I’d like to think my Cardinals fandom would’ve been cast in some kind of lasting, effectively eternal precious metal even if Dorrel Norman Elvert Herzog – or “Whitey,” as we know and revere him – had never come along. Part of me, though, wonders about that.
As I’ve chronicled before, probably to excess, the 1982 World Series-winning team, who hoisted the trophy when I was 10 years old, remains one of my earliest and most resonant sources of baseball memories, at least from the fan standpoint. The 1985 team remains my favorite, and of course ‘87 brought another pennant and also occasioned one of my most cherished power seasons from a non-Pujols Cardinals hitter (Jack Clark with his 35 homers and 136 walks in 131 games). Given L’Affaire Denkinger in ‘85 and Clark’s ankle sprain that left him and his 176 OPS+ off the ‘87 World Series roster, it’s no challenge to squint your way to imagining Herzog’s charges winning the belt and the title three times in six years. So I nodded knowingly when friend of man and beast Will Leitch recently tweeted this about Herzog:
(Aside: Some of the best nicknames sound like insults in isolation but when paired with the essence of the benicknamed become celebration, benediction – so it is with the White Rat.)
The 1970s, when the world and all its people were taking every turn on two wheels, remains something of an aesthetic touchstone for me, but it was not an especially kind decade to the team that brings us here. Coming out of the triumphs of the “El Birdos” era, the Cardinals in that subsequent decade were never terrible and were often varying shades of good. However, it was a pennant-less decade, which is a thing the Cardinals have not endured all that often across their sprawling history. In a real way, Herzog’s hiring in June of 1980, less than a year after his quite successful tenure in the Royals’ dugout ended, roused the Cards from that torpor.
As I said up front, my hope and my belief is that my future lifetime of Cardinals rooting didn’t hinge upon the success that followed. I like to think that I would’ve held fast even if those formative 1980s had occasioned unexampled on-field misery for the Cardinals. That, however, is unknowable because that’s not what happened. What happened is that Herzog helmed them to glories that locked my loyalties in place and set a standard for the future.
Is it strange to credit a mere skipper with all that success? These days, we tend to think of managers as lightly empowered functionaries who mostly implement the vision of the front office, serve as clubhouse philosopher-king and border collie, and cope with the media. Herzog, though, served in an era in which the manager was held in higher regard and wielded more power. In Herzog’s case, he was more than even that. Weeks after being hired as manager, he was elevated to general manager, and franchise stalwart (and former manager) Red Schoendienst skippered out the string. Herzog’s GM tenure in St. Louis would not be especially long – he’d cede those responsibilities early in the ‘82 season — but in this instance the importance belies the brevity. While serving as the Cardinals’ operator (to borrow Bill Veeck’s term), Herzog acquired, usually via trade but occasionally through free agency, an inordinate number of players who would be essential to the club’s success in the coming years. Those names included Darrell Porter, Bruce Sutter, Ozzie Smith, Willie McGee, Joaquin Andujar, Lonnie Smith, Gene Tenace, Steve Mura, and Dave LaPoint. I’m probably not exaggerating when I say no Whitey, no pennants in those 1980s.
Not long before the start of the 1981 season, Herzog re-installed himself as manager and thus became the first to fill both those vital roles at once since Connie Mack. That rare bit of double duty didn’t last all that long – how could it – but by the time he ceded the GM’s chair to Joe McDonald in April of ‘82 the roster was largely remade. You know how things went from there.
Herzog’s teams were built on a foundation of speed, fielding, pitching, and, as Joe Sheehan recently pointed out in his newsletter, on-base chops. All that contact and all those winged feet on the bases made them an offense tailored to the large multi-purpose stadiums with billiard-felt playing surfaces that predominated back then. In 1985, the Cardinals stole 314 bases, a now unthinkable tally that comes to almost two thefts per game (even the moundsman Andujar stole three bags). Let’s put that in quick context. MLB has undertaken some structural contrivances to increase the frequency of steals over the last couple of seasons, and in 2023 teams stole 0.72 bags per game. That sounds paltry compared to the ‘85 Cards, but it’s the highest league-wide figure in more than a quarter of a century. If you didn’t witness the propulsive frenzy of Herzog’s teams on bases, if you never heard Jack Buck growl into the mic that Vince Coleman’s lead-off was such that he had “both feet on the carpet,” then I have to tell you, friend, you should’ve been there.
Given that Herzog within the organization had more hands on levers than he had hands to put on levers, it’s no stretch to call him a tactically involved sort. Now here’s my favorite way in which this tendency of his revealed itself. Via the lovely and talented Baseball-Reference, here are a couple of game-log excerpts from a Cards win over the Phillies on Sept. 22, 1987:
Nothing out of the ordinary yet, other than a starting pitcher working the eighth inning of a close game. Note that closer Todd Worrell appears on the scene to get the final out of the frame. Now let’s jump to the top of the ninth:
Let’s recap the plainly apparent for fitting emphasis. Worrell surrenders a homer to reigning MVP Mike Schmidt – no shame in that – and then Herzog pulls him from the mound. Worrell, however, does not repair to the clubhouse. Instead, he jogs out to right field and replaces Lance Johnson at that decidedly non-pitcher position. Lefty Ken Dayley is summoned to get the platoon edge on Von Hayes, whom he retires on strikes (and not, blessedly, humpback liner to right). Thereupon, Herzog reinstalls the right-hander Worrell at pitcher, and he registers the final two batters to preserve the narrow victory.
Herzog wasn’t the first or last manager to exploit this medium-risk loophole, but it fits his buccaneering nature perfectly. (This, of course, may be my long-held Whitey bias at work, but the heart feels how it feels.) Tragically, such a maneuver is no longer possible, as the new-ish three-batter minimum rules for relievers specify that those batters must be faced consecutively. Herzog didn’t often game the platoon advantage in this way, but when he did it was memorable. It’s one of things I think about when I think about Whitey as manager of the Cardinals, at least after I think about all the other things that one thinks about when thinking about Whitey as manager of the Cardinals.
Another thing that comes to mind is if you were going to conjure up a Cardinals manager in 1980s who hailed from New Athens, Illinois – not far from where Missouri and Illinois lock eyes across the Mississippi – you might well land on someone named “Whitey” who looked like this:
(I remain partial to mop-of-pale-yellow-hair Herzog over the later crew-cut Herzog.) My late father-in-law, Mike, himself an old Midwestern baseball player, looked a bit like this. Minor biographical distinctions aside – Mike was from Iowa and topped out as a small-college catcher – his mien and bearing always felt familiar for me, possibly in small measure because of my distant impressions of Whitey. Whitey probably would have been at home among those plains- and prairie-stock buddies of Mike’s who played poker and offered visitors a “snort” and had too many bruising consonants in their last names and whose families knew to stay off the phone on Sunday mornings after Mass so they could get their football bets in. Sure enough, they all had names like Pinky and Swede and Slim and Buzz and Fuzz (and Poopy and Critter, for unclear reasons), so Whitey would’ve slipped right in, I have no doubt.
You’ll understand why, as managers go, he was pretty special to me and many others and why his recent passing at age 92 has put us in a wistful state. And, yes, maybe he’s largely responsible for the lasting nature of my Cardinals affections, even though I might try to argue with you on that point on grounds of unshakable purity. Mostly I’d just like to say thanks for the good times, Whitey, and I hope you rest easy.
Boy, reading "two feet on the carpet" sure brought back all sorts of "lying in my bed in Mattoon, Illinois and hoping my parents can't hear the game playing under the covers" memories. Great remembrance.
I enjoyed the El Birdos of the late 60s, mostly on radio, but loved Whitey’s teams in the 80s. So much fun to watch. Anytime we got someone on base, it was a rally with a threat to score (though not likely with a HR). Loved watching those Cardinals run the bases. Also, their defense was great. If the pitchers kept the ball in the park, it was likely an out. Ground balls turned into double plays. Ozzie and Willie were the best at turning hitters’ dreams into outs. Throughout, Whitey was the biggest star. Always good for a quip or a quote. We knew we wouldn’t be outmanaged. RIP, Whitey. Our condolences to his loved ones.