won.
     Huggins and McCarthy were essentially orthodox, conservative managers who
consistently turned out magnificent teams with magnificent players. Stengel,
also gifted with great players--DiMaggio, Berra, Rizzuto, Ford, Mantle--added
another dimension to managing. He rose above crushing injuries to his stars
and obtained high performance from unexpected sources. Even more remarkable,
he played with and against the percentages with outstanding success. In
addition, he had unparalleled rapport with writers, thereby helping in the
press as well as on the field. Stengel was, in his own word, "amazin'!"
     Leo Durocher was another interesting, if more controversial, manager.
The brash, street-smart "Lippy Leo" was a weak-hitting but great-fielding
shortstop for the Yankees, Reds, "Gas House Gang" Cardinals, and Dodgers.
Durocher became the Dodgers' player-manager in 1939, just as President Larry
MacPhail was beginning to raise the club from its long-standing doldrums. In
1941, they won Brooklyn's first pennant in twenty-one years. Durocher just
barely lost out to St. Louis in 1942 and 1946. Sparked by rookie Jackie
Robinson, the Dodgers won the pennant in 1947, but Durocher was not on
hand--he had been suspended for "conduct detrimental to baseball" for the
entire 1947 season. Leo returned in 1948, but with the Dodgers doing poorly,
he moved in midseason across town to the New York Giants. It was a shock for
Giants' fans--idolized Mel Ott replaced by the hated Durocher.
     Durocher's revamped Giants, 13 1/2 games off the pace in August 1951,
came back to beat the Dodgers on Bobby Thomson's "Miracle at Coogan's Bluff"
home run. In many respects this was Durocher's finest season. Although
Durocher went on to win the World Championship in 1954, the Polo Grounders
slipped, and Durocher, never completely accepted by Giants' fans, was let out
after the 1955 season. He returned to manage the Cubs from 1966 through
midseason 1972 but was unable to win a pennant. His career ended after he
piloted Houston unsuccessfully through the 1973 season.
     Durocher was a knowledgeable, aggressive manager who could inspire a team
with winning potential but seemed to lose interest with lesser teams. Leo
tended to find himself in unsavory company, the basic reason for his
suspension in 1947. Although respected as a strategist and competitor, he was
disliked intensely by many who resented his beanball orders and by umpires and
fans offended by his rowdy tactics. Over his twenty-four-year managerial
career, Durocher ranks seventh both in games managed in wins.
     Walter "Smokey" Alston was the antithesis of Durocher--a quiet,
unassuming, stable man who at first won with power-packed teams, then with
speedy clubs. A hard-hitting first baseman in the minors, the Ohio strongman
had only a cup of coffee in the majors--in 1936 he struck out in his only at
bat. He was installed as manager at Brooklyn in 1954 after they fired
pennant-winning pilot Charlie Dressen, who wanted a multiyear contract.
Alston, who never received more than a single-year contract in his
twenty-three Dodger seasons, responded with seven pennants and four World
Championships. He led the famous "Boys of Summer" Dodgers to pennants in
1955-1956. His 1965-1966 flags were sparked by the herculean pitching of
Sandy Koufax and the base-stealing heroics of Maury Wills. Only two men,
Connie Mack and John McGraw, managed the same team for a longer period. He
ranks sixth in games won with a .558 winning percentage.
     The role (some would say the importance) of the manager has changed
significantly over the past two decades, in terms of both strategy and the
maintenance of discipline. The designated hitter rule has changed the game
drastically, giving the manager either more or fewer options, depending on the
viewpoint. Pitching strategy has shifted to a decreased emphasis on going the
route and an increased emphasis on a dominant relief pitcher. Artificial turf
requires different strategies and playing styles from play on natural grass.
Base stealing has changed strategies. Platooning, which has been around for
at least seventy years, has been refined to an art.
     Maintaining discipline has become much more difficult over the years.
Until the 1960s, the manager ruled completely. But today most players are
paid more than managers, implying that a higher-paid star is more valuable
than the manager. As a result, fining highly paid players is a relatively
ineffective disciplinary tactic. Today air travel has telescoped travel time,
and players spend more time away from their teammates. The resulting reduced
team discipline and togetherness have made it more difficult for managers to
weld their players into cohesive units.
     Drug abuse presents an extremely difficult managerial problem. Excessive
drinking has been a common difficulty from the early days of professional
baseball. But its impact upon performance is usually readily determined.
However, the use of drugs is extremely difficult to detect, and its impact is
long term and virtually impossible to judge.
     Managers have been laid off, sacrifices on the altars of second-division
finishes or general discontent, since the game began. But over the last two
decades there is evidence that managers have become an increasingly endangered
species. From 1970 through 1981, for example, National League managers
enjoyed a mere 2.4-year average tenure, while their American League
counterparts lasted only 1.9 years on the average.
     On the positive side, today's manager has a multitude of helpers,
sufficient to give his job a chairman-of-the-board aura. He now has hitting
instructors, base-stealing coaches, specialists in playing each position,
pitching coaches, conditioning specialists, motivation experts, and, yes,
someone to check on the inventory of baseballs.
     Several managers have been adept at dealing with these emerging changes,
most prominently Sparky Anderson, Earl Weaver, Dick Williams, and Billy
Martin.
     George "Sparky" Anderson fits the classic pattern of the successful
manager--a brainy, hustling, good-field-no-hit infielder. After hitting .218
for the Phillies in his only major league season, Anderson managed in the
minors from 1964 to 1968, then coached for the fledgling Padres in 1969.
     Appointed to manage the Reds in 1970, Anderson was an immediate success,
winning the pennant by 14 1/2 games. Anderson's clubs won again in 1972,
1975, and 1976, powered by Johnny Bench, Tony Perez, Pete Rose, and Joe
Morgan. Many experts rate his 1976 powerhouse with the great Yankee teams.
Despite Anderson's brilliant tenure at Cincinnati (four pennants and two World
Championships in nine years), the Reds released him after a second-place
finish in 1978. The Tigers hired him immediately, and he improved the club
steadily, guiding them to a World Championship in 1984.
     The garrulous Anderson is one of the most popular men in the game,
frequently broadcasting postseason games despite lamentable diction.
Nicknamed "Captain Hook" because of crisp yanking of struggling pitchers,
Anderson is highly respected for diligence, ready availability to the press,
and fairness and loyalty to his players. Through the 1993 season, Anderson
had accumulated notable career managerial records, ranking fifth in games
managed (3,771) and in career victories (2,081), for a .552 winning
percentage.
     The inimitable Earl Weaver is considered by many experts to be the top
manager of the last twenty years. Another ex-minor league infielder who never
made it to the majors, Weaver managed in the minors from 1956 through 1967,
then took over Baltimore in midseason 1968. He led the Orioles through 1982,
then stepped down voluntarily for the 1983-1984 campaigns. Summoned back as
the Orioles faltered in 1985, Weaver managed through the 1986 season before
retiring to Florida.
     Weaver ranks among the ten best managers statistically, with a .583
winning percentage. During his seventeen seasons, he won four pennants and
one World Championship, but was remarkably consistent, finishing out of the
first division only once.
     Weaver's style combined those of John McGraw and Casey Stengel. He was
the most frequently ejected manager of his era, with ninety-one ejections and
four suspensions. His explosive debates with umpires (many precipitated by
Weaver for his own strategic purposes) are unforgettable--the stocky little
manager cheek to cheek with the umpire, his cap turned around to prevent
contact, and his violent outbursts punctuated by vigorous hand slaps against
his ever-present rule book.
     The innovative Weaver set up an instruction plan in the early 1960s,
still used throughout the Orioles organization, permitting future stars to
move from the lowest farm club to the parent club with a minimum of
adjustment. Weaver made unprecedented use of charts and computers, although
he never abandoned his fundamental reliance upon three-run homers, a
relatively walk-free pitching staff, and a tight, well-disciplined defense.
     Weaver was a realist in recognizing players' capabilities and
limitations. Accordingly he used his entire roster to maximize player
strengths and minimize weaknesses, accomplishing this by extensive analysis of
scouting reports and past performances of players against individual
opponents. Weaver was the supreme strategist of his time.
     Dick Williams has been one of the most successful managers since the late
1960s. He was a journeyman outfielder-infielder, hitting .260 over his
injury-plagued thirteen-year playing career. After managing the Red Sox's
Triple A Toronto farm team in 1965-1966, Williams led the parent club to a
pennant in 1967. Released after failing to repeat in 1968-1969, Williams was
hired by Charles Finley to manage the Athletics in 1971.
     Williams won two straight pennants and World Championships in three
boisterous seasons in Oakland. He had an imposing aggregation of young
players, as well as the unpredictable--and unignorable--Finley as his boss.
Tiring of meddling, Williams quit after his second straight World Championship
in 1973. He managed California in 1974-1976, but with little success, then
managed the Montreal Expos from 1977 to 1981 without winning a pennant.
Williams piloted San Diego from 1982 to 1985, winning the 1984 flag. He left
the Padres before the 1986 season to take over the youthful Mariners for a
brief while.
     Especially effective with younger players, Williams ran a no-nonsense,
well-disciplined ship--no simple task in these times. He retired with 1,571
victories.
     Billy Martin was the most combative figure in the game from the time he
joined the Yankees as a twenty-two-year-old second baseman in 1950 until his
death in 1989. A fair fielder and an average hitter (.257 lifetime average)
who enhanced his value by his razor-sharp baseball instincts and
aggressiveness, Martin was best known for his many brawls with other players,
club officials, and miscellaneous bystanders. He attributed much of his
bellicosity to a rough childhood in Berkeley.
     Martin produced winning teams everywhere he managed, but off-field
troubles with owners and other incidents resulted in his string of firings and
resignations. He began managing at Denver in 1968 and in the majors with
Minnesota in 1969, where his club won the AL West. Fired "for ignoring Twins
policies," Martin was hired at Detroit in 1971. After a second-place finish,
he led the Tigers to the Eastern Division title in 1972. He left the Tigers
near the end of the 1973 season and finished out the season managing Texas.
Martin was fired by the Rangers on July 21, 1975, then took over as Yankees
manager on August 2, 1975. Hired by owner George Steinbrenner to restore the
Yankee former glory, Martin produced a pennant in 1976. Reggie Jackson joined
the Yankees in 1977, contributing to a World Championship in a tumultuous
season remembered for a highly publicized feud (and a nationally televised
dugout confrontation and near fight) between Jackson and Martin.
     In 1978 Steinbrenner fired Martin in midseason. Then, in a dramatic
announcement preceding the Yankees' Old Timers' Game in July 1978,
Steinbrenner promised to rehire Martin. Billy returned in 1979 but was fired
again in midseason because of an off-field incident. Martin managed Oakland
in 1980 and, with the last-place club of the previous year playing spirited
"Billy Ball," he lifted the Athletics to second place in 1980 and a division
title in 1981. The A's deteriorated in 1982 and Martin was dismissed at the
end of the season.
     In a familiar scenario, Martin returned to the Yankees in 1983 but was
replaced after finishing third. Incredibly he was rehired for a fourth time
in 1985, but replaced by Lou Piniella. He had a career percentage of .552,
five divisional championships, two pennants, and a World Championship.
     Martin served the Yankees in the broadcasting booth and other capacities
in 1986-1987. Then, as Steinbrenner's opinion of Piniella soured (while
others were recommending him as a candidate for Manager of the Year!), the by
now monotonous announcement came over the wires: Martin would manage the
Yankees again in 1988. The other shoe dropped in early summer, as Martin was
let go in favor of Piniella.
     Similar to his mentor Casey Stengel, Martin's success in large part
stemmed from his intense concentration on the game and his ability to motivate
players of average talent. However, unlike Stengel, Martin's greatest problem
was handling young players. He also had difficulties with established
players, especially stars such as Reggie Jackson and Don Baylor, who made no
bones of their intense dislike for Martin. He had tremendous success in
attaining immediate improvement in team performance. However, he tended to
wear out his welcome within a short time. He had a tendency to burn out
starting pitchers, particularly evident during his tenure at Oakland.

Managerial Styles

     As John McGraw--with simple directness--put it, "The idea [in managing]
is to win." No argument there, but it is interesting to consider the widely
different approaches major league managers have brought to the task.
     First, there are the autocrats, the "you'll do it my way or else" types.
Some prime examples are Cap Anson, John McGraw, Rogers Hornsby, Leo Durocher,
Charlie Dressen, Earl Weaver, Gene Mauch, Dick Williams, and Billy Martin.
     Cap Anson was a strong disciplinarian who did not allow his players to
smoke (apparently chewing tobacco was permitted) or to drink alcohol in a
notably heavy-drinking era. Anson was the largest player on his team and was
known to exert brute strength to carry out his edicts.
     McGraw was the most notorious autocrat of them all. He demanded that his
players submit to his will unconditionally. This included strict curfews and
long hours of sliding, fielding, hitting, and bunting practice. Christy
Mathewson told of games during which McGraw called every pitch: ". . . McGraw
. . . plans every move, most of the hitters going to the plate with definite
instructions from him as to what to try to do. In order to make this system
efficient, absolute discipline must be assured. If a player has other ideas
than McGraw, . . . the invariable answer to him is 'You do what I tell you,
and I'll take the responsibility if we lose.'"
     The success of the stifling McGraw approach continued as long as players
followed his orders without question. But Fred Lindstrom described its effect
on the club in McGraw's later years. Lindstrom said, "With the advent of
fellows like Bill Terry, Mel Ott, Carl Hubbell, Travis Jackson, and me, we
were a different breed. We didn't need someone hitting us over the head to
keep us in shape. In fact, we wouldn't take it--at least Terry and I
wouldn't. I don't think McGraw was able to adapt his methods of handling. . .
the more modern-style players. And after 1924 he never won another pennant."
     McGraw's postgame "meetings" were noted for their length (sometimes as
long as three hours) and for McGraw's vicious harangues. (Pete Reiser
reported that Leo Durocher, another absolute ruler, forbade his Brooklyn
Dodger players from taking off their uniforms after losing a game until the
Lippy One gave his permission.)
     Rogers Hornsby, a blunt, humorless man, was another imperious manager.
Hall of Famer Billy Herman, who joined the Chicago Cubs as a rookie at the end
of the 1931 season, later described Hornsby as follows:

     He ran the clubhouse like a gestapo camp. You couldn't smoke, drink a
     soft drink, eat a sandwich. Couldn't read a paper . . . no more kidding
     around, no joking, no laughing . . . It still burns me up just a little
     bit to remember some of his sarcastic remarks.

     Billy Martin acted like a Marine drill sergeant. Graig Nettles played
for Martin in 1968 at Denver. In his book Balls, Nettles reports that Martin
would scream from the dugout at an errant player as the player came in from
the field. Martin held his players in contempt, thought they had not
"scuffled around." Nettles concluded gamely that "on a Billy Martin team,
there is only one boss: Billy Martin. And if you do it his way, you'll win."
     Then there are the managers who downplay their own importance in
deference to their players. They have been likened to school guidance
counselors. Typical members of this group include Connie Mack, Wilbert
Robinson, Bill McKechnie, Miller Huggins, Bucky Harris, Eddie Sawyer, Walter
Alston, Danny Murtaugh, Ralph Houk, Tom Lasorda, and Sparky Anderson.
     Connie Mack was an unobtrusive figure who never upstaged his players. He
preferred not to wear a uniform and, therefore, was forbidden from stepping
onto the field. As a result, he did not project himself into the public eye
during a game. According to Jimmy Dykes, nothing ever seemed to bother Mack,
who was perfectly content to yield the spotlight to his players. He was the
same placid man sitting on the bench, whether his Athletics were in last or a
World Series. To Dykes' knowledge, Mack never fined a player, although he
was known to express his displeasure when a player violated the midnight
curfew without permission. The saintly Mack never used profanity; Dykes said
that if Mack used the word "damn," he was deeply disturbed.
     Eddie Sawyer was perfect for the pennant-winning 1950 Phillies "Whiz
Kids," a group of youngsters more in need of friendly encouragement and
understanding than of a domineering boss. The unassuming, fatherly Sawyer
made it a point to involve himself in the personal problems of his players.
He played his father-confessor role to the hilt during one season when nine of
his players were expectant fathers.
     John McGraw's old Orioles teammate, Wilbert Robinson, had a much more
relaxed approach to managing than the intense McGraw. His players loved
Robinson for his down-to-earth approach and his reluctance to exaggerate his
own considerable store of baseball knowledge.
     Walter Alston, a strong, silent man, had a simple philosophy. "Be your
own self. To me that's probably the most important part of it, more so than
the strategy part. If you know yourself, you'll know your players--how to
handle them, . . . which ones to pat on the back, which ones to give a kick in
the ass now and then . . . the winning of the ballgame and the good of the
team come first." With that simple credo, Alston lasted twenty-three seasons
as Dodgers' manager, the classic "faceless" manager whose records did the
talking for him.
     Then there's the "I'm just one of the boys" managing school. Some who
come readily to mind are Pie Traynor, Rabbit Maranville, Charlie Grimm, Yogi
Berra, Billy Herman, and Harvey Kuenn. Unfortunately, with some exceptions,
this group tends to be comprised of "nice guys" who have been known to finish
last.
     By his own admission, Billy Herman was not a good manager in his rookie
season as boss of the Pirates in 1946: "I could run the game as well as
anybody. But I was terrible with the men. I was too easy with them, letting
them have too much latitude. I was determined not to change, and that's
where I was wrong." The Pirates finished tied for last and Herman was fired.
     Yet there have been pleasant, relaxed "one of the boys" managers who have
done well. Laid-back Harvey Kuenn was the perfect leader for the
pennant-winning Milwaukee Brewers in 1982, and relaxed Joe Altobelli replaced
overwrought Earl Weaver in 1983 and led the Baltimore Orioles to the World
Championship. Charlie Grimm was one of the most successful of the easygoing
managers. "Jolly Cholly" replaced the forbidding Rogers Hornsby as manager of
the Chicago Cubs in midseason of 1932 and managed the Cubs to the pennant.
Grimm permitted his players to do things their own way, with no rules or
curfews. He ran the club on the field, but he was a happy-go-lucky man off
the field, singing and dancing in the clubhouse and playing his banjo after
the games.
     And then there was vest-pocket-sized Walter "Rabbit" Maranville, renowned
for basket catches and world-class carousing. Informed of his appointment to
manage the Cubs in midseason of 1925 while on a train with his teammates, the
well-oiled Rabbit celebrated by waking up all hands, shouting, "There will be
no sleeping on this train under Maranville management." Not surprisingly,
Maranville lasted only fifty-three games, with the Cubs resolutely on their
way to last.
     Pitcher-author Jim Brosnan has identified another category of managers
whose central goal is to weld players into tightly knit communities.
Adherents of this style tend to insist on conformity to team standards and to
unload troublemakers. Of the great managers, Brosnan lumps Joe McCarthy,
Casey Stengel, and Al Lopez in this category. Bill Terry and more recently
Tony LaRussa and Jim Leyland, among others, can also be included in this
group.
     Joe McCarthy's skills as a builder of unified teams, well developed
during his pre-New York Yankees managerial years, were honed during the
1931-1934 seasons, when he had to deal with a fractious, aging Babe Ruth. The
Bambino made no bones about his goal: he wanted to replace McCarthy without
even managing in the minor leagues (Ruth had turned down Colonel Ruppert's
offer of the managership of the Yankees' farm at Newark). McCarthy managed to
keep his club in the running, and the team from splitting pro- and anti-Ruth
factions, until the disillusioned Babe left after the 1934 season.
     McCarthy, a quiet disciplinarian, attained tight control by requiring
model behavior both on and off the field. He traded established regulars,
righthander Johnny Allen and outfielder Ben Chapman, whose hot tempers did not
fit the Yankee mold. McCarthy's demands that players dress formally led
baseball men to anticipate a confrontation between McCarthy and Ted Williams
when Marse Joe took over as Red Sox manager in 1948. Williams was the
embodiment of the nonconformist, as witness his refusal to wear a necktie.
The first morning of spring training, Williams appeared at breakfast with an
open-neck sport shirt. Said the surprisingly flexible Marse Joe, "Any manager
who can't get along with a .400 hitter is out of his mind."
     Bill Terry's New York Giants of the 1930s built their success on close
teamwork and a tight defense, as Terry scratched for runs in the best early
1900s style. He frequently had Mel Ott, the club's only authentic home run
threat, bunt runners along as early as the first inning of a game.
     Terry had little use for most writers, whom he referred to scornfully as
"a bunch of twenty-five-dollar-a-week clerks." Terry refused to talk with
them on his own time, and he discouraged his players from talking to writers,
probably feeling that these contacts could well break down the tight unity
among the Giant players.
     Whitey Herzog resembled Terry in mental toughness, the esprit de corps he
engendered in his players, and in his reliance on defensive strength to keep
competitive. Herzog's executive capacity and competence were also reminiscent
of Terry in that both served simultaneously and successfully as general field
manager. But unlike Memphis Bill, Whitey talked to the media willingly.
     Managing a ballclub is a crazy business, mainly because the human element
is so unpredictable. Many years ago, when Casey Stengel was managing in the
minors, he walked into a hotel lobby with a writer and saw his star pitcher
sprawled out fast asleep on a divan, mouth open and a silly, moronic look on
his face. "This is what drives managers nuts," Casey growled. "As a manager,
you work hard, analyze the game, study your players, learn the weaknesses of
every team in the league, and think and sweat all day long. And once every
four or five days you have to trust your job and reputation to a lunkhead like
that."

The Coaches

     The first coaches were managers and players assigned to direct traffic on
the base paths and to pass along signs, not the nonplaying, full-time coaches
as we know them today. Another primary function of the pre-1910 coaches was
to distract the opposing pitcher. This was frequently accomplished by running
up and down the baselines to divert his attention, a practice curtailed in
1887 with the establishment of coaching boxes in foul territory off first and
third bases.
     Many early-day coaches were especially adept at heckling pitchers to
reduce their effectiveness. Often this was a matter of screaming obscenities
or insults. Hall of Fame outfielder "King" Kelly, coaching at third base for
the Boston Beaneaters in the late 1880s, threw in a new variation. With
Boston and Pittsburgh tied in the ninth inning and two Beaneaters on base,
Kelly called authoritatively to the rookie Pittsburgh pitcher, "Let's see the
ball, son." The youngster obliged guilelessly, tossing the ball to Kelly.
Mike stepped aside to let it bounce past him, and the game-winning run scored.
     Arlie Latham was the first full-time coach. John McGraw hired Latham in
1909, presumably without any illusions that Latham would be a character
builder. Latham was a favorite of the more hardboiled fans, recognized as a
relentless heckler who could stir opponents' ire; not for nothing was he known
as "The Freshest Man Alive." A former infielder, he had been a troublemaker
to his managers during his seventeen-year major league career. Moreover,
Latham's private life was a disaster. His first wife had attempted suicide,
and his second wife divorced him, charging "perversion, assault, desertion,
and infidelity."
     In 1911 McGraw hired the majors' second full-time coach, Wilbert
Robinson. Uncle Robby was the first pitching coach, a man who aided the
entire pitching staff, but most particularly lefthander Rube Marquand, whom
Robinson converted from a "$11,000 lemon" to a Hall of Famer. The rotund,
jovial Robinson remained with the Giants until 1913, when he left the club
after a quarrel with McGraw.
     Nick Altrock, hired by the Washington's Clark Griffith, was the best
known coach over the next twenty years. A former pitcher, Altrock was a
competent coach, but his forte was as a clown. He was a master mimic,
imitating the mannerisms of players and umpires, throwing and catching
baseballs in impossible positions, and acting out elaborate shadow boxing
routines. In his later years he teamed with Al Schacht, the "Clown Prince of
Baseball," to entertain at a number of World Series. Altrock coached for the
Senators for forty years.
     Altrock was the only full-time nonplaying major league coach from 1914
until 1920, when the Giants hired Johnny Evers and the Phillies picked up
former lefthander Jesse Tannehill. By the end of the decade, most clubs
employed at least one nonplaying coach. Just before World War Two, each
employed at least one full-time coach, and there were a total of forty
coaches, an average of 2.5 per team.
     The number increased after World War Two as baseball became more complex
and increasing attendance and broadcasting revenues made it more feasible to
hire bigger staffs. Teams routinely employed at least three coaches, two for
the bases and one to oversee the bullpen. In addition, from the 1960s to the
present, almost all teams have had a full-time pitching coach. Many have
employed batting coaches, rotating them from the parent club to the
organization's farm teams.
     The third base coach is the quarterback of the team. He relays signs
from the manager, and he directs offensive strategy on the field. "Coaching
at third base," Al Simmons, the Hall of Famer who was one of the top third
base coaches, once remarked, "is the toughest job on the club. The coach on
third gets all the blame when things go wrong, and he gets none of the credit
when things go right. Yet a good coach can win a dozen or more games a
season. A bad coach can lose that many--except, he doesn't last that long."
     Two celebrated incidents involving third base coaches illustrate
Simmons' point. First there was Enos "Country" Slaughter's famous World
Series-winning score from first base in the 1946 fall classic. Slaughter
tallied on a routine hit to left center, which was generously scored as a
double. Enos, breaking into full stride even before the ball was hit, rounded
second and headed for third. Standing in the coaching box, in full view of
the charging Slaughter, stood Mike Gonzales. Mike raised both arms in the
classic "stop" gesture, all the time screaming, "No! No! No!" But Enos ignored
Gonzales. He rounded third and slid home with the winning run in one of the
most unforgettable plays of Series history. Technically the play should never
have been attempted. Gonzales was right, and Slaughter was wrong--except that
the determined Enos made it work.
     Then there was the Mike Ferraro incident. Ferraro was the hapless Yankee
third base coach who, in Game Two of the 1980 American League Championship
Series, waved home a Yankee runner on a two-out hit. The runner was thrown
out, and the Yankees lost to Kansas City, 3-2. George Steinbrenner, who had
been unhappy with Ferraro's coaching before the incident, precipitated an ugly
public argument with the late Dick Howser, the Yankees' manager. At
Steinbrenner's insistence, Ferraro coached at first base in 1981, constantly
bedeviled by taunts from the stands to "Send him home, Mike" when a batter
approached first base on a weak hit to the outfield.
     The first base coach has less burdensome duties. A runner traveling from
second to third cannot see what's happening behind him and has to use the
third base traffic cop as his eyes. But the hitter running toward first base
has the field spread out in front of him. The responsibility of going for the
extra base is his, not the coach's.
     The first base coach is responsible for helping the runner avoid a
pickoff play and, elementary as it may seem, being sure that the runner
touches first base en route to an extra-base hit.
     The bullpen coach gets the relief pitchers ready to enter the game and
sometimes recommends their selection to the manager. Ten minutes before
Thomson's historic home run, Dodger manager Charlie Dressen phoned bullpen
coach Clyde Sukeforth. "Who's got the best stuff out there, Sukey?" asked
Dressen. "[Ralph] Branca," replied Sukeforth. "[Carl] Erskine's bouncing 'em
in the dirt." So Dressen brought in Branca, and Thomson ended the game
dramatically. When Dressen attempted to place the blame for the defeat on
Sukeforth, the angry Sukey understandably quit. It was the manager's
decision, not the coach's, and there was no way that Dressen could escape that
basic truth.
     There have been many well-publicized pitching coaches. Jim Turner was
credited for much of the effectiveness of the Yankee pitching staff during the
1949-1959 period. Johnny Sain has been an independent minded, exemplary
pitching coach for six different teams over the last thirty years. Art
Fowler, Billy Martin's ever present alter ego in several major league jobs,
has long been accused of teaching Martin's pitchers to throw the spitball.
George Bamberger and Ray Miller were given much of the credit for the Orioles'
pitching excellence over the 1968-1985 period. And Roger Craig has been a
highly respected pitching mentor, largely responsible for widespread use of
the devastating split-fingered fastball.
     Batting coaches have come into vogue over the last twenty years. Wally
Moses, one of the first, was the hitting specialist for the Philadelphia
Athletics as early as 1952. The late Charlie Lau and Walter Hriniak, both
former catchers, have been the most celebrated batting coaches over the last
several years. Lau developed a revolutionary style of hitting which has
gained wide use throughout baseball--especially with star pupil George Brett
and other players Lau has coached. Interestingly, Lau hit a mere .255 over
his eleven-year career, and Hriniak hit .253 (without an extra-base hit) in 47
career games. These are two classic examples of "Do as I say, not as I do."
     Over the last forty years, there has been a noticeable improvement in the
quality of coaching. There was a time when most coaches were thought to be
old pensioners or drinking companions of the manager. Or maybe they were, as
Casey Stengel once commented, "relatives of the manager's wife." In contrast,
today's coaches are primarily teachers with established expertise in specific
areas.
     There was one circumstance where coaches had a touch of managing. After
the Chicago Cubs finished seventh (in an eight-team league) in 1960, owner
Philip K. Wrigley pondered how best to utilize his field supervisory team. He
hit upon a novel idea. In 1961 he launched a grand experiment, called the
"College of Coaches," in which a staff of coaches shared equally in managing,
coaching, and player development. Wrigley hired no less than eight coaches to
rotate as the supervisory "manager." The result: the player-poor Cubs
finished seventh again in 1961 and did not rise above that level during the
following four seasons while the unique arrangement remained in place.
Needless to say, there has been no interest since in rotating coaches in the
manager's job.