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Photograph by Dilip Vishwanat
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Tony La Russa isn’t one to bask in victory. “This is the first year after a winning season that I’ve ever taken this much time to analyze it—I haven’t yet seen a video replay of any game of the 2006 World Series,” he says. “The reason is that every year, as soon as it’s over, you start thinking about the next season.”
Of course, all of that changed when he announced his retirement last October, right after the championship parade.
After 33 seasons as a manager, he’d racked up more victories than any skipper since Connie Mack and John McGraw and won World Series titles in both the National League and American League—a track record that makes him a shoo-in for the Baseball Hall of Fame. When he first arrived here in 1996, St. Louis was largely skeptical of the California vegetarian with a law degree and a perpetual poker face. Over time, though, he carried the team through the tragic death of Darryl Kile and helped lead it to two World Series wins.
He saved the best for last, though, with the team pulling off the impossible last fall. It was only appropriate that the animal lover’s final postseason would involve a renegade squirrel, an ever-changing bullpen, and a roller-coaster ride—all of which are part of his new book with Rick Hummel, One Last Strike, available from HarperCollins beginning September 25.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?
Early on, Paul Richards—the legendary farm director for the White Sox—said, “Trust your gut. Don’t cover your butt.” I lived by that.
How were you able to keep that mind-set?
When the game was over, I was going to scrutinize my performance, and I would be a lot tougher on me than my toughest critic.
A big part of that was preparation…
I think the preparation angle has always been overemphasized. To me, what separated our clubs over the years was not our preparation—that’s just studying for the test. What separated us is how we took the test.
Is that part of the reason you’re so superstitious?
I’d bet that the great majority of players, managers, and coaches are superstitious—and it’s stupid. Except there’s so much that happens out there that you laughingly refer to the baseball gods. You want to respect them, and if you have a superstition that works, you keep it going, because you don’t want them to punish you.
Judging from last season, maybe there’s something to it…
It was a very difficult year because of the amount of adversity that we had to overcome, and it would have been easy for them to give in some. But that club never lost its spunk.
What turned things around?
The players really just got their second wind, in a sense, and rededicated that they were going to play it out to the end.
The bullpen, in particular, played that way.
The run that we had was atypical. The asset that I relied on since 1983—his name is Dave Duncan—we analyzed that several of our starters had used up a lot of ammo, and toward the end their gas tanks were a little lower. Once you make that assessment and start a game, you know you’re not in a normal situation… That explains so many aggressive bullpen moves.
You and Duncan are often credited with fine-tuning the specialized bullpen.
The greatest hitting coach of all time, Charley Lau, told me early in my career that the way to handle a bullpen is that as you get to the end, make it as tough as possible for a hitter in the inning you’re playing—and that coincided with these specialists that populate a bullpen… We weren’t the first; it’s just that we were around to learn.
Perhaps ironically, though, after Game 5 of the World Series, it looked like one of your last moves as a manager could have involved a blown call to the bullpen.
It’s one of the dumbest ironies of all time. If that screw-up had happened to someone else, you’d say, “Boy, that was really bad.” But Dave and I have probably made more pitching changes than anyone in history, so if somebody was going to get it right, it was going to be us… It created a potential distraction, but the guys refused to get distracted.
Still, everyone had to be nervous when David Freese stepped up to bat in Game 6.
Down deep, you’re worried as heck. When you get two strikes, you think, “One strike, and it’s over.” You just don’t give in, so if they do get that last strike, you know when you look in the mirror that you never gave up. And the boys came through—it was like a fairy tale, like Fantasy Island.
And then you announced you were retiring. When did you decide?
Late June or early July. The thing that I was taught was personal accountability—don’t fool yourself. Different factors were adding up, and I said, “I’ve had enough.” I just knew it was time… The biggest regret that I had at the end was that we never told the players. I didn’t want to rain on the parade.
But to go out on top…
That’s a movie script.
Coincidentally, I hear there’s a script for 3 Nights in August.
We’ve talked about this thing for a while. Buzz Bissinger has written a fictionalized version of 3 Nights, and I’m wondering if we end up putting together 3 Nights and One Last Strike—in the fictionalized version, instead of playing against the Cubs, we end up playing in a World Series.
You do like a good book—I read that you might open a bookstore.
I’m serious! Over the years, I had no better friend than my book—you’ll never see me by myself without something to read.
Can it be lonely being a manager, with family miles away and so many critics?
I’m around a lot of people most of the time, so I really enjoy those moments of solitude.
What do you miss most about the game?
The relationships within the organization; I was in St. Louis for 16 years, and there are a lot of people that you’re used to being around. And when for 50 years my professional life has been focused on the next game, I do miss having that score that excites you or upsets you at the end of every day. [Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig] knows that if someday there’s a [front-office] responsibility for some team that makes sense…
Your wife once joked that you’re not a good vacationer because you can’t relax.
I’ve been fortunate that the commissioner has put me to work; I’m doing some assignments for him. I say it half-kidding, but when I’m home for three or four days, my wife and daughter put the suitcase by the door, and if it’s still there the next day, they put it on the porch.
Joe Buck once wrote about you, “I have never met a man in sports or life who is more misunderstood.” Would you agree?
I think he had it 100 percent right, except the qualifier would be that if you were on our teams in Chicago, Oakland, or St. Louis, then I think you would know me differently… I was taught that your team is your family. In fact, I put something in the book about what I feel like the legacy is about.
Relationships?
It has a lot do with it… The one thing that I’ve had is plain good fortune. I’ve never been in a bad situation ever—great owner, great front office, great players. That’s why I refuse to take career wins and even championships personally. It’s part of being in great situations.
La Russa visits St. Louis for signings at Left Bank Books (321 N. 10th) on September 24 and the Headquarters Branch of the St. Louis County Library (1640 S. Lindbergh) on September 25.
