Column: Old baseball hands to match wits in Series
Topics: From the Wires, Entertainment News
San Francisco Giants manager Bruce Bochy watches over a voluntary workout in preparation for Sunday's Game 6 of the National League championship baseball series against the St. Louis Cardinals, Saturday, Oct. 20, 2012, in San Francisco. (AP Photo/Ben Margot)(Credit: AP)The longer it goes, the messier this World Series is likely to get.
Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing.
Detroit skipper Jim Leyland smokes cigarettes to relieve tension, though a Michigan state law passed more than two years ago bans him from doing so inside the Tigers’ home, Comerica Park. So opening the series in San Francisco might actually be a little easier on his nerves, provided he figures out a way to sneak the occasional smoke in the visiting dugout hallway or somewhere else at AT&T Park. Otherwise, he’s likely to chew through a lot of nails.
Meanwhile, the go-to stress reliever for his Giants’ counterpart, Bruce Bochy, is dip. He usually puts the tins away once the day-to-day pressure of the season eases. But as soon as his ballclub hits a bad stretch or stumbles on a tough road trip early the following spring, Bochy reaches for the dip again. So imagine how many plugs of chew the strain of the postseason is going to mean.
“The triggers for me are at the ballpark,” Bochy said recently. “The last five years I quit during the winter. I made it deep into spring training this year.”
A weakness for tobacco isn’t the only thing the two have in common, of course. They might do some damage to Major League Baseball’s campaign to clean up the sport as far as tobacco is concerned — dip is already banned in the minors and Congress is pushing to halt its use in big league games, too — but the suits in charge would be hard-pressed to find two managers whose crusty demeanors honor the game’s traditions much better.
Leyland, 67, is a baseball lifer who signed with the Tigers organization as an 18-year-old catcher in 1963 and went on to hit a scintillating career .222 in the minors. He endured eating in truck stops and being stranded on two-lane highways alongside buses with flat tires at 4 o’clock in the morning — all without complaint. But eventually, he realized his only chance to stay in the game was on the bench. Close pal Tony La Russa gave Leyland a hand up by giving him the third-base coaching job in Chicago, where La Russa began building his reputation as a baseball genius.
Leyland’s ascension took longer and involved more detours. But back when both men were making names for themselves managing in the dungeon of Double-A ball, it was La Russa who was throwing around compliments at his friend like confetti. And when then-White Sox general manager Roland Hemond quizzed his newly minted manager about hiring coaches, there was only one name on the list.



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