The Futility Infielder

Not So Keane

Keith Olbermann's gig as a columnist at Salon hasn't been much to write home about -- like the rest of his career since leaving ESPN, actually. Last week he penned a shit-stirring piece about Buck Showalter's turbulent history with the Yankees. In it, he posited that an enraged George Steinbrenner, fresh off his team's first-round playoff defeat, might be poised to bring Showalter in as GM, Executive Vice President, or perhaps field manager.

Olbemann's piece was weak and misinformed, far removed from the pulse of the Yankees. Showing exactly how in tune he was with the story, Showalter was hired to manage the Texas Rangers two days later. Close one, Keith. It was almost as if the former ESPN anchor were yearning for his old beat, a simpler day when the Yanks hadn't rediscovered their winning formula, and controversy in the Bronx was as easy to find as the Boss himself.

Wrote Olbermann, "Remember, at all times, that George Steinbrenner is not the kind of man to sit around and act rationally when a situation calls for panic." That description may have suited the Steinbrenner of old to a T, but it hardly does today, except in the imaginations of Yankee-haters. King George may be make his execs' Octobers a living hell; Brian Cashman has likely scrubbed every toilet in Tampa by now. But the Yanks didn't get to the point where losing in the first round is unacceptable by shooting themselves in the foot at every opportunity. Their braintrust's patience and vision, not to mention George's deep pockets, ensure that they'll be back without dramatic bloodletting.

Olbermann's offering this week may turn out no more accurate than his Showalter piece, but it's considerably more entertaining and historically credible. Writing about Giants manager Dusty Baker and his battles with owner Peter Magowan, Olbermann invokes the strange and sad tale of Johnny Keane.

The Keane saga a fascinating one of Machiavellian managerial machinations. Books have been written on the subject, most notably David Halberstam's October 1964 and a lengthy, entertaining chapter in Bill Veeck's The Hustler's Handbook (a shorter version of Veeck's piece appears in an obscure but wonderful Jim Bouton-edited anthology on managers, "I Managed Good, But Boy Did They Play Bad" ). For those unfamiliar with the story, Keane was the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals in 1964. As the Cards plodded along in the second division into August, a front-office coup led by Branch Rickey (then an advisor to owner Gussie Busch) ousted GM Bing Devine, who had hired Keane. Behind the scenes, the Cards made arrangements to replace Keane with Leo Durocher in 1965. The front office had written that year's team off. But suddenly, spurred by Lou Brock (Devine's last acquisition), the Redbirds got red-hot, and took the pennant while the Philadelphia Phillies collapsed.

Suddenly amazed at their own good fortune, the Cardinals made overtures to retain Keane, but he put them off until after the World Series. In a classic, the Cards suprised the Yanks in seven games. Just as they prepared to announce a new contract for their manager, Keane shocked the Cardinals by resigning -- to take a job managing the Yanks! Having spent the summer stumbling along under their own manager, Yogi Berra -- if spending weeks in third place, 15 games over .500 can be considered stumbling -- the Yankees had contacted Keane late in the season when both teams' fates appeared sealed, their field generals privately scapegoated. Quite a surprise then (not to mention an embarrassment to the brass of both ballclubs) to find them matched up in the Fall Classic.

Anyway, back to Olbermann, who speculates that though Dusty Baker has finally taken his team to the World Series, he may be bound for greener pastures. More specifically, the greener pastures of Safeco Field in Seattle, where Lou Piniella will kick hats and hurl bases no more. Writes Olbermann, referring to sources close to Baker, "[T]he Seattle Mariners would never have put their current manager Lou Piniella up for sale so quickly if they had not already exchanged yearning, knowing winks with his successor, and that -- unofficially and within the parameters of contractual monogamy -- those kisses were blown to, and by, Baker."

Baker's contract status is no secret, of course. A three-time Manager of the Year, Baker has long been regarded as one of the game's top leaders, more for his ability to connect with players than for his strategic acumen. Earlier this postseason, his name was linked with the New York Mets' managerial opening, a position for which Piniella now seems to be the candidate du jour.

Olbermann offers not only Keane but also Dick Williams (who quit the World Champion A's in 1973, ostensibly bound for the Yanks until Charlie O. Finley intervened) as cautionary tales for Baker. The former was canned 20 games into his second season -- the Yankees' long Dark Age had begun -- and dead of a heart attack the next year. The latter merely had to settle for managing the California Angels at the nadir (at least until he was arresed for indecent exposure a couple years ago) of his distinguished career. As Olbermann, not to mention Veeck (who titled his chapter "Which of Us Took the Greater Fall?") seem to be telling us, fate has a knack of making sure nobody wins in these dramas (except the 1974 A's, I suppose).

Olbermann goes on to catalog the litany of misery the Angels have endured; the smell of death's around them, in car crashes and gunshots. In addition to Donnie Moore, the one I remember vividly is Lyman Bostock, an star outfielder shot to death in late September 1978. Bostock was the first athlete I recall dying in mid-season (Thurman Munson followed less than a year later); at nine years old, I remember staring numbly at his baseball card, trying to comprehend the poor man's fate. "Was he wearing his uniform when he was shot?" seemed to be the most I could muster.

Suffice it to say, I enjoyed Olbermann's article, but I sincerely hope that Dusty and the Angels fare better than his unsettling examples.

One more thing: for taking four franchises into the postseason and three to the World Series (two winners), Dick Williams should be in the Hall of Fame.