Bill James Guide to Baseball Managers, The (37 page)

Willie Wilson never hit higher than .281 in the minor leagues. As a rookie, Herzog used him as a pinch runner/defensive sub, and he hit .217. So Herzog put him in the lineup every day, and he hit .315.

Herzog was fired, but Wilson hit .300 for several years following that, even won a batting championship. Then the Royals hired a batting coach, Lee May, who taught Willie to “drive” the ball. After that, Willie hit the ball much, much harder. The ball would hang in the air, the outfielder would catch it, and Wilson was a .260 hitter the rest of his career.

Herzog would never have stood for it. Herzog would have hit the problem dead-on within a matter of weeks, and gotten a resolution one way or another. The resolution might have been that Wilson would have to go. The resolution might have been that Wilson would go back to slapping singles. The resolution might have been that Lee May would resign. But one way or another, Herzog would have gotten something done.

Did He Use the Sac Bunt Often?
Below average in most seasons.

Did He Like to Use the Running Game?
More than any other manager in the last fifty years.

Did He Draw the Infield in Much?
More than I would have liked, as a Royals fan. That was one thing I always disliked about his managing, that he often had his teams try to make the almost-impossible play. Runners on first and second, bunt near the mound. Herzog would teach his pitchers that if you took time to look at third and see if there was a play there, you’d lost the play—therefore, if you think you can make the play, just grab the ball and fire to third.

He got burned by this play many times, because pitchers would throw to third and lose the out, thus setting up big innings. But it just wasn’t in his nature to do it the other way. Herzog hated complacency. He understood that complacency was anathema to competition—therefore, he couldn’t teach his players to play it safe, to take the sure out at first. He always taught his players to “go for it.”

In What Circumstances Would He Issue an Intentional Walk?
One of the countless controversies of Herzog’s career occurred in the wake of the 1985 National League Playoffs, when Tommy Lasorda chose not to intentionally walk Jack Clark with a young player, Andy Van Slyke, on deck. Clark homered. Massive second-guessing followed. Somebody asked Herzog what he we would have done, and Herzog told them. “If I have a choice to pitch to a guy making $2 million a year or a guy making $100,000 a year,” he said, “I always pitch to the guy making $100,000.”

Most of Herzog’s teams were above the league average in intentional walks. In 1985 he had issued 80 intentional walks, just missing the National League lead.

Did He Hit and Run Very Often?
Quite often. His teams were fast, and he had many “contact” hitters, so the hit and run was always a viable option.

Were There Any Unique or Idiosyncratic Strategies That He Particularly Favored?
He liked odd defenses. The Paul Richards trick, placing a pitcher in the field for one hitter, then putting him back on the mound—Herzog probably did that more times than any other manager in history.

Against Reggie Jackson, he’d use the Ted Williams shift. Against some right-handed sluggers, like Jim Rice, he would put three fielders on the left side of the infield. I’ve seen him use five infielders in a game situation; I’ve seen him use four outfielders. He was never afraid to try something.

How Did He Change the Game?
In the 1970s and early ’80s, when stolen base totals were booming, Whitey Herzog’s success was one of the chief engines pulling the game. In the last ten years stolen bases have declined—but stolen bases per game even now, after years of the home run revolution, are still much higher than they were between 1920 and 1975. Were it not for Whitey Herzog’s influence, I doubt that that would be true.

HANDLING THE PITCHING STAFF

Did He Like Power Pitchers, or Did He Prefer to Go with the People Who Put the Ball in Play?
His number-one pitcher was normally a power pitcher—Dennis Leonard in Kansas City, Joaquin Andujar in St. Louis. The rest of his staff was mostly composed of finesse pitchers, like Larry Gura in Kansas City and John Tudor in St. Louis.

Herzog, in all honesty, did not have great success in developing pitchers. Unable to hit a curveball himself, he liked young pitchers with big curveballs, like Greg Mathews and Dave LaPoint. These guys didn’t amount to much, and Herzog never played any real role in developing a Hall of Fame-type pitcher.

Did He Stay with His Starters, or Go to the Bullpen Quickly?
He used his bullpen. In a game situation, Herzog would switch constantly from left-handers to right-handers and back to left-handers, in a way that was unusual twenty years ago.

Did He Use a Four-Man Rotation?
Strictly a four-man rotation for most of his career, yes, with a fifth starter making 15 to 20 starts a year to take the pressure off the front four. Herzog normally had at least one starter pitching 260 or more innings. In this respect, he was very different from Casey Stengel.

Did He Use the Entire Staff, or Did He Try to Get Five or Six People to Do Most of the Work?
Herzog wanted to get, and normally did get, about 900 innings a year from four pitchers. Once he got into the bullpen, though, everybody was in the game.

How Long Would He Stay with a Starting Pitcher Who Was Struggling?
It would depend on the pitcher.

What Was His Strongest Point As a Manager?
Attitude. Aggressiveness. Directness.

Whitey Herzog would not strike you as a sophisticated man. He was plainspoken, a little overweight, red face, red nose, a mop of hair falling down over his forehead, eyes blinking constantly. Frumpish.

You could see him, if you chose, as crude—and, in fact, he
was
often crude. You could see him, if you chose, as down-to-earth, honest, straightforward, and guileless. You could see him as a man who understood sophistication and saw right through it.

Whitey Herzog’s career was a long series of controversies, battles. Poorly chosen words. He spoke frankly. People would ask him what he thought, and he would tell them, and very often people hated him for that. Tick off the names—John Mayberry, Charlie Lau, Muriel Kaufmann, Garry Templeton, Ted Simmons, Keith Hernandez. Whitey had a serious run-in with each of these people, and in every case it meant that somebody had to get out of town. John Mayberry was a big hero in Kansas City. Whitey didn’t care. Charlie Lau was the biggest name in coaching at the time. Whitey fired him. Ted Simmons was virtually an institution in St. Louis, a pillar of the community. Bigger than the ball club. Whitey asked him to play first base, for the good of the team. Simmons said he’d think about it. Whitey told him he could think about it in Milwaukee.

Garry Templeton was supposed to be a superstar, the best young shortstop St. Louis had seen since Rogers Hornsby. Whitey said, “I can’t win a pennant with that boy playing shortstop. If we’re in Cincinnati he doesn’t want to play ’cause it’s too hot. If we’re in Montreal he doesn’t want to play ’cause it’s too cold. I’ve got to have a shortstop I can count on.”

Later, when Keith Hernandez was the toast of New York, somebody asked Whitey why he had traded away this pearl of western civilization. Whitey told him. Went over like a lead balloon in New York, but he didn’t back away, and he didn’t he.

See, Whitey understood something, which is that
sports are essentially conflict.
A manager who backs away from conflict is useless. A player who backs away from conflict is useless.

This directness, this willingness to do battle, enabled him to establish expectations for his players. Everybody had a weight limit. Everybody was expected to report to camp in shape.

Herzog had worked for several years in scouting and player development, and he was very, very good at it. He made his own decisions about who could play and who couldn’t. This is extremely unusual. Few people in baseball are willing to look at a young man who hasn’t yet played in the majors and who doesn’t have the “hot prospect” label, and say, “Here’s a guy who can play for me.” Herzog was never dependent on established stars, because he was always willing to rest his fate on young, unproven players.

Whitey was the boldest man in baseball. He looked for an attitude, a willingness to get it done. When a player lost that edge, that fearlessness, that love of risk, he lost his value, and then his manager had a problem. If the manager faced that problem head-on, there would be conflict. If he didn’t, there would be mediocrity.

If There Was No Professional Baseball, What Would He Probably Have Done with His Life?
County sheriff.

Year of Birth:
1927

Years Managed:
1977–1996

Record As a Manager:
1,599–1,439, .526

Managers for Whom He Played:
In the majors, Lasorda played for Walt Alston (Brooklyn, 1954–1955) and Lou Boudreau (Kansas City, 1956). In the minors, he played four years for Alston (1950–1953), and also played five seasons for Clay Bryant (1949, 1957–1960). His first minor league manager, with Concord (North Carolina State League) in 1945, was John (Pappy) Lehman. He also played for Ralph Houk at Denver in 1956.

Others by Whom He Was Influenced:
When he was in the army, 1946–1947, he worked with Bobby Bragan, and he and Bragan got along well. He also attended Dodger training camps for several years when Branch Rickey was running the camps. All of the members of the Dodger system from that era are, in essence, Branch Rickey disciples.

Characteristics As a Player:
A small left-hander with a big curve, very poor control. Aggressive, cocky. Prone to get into fights. He was 0–4 with a 6.52 ERA in the major leagues, but had many good seasons with Montreal in the International League, where he won 107 games.

WHAT HE BROUGHT TO A BALL CLUB

Was He an Intense Manager or More of an Easy-to-Get-Along-With Type?
Intense. A
positive
intense, perhaps, but not, by nature, easy to get along with.

Was He More of an Emotional Leader or a Decision Maker?
An emotional leader.

Was He More of an Optimist or More of a Problem Solver?
More of an optimist. I guess you could describe him as an impatient optimist.

HOW HE USED HIS PERSONNEL

Did He Favor a Set Lineup or a Rotation System?
A set lineup.

Did He Like to Platoon?
No.

Did He Try to Solve His Problems with Proven Players or with Youngsters Who Still May Have Had Something to Learn?
Primarily with young players. However, the Dodgers would occasionally go after a talented player who had struggled for some other team, more so under Lasorda than Alston.

How Many Players Did He Make Regulars Who Had Not Been Regulars Before, and Who Were They?
Many. Lasorda managed nine Rookies of the Year—Rick Sutcliffe, Steve Howe, Fernando Valenzuela, Steve Sax, Eric Karros, Mike Piazza, Raul Mondesi, Hideo Nomo, and Todd Hollandsworth. I doubt that any other manager managed half as many award-winning rookies. Among other players broken in by Lasorda: Pedro Guerrero, Greg Brock, Mike Marshall the outfielder, Jose Offerman, Mike Scioscia, Orel Hershiser, Tim Belcher, Ramon Martinez, Alejandro Pena, Mariano Duncan, Bob Welch, Dave Stewart, Chan Ho Park, and John Wetteland.

Did He Prefer to Go with Good Offensive Players or Did He Like the Glove Men?
The Dodger defenses during much of Lasorda’s tenure were notorious. They led the league in errors six times under Lasorda, and when they didn’t lead they were close to the lead. Among the more notable fiascos: Jose Offerman at shortstop, Pedro Guerrero’s long war with third base, and Steve Sax, his second baseman, developing a mental block about throwing the ball to first base.

In fairness to Lasorda, there is reason to believe that Lasorda, left to his own devices, would never have played Offerman at shortstop or Guerrero at third. The Dodgers sometimes make those decisions in the front office and tell the manager to live with them. But if Lasorda gets credit for the talent which came out of the Dodger farm system in the years he managed, he is equally responsible for the periodic failures to effectively deploy that talent.

Did He Like an Offense Based on Power, Speed, or High Averages?
Dodger Stadium won’t sustain an offense based on high averages. The Dodgers have to work with power and speed.

Did He Use the Entire Roster or Did He Keep People Sitting on the Bench?
He had regulars and bench players. His players rarely moved from one class to the other.

Did He Build His Bench Around Young Players Who Could Step into the Breach If Need Be, or Around Veteran Role-Players Who Had Their Own Functions Within a Game?
Eighty percent veterans. His 1981 bench, when he won the World Championship, featured two thirty-five-year-old left-handed hitting outfielders (Jay Johnstone and Rick Monday), a thirty-two-year-old backup catcher (Steve Yeager), a thirty-six-year-old pinch hitter (Reggie Smith), a thirty-year-old utilityman (Derrel Thomas), and a thirty-two-year-old backup infielder (Pepe Frias), with no significant roles for anyone under the age of thirty.

His 1985 bench did include a young Candy Maldonado, but also included a thirty-two-year-old left-handed hitting outfielder (Terry Whitfield), two thirty-six-year-old backup infielders (Bill Russell and Enos Cabell), a thirty-three-year-old infielder (Bob Bailor), and a thirty-eight-year-old pinch hitter (Al Oliver), plus Steve Yeager and Jay Johnstone, still hanging around. His last Dodger team had a bench including Tim Wallach, Wayne Kirby, and Tom Prince.

GAME MANAGING AND USE OF STRATEGIES

Did He Go for the Big-Inning Offense, or Did He Like to Use the One-Run Strategies?
He used one-run strategies quite frequently.

Did He Pinch-Hit Much, and If So, When?
He used an above-average number of pinch hitters. Many of his teams had at least one regular who didn’t hit much, like Steve Yeager. His 1988 team, which also won the World Championship, had four regulars or quasi-regulars who didn’t hit—Franklin Stubbs (.223), Alfredo Griffin (.199), Jeff Hamilton (.236), and Mike Davis (.196). He pinch-hit with Danny Heep, Mickey Hatcher, Tracy Woodson, Mike Devereaux, and Mike Sharperson, and was able to pull the team along.

Was There Anything Unusual About His Lineup Selection?
Two things—the stretching of the defense, discussed above, and the unusual stability of the lineup. His first team, of course, kept their infield intact for many years. Even after that the Dodgers, because they make committee decisions about who plays what position, will sometimes stick with a player longer than any other organization likely would. Franklin Stubbs is a good example. The Dodgers kept playing him from 1984 to 1989 because they were apparently convinced that he would eventually hit. It took them five years to decide that Jose Offerman was really going to keep making 35 errors a year, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Did He Use the Sac Bunt Often?
Yes.

Did He Like to Use the Running Game?
Yes.

In What Circumstances Would He Issue an Intentional Walk?
To avoid a big hitter and get the platoon advantage, obviously, but also Lasorda would frequently walk the number-eight hitter to force the pitcher to the plate.

Did He Hit and Run Very Often?
Yes.

Were There Any Unique or Idiosyncratic Strategies That He Particularly Favored?
Not that I know of.

How Did He Change the Game?
I don’t know. If you’re a Dodger fan and you know the answer to this question, I’d be interested to hear about it.

HANDLING THE PITCHING STAFF

Did He Like Power Pitchers, or Did He Prefer to Go with the People Who Put the Ball in Play?
Power pitchers, but not as much as Alston. Lasorda had his share of power pitchers (Bob Welch, Hideo Nomo, Chan Ho Park, Rick Sutcliffe, Tom Niedenfuer, Ramon Martinez, Ismael Valdes, Fernando Valenzuela), but he also developed and/or worked with a good number of the other kind, including Orel Hershiser, Tommy John, Jerry Reuss, and Tom Candiotti.

Did He Stay with His Starters, or Go to the Bullpen Quickly?
He was always inclined to go with his starting pitchers, even at the beginning of his career. He adjusted toward using more relievers as the game moved in that direction, but he was always behind the league, always going further with his starters than were most other managers. Eight of his teams led the league in complete games.

Did He Use a Four-Man Rotation?
No. The Dodgers moved to a five-man rotation before he took over the team.

Did He Use the Entire Staff, or Did He Try to Get Five or Six People to Do Most of the Work?
He relied heavily on his top pitchers.

How Long Would He Stay with a Starting Pitcher Who Was Struggling?
Longer than most managers.

Was There Anything Unique About His Handling of His Pitchers?
His staffs were always balanced, almost what one could see as “computer balanced” or “balanced on paper.” He always had a couple of hard-throwers, a finesse pitcher and a sinker-ball specialist or a knuckleballer, one or two young pitchers, and one or two veterans. Until the 1990s he always had a mix of right-handed and left-handed starting pitchers. The famous “United Nations starting rotation” that he had at the end of his career is a fitting image for him, although it is an aberration in that he had no left-handed starter.

What Was His Strongest Point As a Manager?
Lasorda is, by nature, a tough, aggressive, confrontational person, a street fighter. To avoid coming off as a vulgar martinet, he developed this warm, affectionate, hyper-positive persona, this give-me-a-hug-now, rah-rah, bleed-Dodger-blue gimmick, which eventually consumed his public image.

It is common for college coaches to do this kind of stuff. College coaches will often hug their players, tell them that they love them, and stress the importance of genuinely
caring
about one another within the team, turning the team into a family. It isn’t common for a professional manager to attempt this, at least with the same intensity. Sure, managers will talk about the team as a family, and managers will talk about the importance of watching out for your teammates. All managers will talk about taking pride in the uniform. It goes on Page Three. Lasorda put it on Page One and put a banner over it. Lasorda made a ritual of forced enthusiasm and open displays of affection.

Much of this Hollywood affection no doubt seemed as superficial to members of the team as it did to a large segment of the public—yet it had an undeniable effect. It created and/or sustained a definite image for the Dodger organization, in a time when most of the other teams, even including the Yankees, were drifting toward a fuzzy sameness, a lack of clear identity due to the constant shuffling of personnel. “You wear the uniform of the Rangers or the Padres or the Indians,” said one player, “you
join
the Dodgers. You’re a part of something. You know it from the moment Tommy gives you his first hug.”

If There Was No Professional Baseball, What Would He Probably Have Done with His Life?
He’d have tried different things until something clicked. He’d have had a few prizefights, tried his hand at promoting fights, and maybe gone on to become Angelo Dundee. If that hadn’t worked, he’d have gone to Hollywood, maybe wound up as a Norman Lear-type behind-the-scenes power. If that didn’t work, he might have become a New Age television guru, a titan of late-night television, hawking kitchen utensils specially designed to improve your karma. One way or another, he was going to make a million dollars a year.

W
HITEY
H
ERZOG’S
All-Star Team

T
OMMY
L
ASORDA’S
All-Star Team