Terry Bevington seems far too cautious, too suspicious, not that either quality is fatal to a baseball manager. All that will ever matter to Bevington’s tenure as White Sox manager is whether the Sox win or whether the Sox lose.
“Maybe after we’ve won a couple of World Series, I can afford to have a sense of humor, but not now,” Bevington said.
There is nothing more indefensible than being accused of not having a sense of humor. Here is how the subject came up.
Bevington was into his third or fourth item that he says he will not talk about. He will not talk about last year. He will not talk about the Cleveland Indians, or any other team. He will not talk about players the Sox no longer have.
He will not talk about his fight with Milwaukee manager Phil Garner, other than to say he didn’t consider it much of a fight. He will not talk about failure or about success.
“That’s just the way I was raised,” he said. “Why look at the negatives? Why dwell on last year? Why not the year before, or the year before that? Those years are gone.
“I am just interested in what’s happening now. Even if we win it all, I would just put it out of my mind.”
So, I said, if the Sox win the Series, you won’t ask for a raise?
“What’s that,” Bevington asked, “some kind of joke?”
Well, as a matter of fact, yes. Apparently, not a good one.
My impression of Bevington is that he is an earnest and serious baseball man, dry and dull, a jug with a cork instead of a screw-top, hard to get inside.
He is aware that he is on the spot, aware that he was almost nobody’s choice but Ron Schueler’s to manage the Sox, and maybe not even his if circumstances had been different.
Bevington was nobody’s favorite and nobody’s protege. He happened to be standing in the third base coach’s box when opportunity crooked its finger and said, “You’ll do.”
Now he is a man with his foot in the major-league door, more of his body than he got in as a player. He is a man with a chance and he doesn’t want to screw it up.
“I understand the doubts,” he said. “What have I done? I know if I slip up, everyone will be on me.”
This has been true of every manager from Fielder Jones to the Lachemann brothers. I didn’t say Bevington was dumb, I said he was dull.
I told him that men with his credentials historically make better managers than do great players or even good players. Mediocrity makes a better managing resume. He agreed.
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“One just got into the Hall of Fame,” he said, meaning Earl Weaver.
Maybe Bevington will become Weaver, or Sparky Anderson, or maybe Buck Showalter or Tom Kelly, though I will say he needs to loosen up a bit to be either of the first two.
Maybe he’ll be Jim Essian. Maybe he won’t get through the month of May. The life of any Sox manager and Frank Thomas’ home run swing are on a tether.
The Sox have taken very little risk with Bevington, though a two-year contract is more faith than they usually show.
Bevington has a contending team, with one extraordinary player on it, and these are more assets than Tony La Russa had when he got here, or Jim Fregosi, certainly Jeff Torborg.
Nothing has to be built, only encouraged, and the pressure does narrow the gap for fun, reduces the reason for laughter.
Bevington said he still is not recognized around town. He says he can go into any fast-food restaurant without turning a single head.
“That’s because I smile when I’m in public,” Bevington said.
What was that, some kind of joke?
It’s a beginning.