Scott Ostler of the San Francisco Chronicle has a wonderful column up about an all but extinct species: the volcanic, red-ass manager. The guys who barked at the press and the players and smoked and grunted and did all of those wonderful/awful things. Guys like Gene Mauch and Jim Fregosi and Ralph Houk and Billy Martin. Ostler shares some stories about these guys from his 30+ years on the beat:
Mauch could flip a spread. A few years earlier he had flung a platter of barbecued spareribs after a game, splattering a row of lockers and decorating the dress suits of several players. The Jackson Pollock of managers.
Stuff like that.
Ostler is right that the culture has changed. And it makes sense. Managers are now smoother. CEO-types. Or, more often, delegates of the front office as opposed to generals or, in Houk’s case, majors. Frankly, that’s what their job demands and how most of us, if we ran a team, would want our managers to behave.
But boy, it’s way less fun for those of us not directly in their line of fire.