The Tigers’ and Reds’ Sparky Anderson, a legendary manager.

Perspective goes a long way in baseball

YOU CAN SEE A WHOLE LOT OF SPARKY
IN BALTIMORE’S BUCK SHOWALTER
 
By David Maril
 
Tiger Stadium is long gone, and the soothing, eloquent southern tones of the late Ernie Harwell, Detroit’s Hall of Fame play-by-play voice, have been missing from the city for years.

Still, every time I watch the Orioles play in Detroit, even at their new stadium, those simple, traditional baseball uniforms make me think of Sparky Anderson, the great manager who spent a good chunk of his journey on the road to enshrinement in Cooperstown, in the Motor City.

The start of every baseball season means optimism and a fresh slate.

Anderson, who died in 2010 at the age of 76, epitomized resiliency, looking on the bright side, and always positive about coming back the next day and trying to do things right, to win no matter what had happened the game before.

He was a tough competitor, had a temper and experienced more than his share of harsh arguments over the years.

He managed some great players, including Johnny Bench and the controversial Pete Rose, and had an impressive postseason record in the playoffs and World Series.

Anderson, in short, was one of the biggest celebrity managers, ranking up there with Earl Weaver, Tommy Lasorda, Tony La Russa, Billy Martin, Dick Williams, Casey Stengel, and Jim Leyland, instantly recognized whenever he’d walk down the street.

But the thing that always impressed me the most was the sense of perspective that he maintained throughout his professional life as a superstar manager.

En route to winning 2,194 games as a manager and capturing three World Championships, he never lost his appreciation for what is really important. Perhaps his struggle as a player in the minor leagues was a big reason he never took wealth and celebrity status for granted.

‘After a very frustrating loss… in the midst of a losing streak… Anderson seemed deep in thought….  [As the press] waited for an explosion…, [his] eyes opened wide and his face hardened….’

One scene I’ll never forget occurred after a very frustrating loss: The Tigers were in the midst of a losing streak and had just dropped a tough game in Boston.

Anderson was approached by a cautious media group for post-game quotes. Sitting behind his desk in the visiting manager’s office, he seemed deep in thought.

He kept staring at a paper plate of lasagna on his desk, as if the answer to his team’s slump could be uncovered by a plastic fork.

After an awkward silence of over a minute, one scribe asked him, rather timidly, if he thought his team was starting to feel pressure.

Anderson’s eyes opened wide and his face hardened. Then, as everyone waited for an explosion, he smiled.

“Do you really want to know pressure?” he asked. Pointing out to the locker room, he added, “Do you think those guys are feeling real pressure?

“Look at them out there, enjoying their free post-game meal of steak and lobster. These guys don’t know anything about real pressure.

“Pressure is a family waiting until the paycheck comes and struggling to pay a monthly mortgage and making ends meet to buy groceries. Pressure is being unemployed and trying to raise a family.

“Our  guys are well-paid to play baseball and have everything done for them first class. Sure, we’ve lost a few games, but that’s not pressure. That doesn’t even come close to the pressures most people in the real world face every day.

“All of us in Major League Baseball are the fortunate ones,” he added. “We are not dealing with real pressure here.”

Throughout his career, it was easy for some to mock Anderson’s  optimism, friendliness and enthusiasm. I don’t think he ever saw a young player on his teams he didn’t rave about.

Then-Cincinnati Manager Sparky Anderson, center, with his 1975/1976 World Champion ‘Big Red Machine.’  Left to right: Tony Pérez, Johnny Bench, Anderson, Joe Morgan, Pete Rose.

Some hardened baseball observers made fun of his exaggerations and his unconventional syntax. Still, he was a succinct and skilled enough baseball analyst to be picked several times to do radio network commentary on the World Series, working alongside the great Vin Scully.

While he was a diplomat when discussing individual players, he was honest and outspoken about how he thought the game should be played.

I’ll never forget one time when he was managing the Tigers and I was sitting in his spring training office in Lakeland, Fla., he went into an interesting discussion of selfish players who were fooling the public.

“When you see a player come up in the ninth inning with his team down by two runs with nobody on base and he swings at the first pitch, he’s a selfish player,” Anderson said.

“I don’t care if he hits the ball out of the park; he’s not fooling me. With his team down by two runs, his responsibility is to get on base and he should take a pitch until he gets a strike.

I call that type of a ‘hero,’ who looks for congratulations when he circles the bases, a ‘thief in the night.’”

Anderson was also a man of ethics.

The season baseball owners began the move to use replacement players while big leaguers were on strike, he was the only manager to walk away from the job and sit out until the labor differences were settled. He said it was an insult to the fans and Major League Baseball to play games and charge major league prices for an inferior level of play.

No doubt Anderson would have had a lot to say today on the subject of attitudes and misguided, materialistic values.

Despite all of his success and the accolades tossed his way, he never lost his perspective.

There’s a lot of Sparky Anderson in the Baltimore Orioles’ Buck Showalter.

Often when I listen to Orioles’ manager Buck Showalter put a tough loss in perspective or offer some reflections on an inside aspect of baseball, it reminds me of Sparky Anderson.

And that’s a pretty good thing.
 
davidmaril@hermanmaril.com
 
“Inside Pitch” is a weekly opinion column written for Voice of Baltimore by David Maril.
 
EDITOR’S NOTE:

Ernie Harwell, who died four years ago, was the Detroit Tigers’ announcer from 1960-1991 and again from 1993-2002. From 1954-1959 he was the voice of the Orioles.

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