<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8702200490
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
871024
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Saturday, October 24, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
STATE EDITION
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
WORLD SERIES MANAGERS NEED SOME SPARKY IN ACT
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
ST. LOUIS -- It is not my place, as a mild-mannered sports writer for a
large metropolitan newspaper, to tell two successful World Series managers how
to act. But I will do it anyhow. And here is  why.  Every time I see writers
walk away from Tom  Kelly of the Minnesota Twins or Whitey Herzog of the St.
Louis Cardinals, they look as if someone just stuffed a liverwurst sandwich
under their nose.

  Tom. Whitey. Guys. You can't keep snarling and barking in front of 600
notepads. It's not good for the image.  The other day,  Kelly answered a
reporter's question by growling, "I know my team better  than you do."  Whoa.
That's clever. And Herzog, long a media grouch, continued his great tradition
of responding "Huh?" while giving a look that suggests you belong in a cell
with a number across your  chest.

  Now. Let me say right here that I work in a city, Detroit, where the
baseball manager is one delightful George (Sparky) Anderson. Say what you
will. Reporters love Sparky.  So, by now, I have  heard the sentence, "Boy, I
wish Sparky was here instead of these duds" only, say, oh, 2,900 times.
  Alas, Sparky is not here. Sparky is presumably at home in California,
teaching his grandchildren  how to butcher the English language, as if kids in
 California need help doing that, dude, fer sure.
  So here is the next best thing. Here, as my gift, based on years of
observation, is a Sparkyish  list of suggestions for Kelly and Herzog, that
will help them win friends and influence people -- as Sparky has done -- while
privately continuing to think that all reporters are cockroaches. Listen  up,
men. Your endorsements may be on the line:
Pipe, white hair help 1. GET A PIPE: Few things are more disgusting than
baseball players with mouths full of tobacco. One is managers with mouths full
 of tobacco. Tom. Spit it out. Whitey. Drop those cigarets. Notice how Sparky
Anderson smokes a pipe during his post-game remarks? Yes. A pipe. This makes
him look professional, cultured and scholarly,  even as he says: "There ain't
no way you don't call no balk there (cough) nuh- uh."
2. GET THE PROPER NICKNAME: "Whitey" is OK. Whitey is good. Whitey can sit
this one out. But Tom. No. Tom is not a  good manager's name. Tom is not even
Tom's real  name. His real  name is Jay, which is no good either. Casey. Yogi.
Sparky. You catch a pattern here? Mr.  Kelly needs a new first name. I
suggest: Curly.  After his hair. Curly  Kelly.  It has a ring to it. And if
his team flops, he can go into pro wrestling. That's it. Curly Kelly. That, or
Liz. One or the other.
3. GET THE RIGHT HAIR: A long as we're  on the subject, you will notice that
Sparky Anderson has a shock of white hair, neatly combed and groomed. Very
identifiable. Very good. Whitey Herzog also has white hair. Unfortunately, he
is caught  somewhere between Pete Rose's old haircut and Pete Rose's new
haircut. Which is it, Whitey? Make up your mind. You look like something out
of a surfer movie. And Tom? You can, well, with those curls, sort of, uh, well
. . . Never mind. It's hopeless.
4. COMPLIMENT EVERYBODY: One thing that makes Sparky Anderson popular is his
ability to praise people he hasn't even met. Particularly fellow managers.
IMPORTANT TIP: NO SUPERLATIVE IS TOO BIG. For example, Tom, you could say of
Whitey: "That man over there is the bona-fide genius of all time in the whole
galaxy." That would be a nice start. And Whitey,  you of course would say:
"Aw, hell, that man over there is the next bona-fide genius of the all time in
the whole galaxy and the milky way." See? Try it. You'll be surpised how well
you suddenly get along.
Anecdotes, offspring 5. TALK ABOUT GRANDCHILDREN: During the American League
playoffs, not a day went by when Sparky Anderson did not mention how, no
matter what happened, he would soon be having  a great time playing with his
grandchildren. This helped solidify his warm, family-man image, and assured
that his grandchildren will be stuck with him all winter, even if they'd
rather be playing lazer  tag  with their friends. (IMPORTANT NOTE: Tom Kelly,
since you are only 37, the grandchildren thing could be tough, particularly on
your son, who is eight.  Maybe you could just rent some instead.)
6.  TELL MORE  ANECDOTES: Whenever Sparky Anderson encounters a line of
questioning that is not to his liking, you can be sure he'll pull out an
anecdote. Something like:  "Lemme tell you something. In 1959  -- now, we're
talkin' what, 28 years ago? I think 28 or 27, I ain't sure, but anyhow, in
1959 . . . " Within minutes, the interviewer has forgotten his question and is
snoring. Anecdotes. Very important.  Better than spitting. And neater.
  So you see, Tom? You see, Whitey? Six quick steps. Read them. Know them.
Live them. Make nice. After all, we're up to Game 6 now. One of you will be
popping champagne  pretty soon.
  You don't want to drink alone, do you?
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>

</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
