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By Sheldon Ocker
Beacon Journal sports writer
POSTED: 07:18 p.m. EDT, Jul 04, 2009
All you need is a tape recorder and a radio station. Baseball teams have access to both, so why wouldn't they allow the manager's question-and-answer period with the media to be broadcast on a postgame show?
Because these sessions with the press often create a perception that the manager is a bloodless robot, who does nothing but make excuses and give inane or evasive answers to sometimes dimwitted questions.
For their own well-being, managers ought to refuse to take part in this practice, but they probably don't realize the harm it does to their already-fragile standing among the sporting public.
I'm not just talking about Eric Wedge, who is under the gun because the Indians can't lose games fast enough. Even popular managers like Mike Hargrove endured a love-hate relationship with a vast block of fans, who automatically blamed him for anything that went wrong with the Tribe.
The on-air postgame news conference helps contribute to the notion that the manager doesn't know (or sometimes care) what he's doing and lacks the emotional commitment to his team.
Most fans seem to think that managers should maintain a fiery disposition 24/7 and be ready to go to war with anyone who challenges their view of a game or a play. That perception probably comes from watching managers kick dirt and spit profanities in the faces of umpires, who are trying to snatch the food right off the table as the little woman and the kids are eating.
Twenty-five years ago, things were different. Radio stations did not send people to hold tape recorders in front of a manager's lips, and TV sports directors hadn't thought of showing up with a camera crew after a game.
Managers were more confrontational with sportswriters, especially when a dumb question or a challenge to the skipper's judgment was broached. Many managers had little use for those in the electronic media. I recall a game in which Indians skipper John McNamara announced, ''I'm going to do the media [sportswriters] first, then I'll get to the other guys.''
Those days are long gone. Partly because of television cameras intruding into the dugout and partly because the culture has changed, managers now are taught to be poker-faced and gesture free during games and almost painfully polite to the most clueless of reporters afterward.
The idea, I suppose, is to never let them see you sweat, never display your anger or your disappointment. But that doesn't play well on the radio after a double-digit loss in which the ace of the staff lasted two innings, the cleanup hitter struck out four times and the star shortstop made three errors.
Listeners are waiting for the manager to rip into his players, not only with a set of descriptive phrases but with the fury of a man determined to stop the malfeasance in its tracks. But that is not what you are likely to hear from a 21st-century manager (Ozzie Guillen and maybe Lou Piniella excepted).
Keeping up facade
The modern skipper is no less calm, detached and reasonable after a horrific loss than after a win. His tone never changes; his voice never rises or falls; he might criticize a group of players but seldom will he single out an individual. It's all kind of bland and artificial. And that's what it's supposed to be.
Managers don't want to let the media or the public inside their heads or show them their emotions. Before reporters troop into the skipper's office, he might take a bat to the drywall or dent his metal desk with an angry kick. But by the time he faces the press, he will have covered up the damage and transformed himself into a model of restraint.
What comes across on the radio is a man who sounds like he doesn't care or, at the very least, has no personal stake in what has just transpired on the field. Wedge demonstrates all of these characteristics, none of which illustrates his true nature.
Why do fans think he lacks intensity and imparts little passion to his players? Because they listen to his postgame sessions with the press.
And he is even worse when the team wins, especially if victory has been accomplished in dramatic fashion or has been unusually convincing. He becomes overly reluctant to praise his players or to put much stock in a single game.
If you didn't know the score, you would swear the team has lost by the way he has disengaged his personality from events on the field. And the more the team wins, the less enthusiasm Wedge imparts to the media.
Reasons for behavior
Why is he so reluctant to express any emotion, win or lose? Because of his overriding belief that players, coaches and managers must not get too high when life on the diamond is good or too low when it's not. Even keel is an expression to live by, and the media might as well get used to it.
Overreacting to transitory events over a long season is one of the worst things a player or manager can do. Wedge, like all managers, knows this. It is a truism of baseball, no less than three strikes and you're out.
But when he exhibits this passive attitude in front of a microphone, he looks more like a disinterested observer who accidentally was given a uniform and a lineup card rather than the man in charge of the team.
When fans hear this stuff on the radio, they should understand that the guy answering the questions is faking it, to one degree or another. This is not a real person to whom they are listening. To know the genuine Mike Hargrove or the genuine Eric Wedge, they would have to sneak into the manager's office before the media get there. And that's not going to happen.
All you need is a tape recorder and a radio station. Baseball teams have access to both, so why wouldn't they allow the manager's question-and-answer period with the media to be broadcast on a postgame show?
Because these sessions with the press often create a perception that the manager is a bloodless robot, who does nothing but make excuses and give inane or evasive answers to sometimes dimwitted questions.
For their own well-being, managers ought to refuse to take part in this practice, but they probably don't realize the harm it does to their already-fragile standing among the sporting public.
I'm not just talking about Eric Wedge, who is under the gun because the Indians can't lose games fast enough. Even popular managers like Mike Hargrove endured a love-hate relationship with a vast block of fans, who automatically blamed him for anything that went wrong with the Tribe.
The on-air postgame news conference helps contribute to the notion that the manager doesn't know (or sometimes care) what he's doing and lacks the emotional commitment to his team.
Most fans seem to think that managers should maintain a fiery disposition 24/7 and be ready to go to war with anyone who challenges their view of a game or a play. That perception probably comes from watching managers kick dirt and spit profanities in the faces of umpires, who are trying to snatch the food right off the table as the little woman and the kids are eating.
Twenty-five years ago, things were different. Radio stations did not send people to hold tape recorders in front of a manager's lips, and TV sports directors hadn't thought of showing up with a camera crew after a game.
Managers were more confrontational with sportswriters, especially when a dumb question or a challenge to the skipper's judgment was broached. Many managers had little use for those in the electronic media. I recall a game in which Indians skipper John McNamara announced, ''I'm going to do the media [sportswriters] first, then I'll get to the other guys.''
Those days are long gone. Partly because of television cameras intruding into the dugout and partly because the culture has changed, managers now are taught to be poker-faced and gesture free during games and almost painfully polite to the most clueless of reporters afterward.
The idea, I suppose, is to never let them see you sweat, never display your anger or your disappointment. But that doesn't play well on the radio after a double-digit loss in which the ace of the staff lasted two innings, the cleanup hitter struck out four times and the star shortstop made three errors.
Listeners are waiting for the manager to rip into his players, not only with a set of descriptive phrases but with the fury of a man determined to stop the malfeasance in its tracks. But that is not what you are likely to hear from a 21st-century manager (Ozzie Guillen and maybe Lou Piniella excepted).
Keeping up facade
The modern skipper is no less calm, detached and reasonable after a horrific loss than after a win. His tone never changes; his voice never rises or falls; he might criticize a group of players but seldom will he single out an individual. It's all kind of bland and artificial. And that's what it's supposed to be.
Managers don't want to let the media or the public inside their heads or show them their emotions. Before reporters troop into the skipper's office, he might take a bat to the drywall or dent his metal desk with an angry kick. But by the time he faces the press, he will have covered up the damage and transformed himself into a model of restraint.
What comes across on the radio is a man who sounds like he doesn't care or, at the very least, has no personal stake in what has just transpired on the field. Wedge demonstrates all of these characteristics, none of which illustrates his true nature.
Why do fans think he lacks intensity and imparts little passion to his players? Because they listen to his postgame sessions with the press.
And he is even worse when the team wins, especially if victory has been accomplished in dramatic fashion or has been unusually convincing. He becomes overly reluctant to praise his players or to put much stock in a single game.
If you didn't know the score, you would swear the team has lost by the way he has disengaged his personality from events on the field. And the more the team wins, the less enthusiasm Wedge imparts to the media.
Reasons for behavior
Why is he so reluctant to express any emotion, win or lose? Because of his overriding belief that players, coaches and managers must not get too high when life on the diamond is good or too low when it's not. Even keel is an expression to live by, and the media might as well get used to it.
Overreacting to transitory events over a long season is one of the worst things a player or manager can do. Wedge, like all managers, knows this. It is a truism of baseball, no less than three strikes and you're out.
But when he exhibits this passive attitude in front of a microphone, he looks more like a disinterested observer who accidentally was given a uniform and a lineup card rather than the man in charge of the team.
When fans hear this stuff on the radio, they should understand that the guy answering the questions is faking it, to one degree or another. This is not a real person to whom they are listening. To know the genuine Mike Hargrove or the genuine Eric Wedge, they would have to sneak into the manager's office before the media get there. And that's not going to happen.
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