As if Sparky Didn’t Have Enough Trouble

Strolling the boulevard of life, Sparky Anderson has known crisis. Son of a house painter, he ran off to play professional baseball at 19, advancing to the major leagues for only a year, during which time he hit .218.

As a minor league manager, he traveled the outback, calling on such ports as Rock Hill, St. Petersburg, Modesto and Ashville.

Between seasons, he would return to his home in Los Angeles and take up employment in a furniture factory, fastening legs to tables.

Since the job was piecework, which is to say, he was paid for each leg he fastened, Sparky confided that he would hold off visiting the washroom so that he could fasten more legs during the working day.

This was interesting, suggesting a learned discourse delivered to us one time by Nick the Greek, famed in Las Vegas for his ability to stand at the tables up to eight hours without departing for the water closet.

Mostly a “Don’t Pass” player, meaning he bet against the shooter, Nick found it important to his science to follow devoutly the continuity of the dice--an impossibility for one walking off.

“It’s just a matter of conditioning the mind,” explained Nick, enlightening one who saw it as a bladder issue. “The mind is captain of the body.”

His discipline and his work ethic rewarded, Sparky Anderson was named manager of the Cincinnati Reds, winning 102 games his first year and having season after season of success. He won five division titles, four pennants, two World Series championships. Finishing second in 1978, he got fired.

Undaunted, Sparky moved on to Detroit where, rebuilding a loser, he wins it all in ’84. In ‘87, he wins the division title, but slippage develops and, by ‘89, the Tigers can’t play a lick. They get so bad during the season that Sparky suffers a stress attack. He has to leave the scene for rest.

He later returns to a team that loses 103 games, and what do you suppose happens to Sparky next?

The club hires Bo Schembechler as president. Mind you, Bo is taking charge of someone already visited by stress.

The Tigers are owned by a purveyor of pizza who gets rich promising to deliver it in 30 minutes, or it is free.

“Hey, pizza king, what are you doing to Sparky?” you say. “Do you enjoy human suffering?”

“Bo has proven leadership qualities,” you picture him answering.

“Then why don’t you put him in charge of mozzarella?” you respond.

You ask yourself if the Detroit owner has been the same since the Tigers win the World Series and a celebrating Kirk Gibson empties a bucket of water over him in the locker room. The owner stands there shivering. In 30 minutes, he can come up with a pizza, but, in that period, he can’t come up with a dry suit.

As athletic director at Michigan, Schembechler last year prohibits his basketball coach, Bill Frieder, from leading the team in the NCAA tournament because the guy confesses that at the end of the season, he is taking the Arizona State job.

Always understanding of someone seeking a better opportunity, Bo kicks him out like a bum.

Bo makes a speech, too, announcing dramatically that he wants a Michigan team in the tournament to be led by a Michigan man, not an Arizona State man.

Frieder is a graduate of Michigan. Bo isn’t. Frieder was born in the state. Bo wasn’t. And, in front of a country focused on the NCAA tournament, he humiliates Frieder by giving him the foot.

Now we sit down to think about Bo and the Detroit Tigers. On Jan. 1, he coaches Michigan in the Rose Bowl. Shortly afterward, he is named president of the Tigers.

Certainly, no accusations are made here, but you can’t help wondering if, before the Rose Bowl, the presidency of the Tigers had been discussed with him.

And, if it was, would Bo have wanted a Michigan team in the Rose Bowl to be coached by a Michigan man?

I mean, go blue.

Here is a guy who dumps his beloved Michigan for a fatter job in baseball--and he hollers police on Bill Frieder.

So, already beset with troubles, Sparky must work out a way to deal with his new president.

“Bo,” he will say, “I’m going to leave the Tigers after the World Series. I’m taking a job delivering pizza in Thousand Oaks, Calif.”

“I understand,” Bo will answer. “Turn in your uniform. I want Detroit to be managed in the Series by a Detroit man.”