Every manager understands the prime directive of postseason baseball, which is, "Whatever you do, it's wrong. We'll let you know when."
Don Mattingly knows this, having danced the dance for nearly a decade now. In his eagerness to get to the ninth inning Tuesday, the Philadelphia Phillies manager summoned his closer Jhoan Duran to begin the seventh for what could have ended up being the white elephant of a three-inning save. That he never got past two was the wrong part, naturally. After a clean sheet in the seventh, Duran allowed a two-out infield single, a hit batsman, and a 100-mph fastball to pass dangerously within Austin Riley's line of sight, and boom, the manager's an idiot, and the Phillies are a game from elimination.
This stands out mostly because the other three games played on the first day of the MLB postseason had no such moment. They were essentially over within two innings; in San Diego, it was arguably a wrap after four pitches through the bottom of the first. Craig Stammen of the Padres and Will Venable of the Chicago White Sox had no moments of existential angst in their first postseason games as managers because their players removed the very threat of bad ideas from their arsenals, and did so quickly. And in New York, Aaron Boone was the man lucky enough to have Cam Schlittler on the mound, which is 15 IQ points to the good right there.
Venable's White Sox were the beneficiaries of the Houston Astros' collective decision to make the opener of the AL wild card round a Bullpen Game Experience. Because the opener Houston chose was A.J. Blubaugh, who couldn't find his command (three walks, an error and a sacrifice fly, all in 27 pitches), the visiting team had an edge before the anthem singer fully cleared the field. The White Sox, who got three innings out of its own opener, Hagen Smith, scored once in the first, twice in the second, and steadily chewed through the Astros' entire bullpen in a 6-3 game that never felt that close or that fun.
Because managers don't get to use their judgment with the lineup card, Astros manager Joe Espada won't be to blame alone. Sure, he'll still be fired as soon as the Astros are eliminated; team owner Jim Crane all but said as much Monday. But he didn't wreck the game.
Neither did Boston manager Chad Tracy, whose lineup—again, chosen by a collective above the manager's pay grade—managed no runs and three hits against the Yankees. That's six runs and one hit fewer than Ben Rice, New York's answer to the absence of Aaron Judge, managed on his own. The end result of that one, 9-0, was not only just but a bit merciful, all things considered.
Finally, there was Chicago Cubs manager Craig Counsell, who was done thinking hard thoughts for the day after four pitches from Matthew Boyd, two of which—to Fernando Tatis Jr. and then Manny Machado—traveled a combined 796 feet into the outfield seats to drastically alter the shape of that game before the concession lines had a chance to clear. The final score of 8-0 tells the story with an appropriate thud; the game's sole electrifying play was probably Tatis's stolen base attempt in the seventh, which a throwing error from Cubs catcher Carson Kelly and some typically daring baserunning from Tatis turned into the Padres' eighth run. Tatis roared around third and scored with an emphatic head-first slide that gilded a game already well gone. Still, watching a player sprint 100 yards to score a meaningless run is watching a player sprint 100 yards, and baseball is not predominantly a sprinter's game. Plus, Tatis seemed to enjoy himself, so what's the harm?
It should also be noted that Stammen didn't even have to make the agonizing decision of when to take out starting pitcher Michael King, who took a no-hitter into the seventh before being touched for a single by Nico Hoerner. That meant that the Padres manager didn't have to wrestle with the specter of potential history in the making and fans getting fussy about not getting to see if he could actually finish the no-no. He also didn't have to use his closer, Mason Miller, and could instead bring out Joe Musgrove to pitch the ninth in a moving but not at all dramatic return after 700 days and two full seasons of inactivity due following rotator cuff surgery and a series of setbacks. The last bit was a feel-good moment at a time of year when all the available feel-good is generally in the box score.
That leaves only Mattingly to catch second-guesser's remorse today, and given that his team's next (and quite possibly final) game starts in the middle of the afternoon, he only has to live with it for a few hours. Because the game was in Atlanta, Mattingly was at least spared the stimulation of the Phillies' fan base, clearly enunciating each profanity with verge and piquancy. Finally, Mattingly has his own horse, Cristopher Sánchez, going Wednesday, so he can't be second-guessed for that. Unless, of course, things go badly, at which point he can be an idiot all over again. That is the job, after all: to be stupid until everything goes right. A manager's goal is to make the other manager sweat, and in this game all pain is transitory. When you're sitting, he's pacing, walking to the mound, and wearing facial expressions that suggest a kidney stone returning to its ancestral home. When he's comfortable, you're not. Nothing more complicated than that. The game is simple when you know the paradigm.
