What Larussa’s Botched Bullpen Call Teaches About Trust
St. Louis Manager Tony La Russa changing course mid-stream (Dilip Vishwanat / Getty Images)
During Monday night’s World Series game, Tony La Russa, the coach of the St. Louis Cardinals, failed to warm up the right-handed relief pitcher he desperately needed to face the Texas Rangers red-hot right-handed batter, Mike Napoli. Napoli, with the games announcers in complete disbelief at the oversight, took advantage of the mistake, drilling the pitch into right center field for a double. The Texas Rangers went up 4-2 and won the game.
Directly following the game, La Russa blamed the dugout phone, the bullpen coach (indirectly) and the noisy crowd for his failure to warm up the right guy. Within minutes, you could almost hear the simultaneous guffaw of the entire sports world, “It’s the phone’s fault?”. Our collective BS meters went off because in some way, we sensed he was covering something up.
Suddenly, a coach with a glorious 30 year coaching reputation, a man known for his intricate patchwork of relief pitching to pry out of tough situations, had lessened his credibility. What actually happened to cause the mistake is immaterial; how La Russa addressed the blunder is what matters — his credibility was eroded more by his response and less by his mistake.
Look at the foundation of La Russa’s reputation:
The Fear of Honesty
We’ve gone soft; we fear honesty. I think we even fear being honest with people more than we fear people being honest with us. Honesty has become synonymous with ugly confrontation, rather than just being, well, honesty.
Yesterday, a good friend emailed me a two sentence note reminding me that I hadn’t done something that I’d promised I would do. What I had promised is immaterial to this post, but that I had promised to do it, and then failed, is very important. I gave my word to a good friend, and then ignored my promise. And he had the guts to remind me. In fact, he’s laughing at me right now that I even consider his reminder to be a big deal, because to him it would be phony not to remind me. That’s who he is. And he’s a better friend for it. And in no way could what he did be called confrontational. Direct, yes. Honest, yes.
Here’s the striking part that makes me uncomfortable — I only have THREE friends (in addition to my wife, who is my honesty compass) who have the backbone to call me on something like this. And that makes me sad, because I have many friends, and it means that most of the time I’m probably not hearing the whole truth, maybe just a watered down version of what they think I want to hear. And who knows, maybe that is what I want to hear. Worse yet, I’m not sure I would have confronted me like my friend did (even though it was something minor), which means that I’m no better that those I’m condemning as soft.
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