Like Lang Whitaker, author of In the Time of Bobby Cox: The Atlanta Braves, Their Manager, My Couch, Two Decades and Me, I too, think about Cox's legacy, but not nearly to the degree of Whitaker who has
written a book about it. On my way home last week, I stopped by Manuel's Tavern in the Highlands for a beer and an opportunity to ask Whitaker, who was there signing his book, my burning question: “Can you think of five players who didn't like playing for Bobby Cox?” I based my question on the assumption that you couldn't be a manager—even a player's manager—and not have some players dislike you.
But this wasn't your normal reading, as a matter of fact, there was no reading or question and answer session at all. It was more like a baseball card signing show, where you buy something and have it signed, just to ask a question (an expensive but fair exchange). This is not a complaint—I often think book readings should just cut to the chase of signing books where members of the audience can get a book signed and ask their question. Since I just bought a Roger Angell's book Late Innings the other day and since Whitaker was swarmed with well wishers (and autograph hounds?), I opted for a Yuengling draft and a chat with Frank Reiss, the owner of A Cappella books, who was managing the signing that evening.
Since I've been in Atlanta, Frank has introduced me to several fine books Nami Mun's Miles from Nowhere and two books by Padgett Powell, Edisto and The Interrogative Mood (though we still differ about a couple books ). Frank highly recommends Emory University professor Joseph Skibell's recent book A Curable Romantick and if he'd had a copy there I might have bought it and had Whitaker sign that.
Our conversation shifted to baseball so I asked Frank, a longtime fan of the Braves which former players were not saddened by Cox's retirement. Without explanation, Frank understood my question and replied that “word on the street has it” (Frank knows a few local sports writers) that if anybody was glad to see Cox retiring it would have been the long relievers. The Atlanta skipper was notorious for his belief that long relievers were expendable. To Cox, they were arms to chew up innings, if need be.
It turned into one of those evenings that resembled sitting in the stands at a game—drinking a beer, swapping stories and paying attention to what is going on, just enough to catch any foul balls that came my way.
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