The shelf life for a White Sox manager, in the last decade, has been 2 1/2 years. So club Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf was asked how long Jerry Manuel would be around?
“I’m like Elizabeth Taylor,” Reinsdorf replied. “Everyone I marry I think he’s going to be the last one.”
Manuel isn’t a household name, whatever that means, but this isn’t sufficient reason to put the knock on him. He has been in professional baseball for the last 25 years, mostly in the minor leagues.
He was an obscure infielder and appeared in only 96 major-league games, posting a .150 career average in 127 at-bats with three home runs, 13 runs batted in. These are underwhelming stats. He managed less than two years in the minors and last season was Jim Leyland’s bench coach with the world champion Florida Marlins.
Not many Sox fans know who he is, and for that matter, Reinsdorf didn’t know who he was until Tuesday.
Sox General Manager Ron Schueler had called Reinsdorf at his winter home in Scottsdale, Ariz., the day before Thanksgiving to tell him he had found his man.
“I asked Schueler who he was,” Reinsdorf said Thursday night. “He wouldn’t tell me. All he said was, `If someone rings your bell and there’s a guy at the door, interview him.’ “
Finally, at midmorning Tuesday, Schueler told him Jerry Manuel was en route to Phoenix. They met at 1 p.m., talked for three hours, broke up and met again for a 3-hour dinner at Steamers, an eatery in the Biltmore Shopping Center. For those interested in minutiae, Reinsdorf had grilled salmon. Manuel had a double order of crab cakes.
Before their dinner, Reinsdorf reached Schueler on his portable phone. Schueler was on his way to the United Center to watch some Great Eight college basketball games.
Reinsdorf told Schueler he had met with Manuel, and it wasn’t necessary to see him again. It would be a waste of time.
“I could hear Schueler’s heart drop to his stomach,” Reinsdorf said. “I was teasing him. Then I said, the guy’s terrific. I don’t need to spend any more time with him.”
When they departed, Reinsdorf didn’t tell Manuel he was hired. It was up to Schueler. He would contact him.
What convinced Reinsdorf that Manuel was made of the right stuff?
“What I liked,” Reinsdorf said, “is that he has extensive knowledge of baseball and how the game should be played. He’s very organized. He laid out his plans for spring training, what’s going to happen every day then and during the regular season.
“I asked him some trick questions, the kind of questions only knowledgeable baseball people could answer. His answers were perfect. He is very articulate. I can tell he can handle the players, also the media. He’s not afraid of the press.”
There was something else that appealed to the chairman.
“He has been married to the same woman for (more than 20) years. He’s a great family man. And he doesn’t drink or smoke or chew tobacco, and he likes the smell of a good cigar.
How did he make these discoveries?
“I offered him a cigar. He turned it down but said, `You go ahead. I like the smell of a good cigar.’ “
Wonderful virtues, indeed, but Manuel’s appointment isn’t likely to cause a stampede at the box office. Also, will he able to handle Albert Belle?
Reinsdorf insisted he wasn’t concerned.
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“He’ll sell tickets when the fans see his style of play,” Reinsdorf said. “He impressed me as a man who will demand respect. That’s the big thing. He and Albert will get along fine. Manuel will talk to each player every day, and he’ll be honest and consistent with them.”
Still, Reinsdorf admitted, “The one thing you never know about a manager is how he’s going to handle the pitching staff. You don’t know that until he does it.”
Manuel isn’t the first no-name manager to surface in the big leagues. Moreover, many have risen from obscurity and have had outstanding careers. Sparky Anderson, unknown at the time of his appointment, became the only manager to manage World Series winners in both the National and American leagues. There are dozens of others, including Leyland, Tony La Russa and Tom Lasorda and Walter Alston of the Los Angeles Dodgers, the last two of whom are enshrined in the Hall of Fame.
What is particularly interesting is that, in essence, it was Schueler’s call, not Reinsdorf’s. From the beginning of the lengthy search, Reinsdorf told Schueler he didn’t want to know the identity of the candidates until the field had narrowed to three or four.
The hunt over, Schueler admitted the monkey was off his back.
“Now,” he said, “we start rebuilding the club.”