Phillies Players Take Care of Their Own

"Sometimes the game gives you a place to hide."

If his mother's death sheds a bit of attention on Manuel, who may avoid the spotlight better than any manager or coach of any successful team in a major sport, then it will be appropriate. His interplay with Myers defines his style.

Manuel studies the game, but he studies people a lot more. And he knows Myers. No, not the unsavory guy who hit his wife near Fenway Park in '06 but got off after she told the judge they were both drinking and she wasn't hurt much. Everybody knows that about Myers. What Manuel knows about his pitcher is that he loves to be loved, hates to be hated, flourishes at home with the crowd behind him, but can wilt on the road when the crowd Googles the crude stuff he's done and throws it back in his face.

Not many managers would go out of their way to make life easier for Myers, who sometimes makes life harder for others. But Manuel set this NLCS up so Myers would be his only pitcher to work twice at home, never on the road.

With the crowd egging him on, Myers clipped a clean line drive over second base in a four-run Phillies second off Chad Billingsley, then chipped an ugly slicing liner just over the first base bag for a two-run hit to knock out Billingsley in a four-run Philadelphia third inning.

That doesn't happen in Chávez Ravine, promise. But it happens here. In Game 2 against Milwaukee, Myers, usually an awful hitter, kept a game-winning rally alive by drawing a nine-pitch walk off CC Sabathia.

"I'm baffled. I had four hits all season. Now I got four hits in the postseason," said Myers, who slightly twisted his ankle running the bases.

Players respond to Manuel's easy encouragement in ways they don't quite understand and play their best for him, even if Mensa doesn't have him on managerial speed dial. Even Myers admits, "Charlie's good," though he has to keep watching that replay of the old West Virginian yelling every name in the book in his face this summer.

What's his secret in handling pitchers? "I don't know. I guess that's why it's a secret," said Myers, cryptically. "Charlie's always there to back you, no matter. Always the first guy to pat you on the back, saying 'Hang in there.' "

Now, the Phillies are returning the favor. "It seemed like June was doing a little better when Charlie and I talked about it last night," Lopes said. "Sure, she was elderly, but, come on, it's your mom."

This is the age when managers know fancy stats, read psychology books, have a smooth act for the TV cameras and try to avoid looking like they're smuggling a medicine ball under their shirts. Manuel's the throwback. When he quotes stats, they're a-l-w-a-y-s slightly wrong. In front of a mike, he looks like a man faced with a cobra who has forgotten his flute. If he split the atom, he'd make it sound as if his coaches did it just as he stumbled in the room.

If he resembles a manager, it may be the almost forgotten Dodgers manager, Walter Alston, whom Manuel played for briefly. Charlie never forgot the reserved Alston sitting down at breakfast with him, chatting about nothing much with a no-chance rookie, then picking up the check.