One by one, all of Manuel's critics - and I was an early adaptor who saw the light during a captivating spring-training dinner in 2008 where I learned just how much more there was to this man than filling out a lineup card. He writes witty and literate e-mails, speaks with erudition about the Civil War, collects rare coins and can read the stock charts easily as, well, Lenny Dykstra. And he is a kind and compassionate human being.
So there was Dallas Green, the Dalai Lama of Tough Love soft-tossing with his 75-year-old arm to Charlie Manuel, a man who learned many years ago that it is a lot easier to pull a loaded wagon than to push it. In a few hours they would be toasting with champagne while another wild pennant celebration raged in a clubhouse that has been awash in more squirted alcohol during its brief existence than Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday.
A 10-4 pennant clincher tends to produce a tide that raises all boats.
As managers they are as different in style as a Parris Island Marine drill instructor and your favorite grandfather, Green a professed "yeller and a cusser," and Manuel, who uses the phrase "at the same time" as a device to examine both sides of every situation.
History brought them together before the ballgame where Manuel's team did something no other Phillies team has done in 126 years of operation in the National League. They brought a second consecutive pennant to a town that has moved swiftly from the stigma of first team to 10,000 losses to three straight Eastern Division titles, two pennants, one World Series title and another stab at the Golden Ring starting next Wednesday. Most likely in a dream matchup with the American League team they most resemble in longball power, the New York Yankees.
Green was a pitcher's manager. His 1980 team was nowhere close to Manuel's Maulers, even with Mike Schmidt cranking out a career-high 48 homers.
