Lincicome: Prickly La Russa might not be revered, but he deserves respect

Tony La Russa has always been too prickly to be beloved, even in Oakland or in St. Louis where he was a genius. No one ever said of La Russa, what a funny guy.

Around here La Russa has been too young or too old or too superior to be clasped to the bosom of skeptics, the natural constituency of every Chicago sports team.

His second tenure with the White Sox has been a mixed meal, not always easy to digest and more often causing concern that there might not be enough Tums in the cabinet.

He once said this to me. "You've got to laugh. You can't live together for seven months without laughing."

But in more than 40 years I don't think I ever saw him happy. His go-to face is a fixed dare, firmly suspicious and set-jawed secure, no room there for joy, always a surprise when it comes.

La Russa does not do irony and yet, ironically, he may be the absent inspiration he has not been as a frustrating prescience for the White Sox and their fans. La Russa's health concerns are serious enough to put him on the open ended "indefinite" list, a term similar to the popular "day-to-day," which is, after all, where we all are.

Within the Sox players the notion of "winning one for Tony" was to be expected, but the truth is winning for the Sox themselves can only happen by the Sox themselves. It is foolish to believe that the Sox are any better now just because La Russa is not scowling from the dugout at them.

The obligatory concerns for La Russa's health seem sincere enough even after summer long invitations for La Russa to be somewhere other than the White Sox dugout, and now that he is, critics blush and say, "Well, we didn't mean that."

What that is and how dire it is will be known eventually, but it does seem, strictly in baseball terms, to be a convenience, a reason to ease a Hall of Famer into a final retirement without actually having to insult his legacy by firing him.

La Russa is not likely to be back with the White Sox except as he should be, as a revered figure who deserved better.

My first encounter with La Russa was in the visiting dugout of old Fort Lauderdale Stadium, where the Yankees trained in the spring, in a town where I trained to be whatever I became. My interest in La Russa was selfish, to get an early story so I could get to the beach.

He was as ardent then as he is now, probably more, managing a meaningless game as if it meant something, taking the opportunity to insist on winning so that when it meant something it would feel familiar.

Before just being old became the easy way to disparage La Russa, the most common criticism was of him overthinking things.

A joke I tried about him was actually a compliment. He had been found one spring in an intersection, motor running, in Jupiter, Florida, when he was managing the Cardinals.

"Got to give it to the Palm Beach county cops," I wrote. "They are the first to ever catch Tony LaRussa asleep at the wheel."

The most droll thing I ever heard him say was in a conversation we had about money. "I'm not a rich man," he said, "otherwise why am I doing a hair spray commercial?"

Intensity may define La Russa as well as anything can. The old notion that there are no second acts in American life has been turned over and over by La Russa. He has had one, two, three, four, five acts including, of course, the one no one wanted to see except maybe Jerry Reinsdorf and La Russa himself.

A man of many interests and pursuits, the dugout is still where La Russa wanted to be. For all his erudition and sophistication, La Russa was no more free of the grip of baseball than the old scout with tobacco juice dribbling down his chin.

"The fact is what gets you going is winning and losing," La Russa once said to me, "the fear of how bad things could be, the thrill of how good things might be.

"I'm as romantic as the next guy about baseball, but I only care about the final score."

A fine epigram, all in all.