While enjoying the recap of yesterday’s World Series victory parade for the San Francisco Giants, making Market Street the grooviest spot in town since the Monterey Pop Festival, and reflecting back on what a fun and unusual baseball season we just completed, I noticed a troubling and sad news item scrolling at the bottom of ESPN’s screen:
Sparky Anderson, Hall of Fame Manager, in Hospice Care With Dementia
Wow, I thought... Sparky’s only 76. When did this all happen? Why? How? After all, Sparky Anderson had arguably one of the sharpest minds in baseball not too long ago.
For those of you who may not know much about George “Sparky” Anderson, he was one of many “old-time” career minor-leaguers who couldn’t hit their weight, but had a keen mind for the game. Like many of his peers, Anderson transitioned into coaching and managing, and eventually became a major-league manager. Sparky’s first gig was with the Cincinnati Reds, taking the helm in 1970 at the age of 36. But it was an “old 36” as Sparky already had his well-recognized head of white hair. In his first season the Reds won the National League pennant, only to lose to Earl Weaver’s Baltimore Orioles in five games. Sparky’s Reds returned to the World Series in 1972, only to lose to Charlie Williams’ Oakland A’s in seven games, then led his Reds into the National League championship series in 1973, only to lose to Yogi Berra’s Mets in five games.
After a second-place finish in 1974 to Walter Alston’s Dodgers, Sparky’s Reds finally reached their zenith, winning back-to-back World Series in 1975 (the memorable seven-game series against the Red Sox) and 1976 (a four-game sweep of the Yankees). The Reds were so dominant (210-114 combined regular season won-loss record), especially with a batting order consisting of Joe Morgan, Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Tony Perez, Ken Griffey Sr., and George Foster, that they were universally known as the “Big Red Machine.”
But after second-place finishes in 1977 and 1978 to Tommy Lasorda’s Dodgers, the Big Red Machine became no more, key players left via free agency, trade or retirement, and Sparky was fired despite and overall record of 863-586 (a .596 winning percentage), five divisional titles, four NL pennants, and two World Series titles.
Cincinnati’s loss became Detroit’s gain, as Sparky became the Tigers’ manager in 1979, a position he would hold until he retired after the 1995 season at age 61. Sparky’s overall record with the Tigers was 1331-1248 (.516 winning percentage), two divisional titles and their World Series title in 1984 (in five games over San Diego). He was also AL manager of the year twice (1984, 1987).
The Tigers had their share of losing seasons, five during the last seven of Anderson’s 17-year command. There was the frustration of one last-place finish in 1989, with a 59-103 record, the worst of Sparky’s 26-year managerial career. Until the late decline, the Tigers were feisty, competitive, and more importantly, mattered when we talked about the American League, much the way they matter today under Jim Leyland.
When Sparky said good-bye to baseball in 1995, he went home to his native California with an overall 2194-1834 record and .545 winning percentage. He was the very first manager to ever win World Series titles in both leagues and was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2000 by the veteran’s committee.
Aside from the winning, Sparky had his reputation, especially with pitchers. “Captain Hook,” as he was called, never met a pitcher he didn’t lose patience with. Sparky made calling for relievers an art regardless of the game or situation. He didn’t need a pitch count as an excuse to pull starters; he understood the rhythm of a baseball game and knew when his pitcher no longer had it on the mound. It should be noted that the only starting pitchers Sparky tried to spare his hook were Tom Seaver, who came to Cincinnati from the Mets in a still-mourned 1977 trade, and Jack Morris, the ace of his 1984 Tigers staff. Seaver’s already in the Hall of Fame; Morris should be.
During my teen years, my favorite managers were Sparky Anderson and Yogi Berra. In many ways they were cut from the same cloth when it came to baseball strategy. Both were very underrated, yet both were dumb like foxes. Of all the post-season match-ups I’ve seen in my lifetime, the 1973 NLCS between Sparky’s Reds and Yogi’s Mets is still among my favorites, with or without the Pete Rose and Bud Harrelson brawl.
So now baseball fans who remember Sparky are preparing to say good-bye. When a person needs hospice, that’s usually a sign the end is near. In a way, this column, as well as others being written, is Sparky’s unofficial obituary, his penultimate tribute.
When someone passes on, the reasons why are part of the discussion. In this case, one of MLB’s sharpest minds has sadly faded, eventually succumbing to one of life’s cruelest diseases. Unfortunately, the public doesn’t universally understand the distinctions between senility, dementia, and Alzheimer's Disease, and often uses these conditions interchangeably. We collectively know a person’s mind isn’t what it once was, and we often associate it with age.
Allow me to offer a brief distinction between these three medical conditions. Senility is a mental decline specifically associated with aging. The typical signs of senility are forgetfulness and short-term memory loss. In many cases, senility is often associated with arteriosclerosis, known as hardening of the arteries, where restricted blood flow to the brain impairs its cognitive functionality.
Dementia is a deterioration or loss of intellectual faculties, reasoning power and memory (long and short-term), usually due to an organic brain disease or injury.
Alzheimer's Disease not only is associated with progressive dementia, but specifically with atrophy of the cerebrum caused by microscopic deterioration of nerve tissue in the brain. The cerebrum is the region of our brains responsible for thought, behavior, emotions, personality, speech, sight, hearing, movement, and voluntary control of our body.
As we see, all three conditions relate to the mind loses its sharpness albeit to different degrees and due to different causes. As we now learn more and more of the potentially fatal long-term consequences of concussions and other injuries to the central nervous system, we no longer can simply chalk up any of these conditions to old age or a specific age of onset. Twenty year olds show signs of dementia no differently than septuagenarians do, unfortunately. The causes may differ, but the cruel effects are the same.
We don’t know the severity or extent of Sparky Anderson’s dementia, and it’s really none of our business. We don’t need to know whether he’s incontinent, able to communicate, or any other sad symptoms or manifestations of his illness. Chances are dementia has been a part of Sparky’s life for more than a few years, and since he’s stayed out of the public eye since the Tigers’ 25th anniversary celebration of their 1984 World Series title, it’s reasonable to imagine he’s experienced more than his share of “sun-downing” en route to his eventual passing.
We all have our sun-downs at different stages of life; sometimes we tend to poop out earlier than we used to, whether due to chronic illness, recent surgeries, or simply because our bodies tire more easily after pushing ourselves too hard with life’s everyday grind. In the case of a person whose brain is slowly losing its ability to function, the sun-down closes another day in which that brain will never be the same tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and that person will never quite be the same tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. Central nervous tissue doesn’t repair or regenerate, so each sun-down is essentially a daily death of the brain until the rest of one’s body sadly catches up in time for the final death.
When the sad day finally comes that Sparky Anderson passes on, let’s be sure to give pause and reflect most on his mind from his heyday, not the mind that died a slow and cruel death.
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