TITOVILLE: NO BETTER OCTOBER TALE THAN THE TRIUMPH OF FRANCONA

Faced with baseball’s youngest roster, a lineup lacking power and a jarring nickname change, a lifer manager has survived staggering health issues to do his best work with the Cleveland … Guardians

     How Terry Francona walks and breathes, or manages to get out of bed every morning, is a question for the mortality gods. He has undergone 45 surgeries in his life, which would have killed most people, and his last two years alone read like a coroner’s report: an ICU scare involving blood clots and gastrointestinal disorders, a hip replacement, gout and a staph infection in his big toe that required crutches and a permanent steel plate.

     But then he presides over another press conference, during another triumphant postseason series in a career of Octobers, and sounds like a man two decades younger than his 63 years. Baseball — and the adorably young club he manages in northeast Ohio — not only is keeping Francona alive but at the top of his cognitive game. Hell, he’s not dead yet. There is a pinstriped titan to topple, the New York Yankees beginning Tuesday night in an American League Division Series, and it doesn’t occur to the man known belovedly as Tito that the opponents have a $254.4 million payroll, $188 million more than his.

     He’s busy relating a story about his scooter ride from Progressive Field to his downtown apartment, after another airtight victory by the Guardians. They used to be called the Indians before 21st-century activism interceded, though no one is sure what must be guarded in Cleveland beyond the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Deshaun Watson’s massage therapists. Traveling down East 4th Street among throngs of merry post-game locals — yes, the man of 45 surgeries still drives his motorized “hog” around town — he was stopped by a female fan. Did she want an autograph? No, she wanted to remove her shirt for the skipper.

     Suddenly a prisoner to anyone with a camera phone, Francona covered his eyes so he wouldn’t be caught staring at a forbidden strike zone. “I’m like, ‘I don’t want this on camera,’ ’’ he told her.

     No worries, Tito. Underneath her top was a t-shirt, with his face on the front. Life is so sublime for Francona in that city, where a World Series title hasn’t been celebrated in 74 years, that he might be pardoned for a series of ax-murders. “Every policeman here either high-fives or says hello,” he says. “They’re always helping with the parking. You can’t do that anywhere else.”

     No matter what happens in baseball these next four weeks, nothing is sweeter than the human conquest of Terry Francona. You’d think his myriad health issues would make him the most awkward candidate to inspire the youngest team in the sport, in a season when a record 17 players made major-league debuts under his tutelage. Rather, the kids love him, and the sentiment is mutual. This is no normal situation, from the jarring nickname change to an alarming shortage of power in the lineup and, sometimes, a scarcity of runs altogether. A throwback to baseball the way it once was played and enjoyed — before analytics mandated slugging, lethal arms and fan apathy — the Guardians rely on making contact, running the bases aggressively, playing outstanding defense and limiting foes to zeroes with commanding starting pitchers, a deep bullpen and a dominant closer. They blossomed before their anticipated ETA, shaming the bloated and sluggish Chicago White Sox to poach the AL Central.

     And the biggest reason is Francona, who reminded baseball’s front-office geeks that winning cultures are developed with a human touch, not with spreadsheets. He’s the crazy, old grandpa of the clubhouse, still plotting pranks, dropping multiple f-bombs in arguments with umpires and cracking wise when asked if the Guardians had an opening-series edge over a Tampa Bay qualifier coming off a nine-game road trip. “If they’re out of underwear, yeah,” Tito said. “Nobody wants to be without underwear.” Sure, the players know how old he is, that he managed Michael Jordan during his ill-fated journey through the minor leagues, that he helped Theo Epstein break the Bambino curse in Boston before losing control of his team and himself in a pills-marred demise.

     But something about Francona endears him to everyone and allows him to adapt to circumstances and the times, even when the average age of his group is 26.3 and he’s in his 22nd season as a major-league manager. There were the Guardians again Saturday, in his sixth playoff appearance in his 10 Cleveland seasons, following the 2022 script quintessentially. The Guardiac Kids, as they’re called, vanquished the Rays in 15 innings in what had been the longest scoreless postseason game ever. They scored only three runs in the two-game sweep, managed just five hits in the overtime clincher and struck out 19 times in Game 2. But incredibly, they were fanning 20 Rays batters on the same afternoon and allowing only one run and one extra-base hit in the series to a team well-versed in autumn baseball. They won with a customary walk-off finish, a solo home run by rookie Oscar Gonzalez, who uses the “SpongeBob SquarePants” theme as his walk-up music.

     “I’m too old for other things,” Francona said, “but not for this.”

     No one in Titoville appears to realize that it shouldn’t be this easy. In Anaheim, the Angels lost 89 games this season despite the presence of Mike Trout and Shohei Ohtani, two of baseball’s greatest all-time talents. The colossal failure spawned a quick tell-all book by deposed manager Joe Maddon, who won an impossible World Series with the Cubs in 2016 yet was deemed dispensable in June by youthful general manager Perry Minasian. In “The Book Of Joe: Trying Not To Suck at Baseball & Life,” Maddon blamed Minasian for wrecking the Angels with his technology-first, wisdom-second mentality. Sounding like a smug millennial, Minasian retorted, “I’m not going to get into it. I enjoyed working with Joe. I thought we had a really good relationship. He wrote a book. He’s trying to sell it. I get it. I wish nothing but the best for Joe. I hope he’s on the New York Times Best Seller list.”

     By comparison, Francona — only slightly younger than Maddon, 68 — has carried on a beautiful relationship with his bosses. Like Minasian, president of baseball operations Chris Antonetti and general manager Mark Chernoff value data, efficiency and payroll maximization. Francona works with them instead of fighting them. Thus, his 2022 success probably cinches a Hall of Fame plaque for him, coupled with his two World Series parades in Boston. Maddon might sell a few books, but his final stumble might keep him out of Cooperstown. There is a deep lesson within. Cooperation breeds success. Unity narrows generational gaps. Who doesn’t admire Francona?

     “To think of what he’s overcome personally to get to this point, this is a special moment for Tito,” Antonetti said.

     “Chris and Cherny are really good about explaining stuff to me,” said Tito, in a nod to their authority.

     The good vibes trickle down to the field. “Our guys have a willingness to play the game the right way,” Francona said. “I'd laugh when you hear that thing, ‘Let the kids play.’ Well, OK, as long as you play the game right. I’ve been real honest with them, like, ‘Hey, I'm old; you're not. That's not your fault. But you can't sacrifice how we feel about the game, because there’s a right way and a wrong way.’ They've been really good about that. So it kind of makes it fun. They’ll get on the plane and they’ve all got earrings, and I love looking at them. I just don't want earrings on the field. And they all respect that. So it works.”

     All the way to a best-of-five Division series, first two games in the Bronx, where Aaron Judge awaits. Just the same, Steven Kwan awaits the Yankees. Who? Jose Ramirez has the team’s only nine-figure contract, eschewing higher offers last winter to re-sign for five seasons and $124 million, quite the hometown discount. But Kwan, who wasn’t supposed to make the Opening Day roster, has emerged as the heartbeat of the Guardians. Whenever they score, however they score, the leadoff hitter usually is in the mix with his fearless basepaths romps. He batted .298 with a .373 on-base percentage, making him a catalyst for a team that hit only 126 homers and gets little muscle from the catcher and center fielder. Defensively, Kwan is the best left fielder in the league. He’s still very much thrilled to be in the big leagues.

     “I wanted to help any team I was on this year, whether it had been Triple-A or the majors,” Kwan said. “I think that helped me in college, travel ball, whatever. I know if I focus on helping the team and others, then everything will fall into place. I definitely want to keep my head down, keep it rolling. Maybe in a superstitious kind of way don’t want to take my eyes off anything. Keep it going forward.”

     The manager wouldn’t have it any other way, reminding Kwan months ago that he didn’t take an extra base and warning him not to repeat the error. Fundamentals, remember, lead to fun. “It was just blunt honesty, and that’s Tito. He’s not here to play games,” Kwan said. “If he’s talking, we’re listening to every word. I’d never question him. We never question him.”

     “We would all run through a brick wall for him,” outfielder Myles Straw said. “And you know what? He would do the same for us. That’s why we are where we are, because we get to play for him. It’s awesome. It’s unbelievable. It’s an honor to show up and play for him every day.”

     Said reliever Bryan Shaw, the rare veteran: “He’s the staple here. Our brand of baseball starts with him. Everything we’ve done on the field is a testament to him. Without him, there’s zero chance this group gets to the point we’re at.”

     Maybe the players look at him and realize he could be — and, practically speaking, should be — anywhere but a big-league dugout. This may or may not be his final season. But if this is it, going on 64, when Paul McCartney wondered if anyone would still need him or feed him, he has delivered a master class in leadership. The players needed him. The front office needed him. A city, transitioning to a new brand, needed him. He gave them the best version of Terry Francona, spreading the gospel of life, having lived at least nine lives himself. They have borrowed his spirit and channeled it into 94 victories, with 26 in 32 games since Sept. 5.

     “When people count you out,” Josh Naylor said, “it’s great to shove it back in their face. Those who have nothing to lose in life, those are the most dangerous people or teams.”

     “We don’t look at ourselves as underdogs,” said Austin Hedges, “but I know everybody else thought we were. And I don’t blame them. We’re young. Who would have thought? But we believed in ourselves, and we’re going to continue to shock the world.”

     Let Seattle think it was worth waiting 21 years for a playoff berth, given the historic comeback of the Mariners in Toronto. The Phillies, too, are riding emotion after their wild Game 1 comeback, eliminating St. Louis and abruptly ending the careers of Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina. Those are special stories, but at the moment, they are sidebars.

     Welcome to the Autumn of Tito.

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     Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.