He charged at umpires like a banty rooster, was foul-mouthed and had a raspy voice that grated like sandpaper thanks to years of chain-smoking cigarettes and hard drinking. But Earl Weaver was a winner who battled on every pitch, a driving force as manager of the Baltimore Orioles for 17 seasons.
He feuded with some of his players, trashed umpires and tapped their chests with the bill of his cap so many times that he was later forced to turn it around when arguing his case. He was ejected from 96 games, was the first manager in in 34 years to be tossed from a World Series game and was sent to the showers in both games of a doubleheader — twice.
The Earl of Baltimore was a feisty manager and a throwback, a contemporary of Billy Martin and a managerial descendant of Leo Durocher. No argument was too insignificant for Weaver if he believed his team had been wronged. He would kick dirt on home plate or rip up a rule book in front of an umpire, or mockingly pantomiming himself throwing out Don Denkinger, a move that was captured in a classic photograph. A video of Weaver jousting with first base umpire Bill Haller in 1980 remains a favorite on YouTube.
Entertaining stuff.
Weaver is the subject of a superb biography by writer and former Orioles scout John W. Miller. In The Last Manager: How Earl Weaver Tricked, Tormented, and Reinvented Baseball (Avid Reader Press; hardback; $30; 353 pages), Miller’s debut biography does not sugarcoat Weaver’s flaws, providing a fascinating look at the manager’s Hall of Fame career.
As the only manager to last with one team during the 1970s, Weaver reigned supreme, Miller writes. It was a time when baseball managers “were American royalty and powerful operators within the game, sometimes bigger stars than their players.”
He feuded with some of his players, trashed umpires and tapped their chests with the bill of his cap so many times that he was later forced to turn it around when arguing his case. He was ejected from 96 games, was the first manager in in 34 years to be tossed from a World Series game and was sent to the showers in both games of a doubleheader — twice.
The Earl of Baltimore was a feisty manager and a throwback, a contemporary of Billy Martin and a managerial descendant of Leo Durocher. No argument was too insignificant for Weaver if he believed his team had been wronged. He would kick dirt on home plate or rip up a rule book in front of an umpire, or mockingly pantomiming himself throwing out Don Denkinger, a move that was captured in a classic photograph. A video of Weaver jousting with first base umpire Bill Haller in 1980 remains a favorite on YouTube.
Entertaining stuff.
Weaver is the subject of a superb biography by writer and former Orioles scout John W. Miller. In The Last Manager: How Earl Weaver Tricked, Tormented, and Reinvented Baseball (Avid Reader Press; hardback; $30; 353 pages), Miller’s debut biography does not sugarcoat Weaver’s flaws, providing a fascinating look at the manager’s Hall of Fame career.
As the only manager to last with one team during the 1970s, Weaver reigned supreme, Miller writes. It was a time when baseball managers “were American royalty and powerful operators within the game, sometimes bigger stars than their players.”
John W. MIller
Certainly, the Orioles had their share of superstars — Frank Robinson, Brooks Robinson, Jim Palmer and Cal Ripken Jr. come to mind — but Weaver was the spark that ignited Baltimore to six American League East titles, four World Series berths and a world title during his tenure. He was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1996, at the time only the 13th skipper to be enshrined.
Weaver sought pitchers who threw strikes, hitters who had a high on-base percentage — a walk was as good as a hit — and teams that played tight defense.
Miller, who wrote Weaver’s obituary for The Wall Street Journal in January 2013, has also written for Time magazine, NPR and The Baltimore Sun. He was also a contributing writer at America Magazine, and in October 2024 became the head baseball coach at Allderdice High School in Pittsburgh.
“He was a manager at a time when baseball managers were cultural icons in America,” Miller said on AMDG: A Jesuit Podcast. “He kind of stood for this archetype of the manager as this folk hero, who was part philosopher, part general and part clown.”
Weaver’s theatrics were comparable to fights in the NHL or the soap opera that is professional wrestling, but he truly had a burning desire to win.
Between 1968 and 1982 — not counting the strike seasons of 1972 and 1981 — Weaver’s teams won 90 or more games 11 times and averaged 97, Miller writes. The Orioles won three straight American League pennants from 1969 to 1971 and topped 100 victories five times — including back-to-back 109- and 108-win seasons in 1969-70.
George Weigel, who wrote a biography of Pope John Paul II, told Miller that listening to Earl Weaver talk about baseball was like “listening to Homer recite The Iliad.”
Weaver sought pitchers who threw strikes, hitters who had a high on-base percentage — a walk was as good as a hit — and teams that played tight defense.
Miller, who wrote Weaver’s obituary for The Wall Street Journal in January 2013, has also written for Time magazine, NPR and The Baltimore Sun. He was also a contributing writer at America Magazine, and in October 2024 became the head baseball coach at Allderdice High School in Pittsburgh.
“He was a manager at a time when baseball managers were cultural icons in America,” Miller said on AMDG: A Jesuit Podcast. “He kind of stood for this archetype of the manager as this folk hero, who was part philosopher, part general and part clown.”
Weaver’s theatrics were comparable to fights in the NHL or the soap opera that is professional wrestling, but he truly had a burning desire to win.
Between 1968 and 1982 — not counting the strike seasons of 1972 and 1981 — Weaver’s teams won 90 or more games 11 times and averaged 97, Miller writes. The Orioles won three straight American League pennants from 1969 to 1971 and topped 100 victories five times — including back-to-back 109- and 108-win seasons in 1969-70.
George Weigel, who wrote a biography of Pope John Paul II, told Miller that listening to Earl Weaver talk about baseball was like “listening to Homer recite The Iliad.”
Earl Weaver always made his point to umpires. (National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum)
Weaver had already published a pair of memoirs — his 1972 book, Winning! and 1982’s It’s What You Learn After You Know It All That Counts — and a book he co-wrote with longtime sportswriter Terry Pluto about baseball strategy. So Miller decided he did not want a rehash.
“Journalism is stuff you can’t Google,” Miller said in the podcast.
Miller approached Weaver’s life by delving into archives and speaking with members of his family. He spoke with 26 former major league and minor league players from the Orioles and received an email from Palmer. Miller also interviewed three former major league umpires and spoke with team officials, historians, managers, general managers and sportswriters.
Miller picked the brains of more than 200 subjects by the time he was ready to write. He even asked a genealogist to research Weaver’s family tree.
Miller’s starting point for this biography was Weaver’s heartbreaking failure to reach the major leagues. He was a scrappy second baseman in the St. Louis Cardinals’ farm system, and after a strong showing in spring training in early 1952, his chances of sticking with the parent club looked promising. His grit and baseball knowledge drew comparisons to another second baseman, Eddie Stanky.
But unfortunately for Weaver, Stanky became the Cardinals’ player-manager in 1952. When deciding who would occupy the team’s last roster spot, Stanky chose himself over Weaver — a move that devastated the young infielder.
It was a time when Weaver “knocked on the door of his childhood dream and watched the baseball gods crack it open, and then slam it shut like a nightmare,” Miller writes.
WARNING: The following video contains vulgar language.
“Journalism is stuff you can’t Google,” Miller said in the podcast.
Miller approached Weaver’s life by delving into archives and speaking with members of his family. He spoke with 26 former major league and minor league players from the Orioles and received an email from Palmer. Miller also interviewed three former major league umpires and spoke with team officials, historians, managers, general managers and sportswriters.
Miller picked the brains of more than 200 subjects by the time he was ready to write. He even asked a genealogist to research Weaver’s family tree.
Miller’s starting point for this biography was Weaver’s heartbreaking failure to reach the major leagues. He was a scrappy second baseman in the St. Louis Cardinals’ farm system, and after a strong showing in spring training in early 1952, his chances of sticking with the parent club looked promising. His grit and baseball knowledge drew comparisons to another second baseman, Eddie Stanky.
But unfortunately for Weaver, Stanky became the Cardinals’ player-manager in 1952. When deciding who would occupy the team’s last roster spot, Stanky chose himself over Weaver — a move that devastated the young infielder.
It was a time when Weaver “knocked on the door of his childhood dream and watched the baseball gods crack it open, and then slam it shut like a nightmare,” Miller writes.
WARNING: The following video contains vulgar language.
Weaver’s love for baseball began early, and he confessed that his combativeness was due to the influence of his favorite uncle, Edward “Bud” Borchert, an illegal bookie who roamed the stands at Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis taking bets.
Weaver homered in his first professional at-bat in 1948, helping West Frankfort to a 5-2 victory against Marion in the Class D Illinois State League. He would play in the minors through the 1960 season (although he appeared in one game for Elmira in 1965), but turned to managing in 1956. He would compile an 802-704 record and was tapped to manage the Orioles in 1968 after beginning the season as Baltimore’s first base coach.
He thrived in Baltimore, carving out a 1,480-1,060 regular-season mark.
Weaver had plenty of personality flaws, Miller writes. He used racial slurs while growing up in St. Louis, but later championed Black players like Frank Robinson, Don Buford, Paul Blair and Elrod Hendricks. He had a distant relationship with the three children from his first marriage but did draw closer to them and his grandchildren after retiring from baseball.
Weaver homered in his first professional at-bat in 1948, helping West Frankfort to a 5-2 victory against Marion in the Class D Illinois State League. He would play in the minors through the 1960 season (although he appeared in one game for Elmira in 1965), but turned to managing in 1956. He would compile an 802-704 record and was tapped to manage the Orioles in 1968 after beginning the season as Baltimore’s first base coach.
He thrived in Baltimore, carving out a 1,480-1,060 regular-season mark.
Weaver had plenty of personality flaws, Miller writes. He used racial slurs while growing up in St. Louis, but later championed Black players like Frank Robinson, Don Buford, Paul Blair and Elrod Hendricks. He had a distant relationship with the three children from his first marriage but did draw closer to them and his grandchildren after retiring from baseball.
Earl Weaver managed in Baltimore for 17 seasons. (MLB.com)
Weaver was a notorious three-pack-a-day smoker and the Orioles’ equipment manager sewed a pocket inside his uniform to hide them from umpires during a game. His drinking got him into trouble, and on at least two occasions he was pulled over by police for suspicion of driving under the influence.
“You would not have wanted him to date your daughter,” Miller writes.
Regardless, on the field Weaver was a tactical genius. He devoured statistics and worked on analytics and situational baseball along before the heyday of Bill James.
“It was important to Weaver to have a player matched up in his mind with every possible game situation,” Miller quotes James from The Bill James Guide to Baseball Managers.
Miller notes that Weaver used his data to great effect in 1977, when the Orioles overachieved with 97 victories. It legitimatized Weaver’s famous mantra that he coined two years later — ballgames were won by “pitching, defense and three-run homers.”
He employed groundskeeper Pat Santarone, nicknamed the “Sodfather,” to tailor the infield at Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium to suit his hitters. He knew that his defense would adapt, and the infield, adapted to the Orioles’ opponents, gave Baltimore an edge. Weaver was also the first manager to use a radar gun to clock the speed of pitches.
He and Santarone would also talk trash about the “Tomato Wars” they waged, as they grew them and swear their plant was the best. During the 1980s they would develop and market a fertilizer called “Earl ’n Pat’s Tomato Food,” Miller writes.
Miller quotes some of Weaver’s best lines through the years. “If you don’t get the ball over the plate, the batters will keep walking around and stepping on it,” the manager would say.
Weaver enjoyed “playing the Socratic gadfly,” Miller writes.
When Pat Kelly told his manager that he should “walk with the Lord,” Weaver snapped back that “I’d rather you walk with the bases loaded.”
Another time, Weaver told Kelly that “We better not be counting on God. I ain’t got no stats on God.”
“I’d like to read your rule book,” Weaver screamed at Triple-A umpire Paul Nicolai while managing for Rochester in 1967.
“You can’t read,” the umpire retorted.
“Not your book,” Weaver countered. “It’s in Braille.”
“You would not have wanted him to date your daughter,” Miller writes.
Regardless, on the field Weaver was a tactical genius. He devoured statistics and worked on analytics and situational baseball along before the heyday of Bill James.
“It was important to Weaver to have a player matched up in his mind with every possible game situation,” Miller quotes James from The Bill James Guide to Baseball Managers.
Miller notes that Weaver used his data to great effect in 1977, when the Orioles overachieved with 97 victories. It legitimatized Weaver’s famous mantra that he coined two years later — ballgames were won by “pitching, defense and three-run homers.”
He employed groundskeeper Pat Santarone, nicknamed the “Sodfather,” to tailor the infield at Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium to suit his hitters. He knew that his defense would adapt, and the infield, adapted to the Orioles’ opponents, gave Baltimore an edge. Weaver was also the first manager to use a radar gun to clock the speed of pitches.
He and Santarone would also talk trash about the “Tomato Wars” they waged, as they grew them and swear their plant was the best. During the 1980s they would develop and market a fertilizer called “Earl ’n Pat’s Tomato Food,” Miller writes.
Miller quotes some of Weaver’s best lines through the years. “If you don’t get the ball over the plate, the batters will keep walking around and stepping on it,” the manager would say.
Weaver enjoyed “playing the Socratic gadfly,” Miller writes.
When Pat Kelly told his manager that he should “walk with the Lord,” Weaver snapped back that “I’d rather you walk with the bases loaded.”
Another time, Weaver told Kelly that “We better not be counting on God. I ain’t got no stats on God.”
“I’d like to read your rule book,” Weaver screamed at Triple-A umpire Paul Nicolai while managing for Rochester in 1967.
“You can’t read,” the umpire retorted.
“Not your book,” Weaver countered. “It’s in Braille.”
Weaver hated the nicknames “Mickey Rooney” or “Toulouse-Lautrec,” because it emphasized his short stature.
Miller recounts the story of a woman singing the national anthem and Weaver asking umpire Dale Ford, “How many calls are you gonna screw up tonight?”
“Rooney, it don’t matter, cuz when this fat lady’s done, you are too,” Ford said.
And then there was the Sept. 17, 1980, game when Weaver and Haller butted heads. Haller called Orioles starter Mike Flanagan for a balk in the top of the first inning, and the fireworks began. The umpire proved to be equally adept at using profane language as the two adversaries sparred.
Haller had agreed to wear a microphone for WDVM PM Magazine, a news show that the Washington, D.C., television station aired. The station was doing a segment about umpires’ pregame routines, but the camera crew got more than they bargained for.
“The first thing I said was, ‘Haller, you’re only in here to cheat us,’ only I didn’t say ‘cheat.’” Weaver told reporters after the game.
“Boiling Earl,” was the caption in the Sept. 19, 1980, edition of The Richmond Times-Dispatch that showed Weaver pointing at Haller.
The Baltimore Evening Sun published a transcript that was also sanitized, but the video is vulgar in every sense of the word.
“They threw us out of the stadium,” cameraman Rick Armstrong told Miller. “We drive back and our mouths are wide open. It’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen.
“They cut that with beep after beep. He put on a hell of a show.”
Weaver always fought for his team, and his players were loyal to him because of that, Miller writes. He battled with Palmer and Rick Dempsey, but to a man, players managed by Weaver said he was passionate about winning and never held a grudge.
It did not matter that he had a drinking problem, Miller writes.
“How could this work for so long? How could the Orioles play so hard for a turbulent, messy boss?” he writes. “It’s a fascinating question that gets to the heart of Earl Weaver’s success, our complicated natures, and the nature of leadership.”
Weaver prepared his players during spring training, never imposed curfews or criticized players behind their backs, Miller writes. He also enjoyed confronting players, believing that players would better respond to pressure during game situations.
“If you couldn’t handle him, he didn’t want you up with the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth,” Doug DeCinces said.
Weaver’s career was a pivot point in baseball history, Miller writes. “He entered the old-time baseball world and, when he left, the game was modern.”
“He was more intense than any manager I ever had in spring training,” Ken Singleton told Miller in an interview.
“Earl had everything,” former Orioles general manager Frank Cashen said. “He drank his brains out. But he was an (expletive) genius.”
Miller has crafted an absorbing and revealing look at one of baseball’s greatest managers. His thorough research and detailed interviews make The Last Manager a fascinating read.
Miller recounts the story of a woman singing the national anthem and Weaver asking umpire Dale Ford, “How many calls are you gonna screw up tonight?”
“Rooney, it don’t matter, cuz when this fat lady’s done, you are too,” Ford said.
And then there was the Sept. 17, 1980, game when Weaver and Haller butted heads. Haller called Orioles starter Mike Flanagan for a balk in the top of the first inning, and the fireworks began. The umpire proved to be equally adept at using profane language as the two adversaries sparred.
Haller had agreed to wear a microphone for WDVM PM Magazine, a news show that the Washington, D.C., television station aired. The station was doing a segment about umpires’ pregame routines, but the camera crew got more than they bargained for.
“The first thing I said was, ‘Haller, you’re only in here to cheat us,’ only I didn’t say ‘cheat.’” Weaver told reporters after the game.
“Boiling Earl,” was the caption in the Sept. 19, 1980, edition of The Richmond Times-Dispatch that showed Weaver pointing at Haller.
The Baltimore Evening Sun published a transcript that was also sanitized, but the video is vulgar in every sense of the word.
“They threw us out of the stadium,” cameraman Rick Armstrong told Miller. “We drive back and our mouths are wide open. It’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen.
“They cut that with beep after beep. He put on a hell of a show.”
Weaver always fought for his team, and his players were loyal to him because of that, Miller writes. He battled with Palmer and Rick Dempsey, but to a man, players managed by Weaver said he was passionate about winning and never held a grudge.
It did not matter that he had a drinking problem, Miller writes.
“How could this work for so long? How could the Orioles play so hard for a turbulent, messy boss?” he writes. “It’s a fascinating question that gets to the heart of Earl Weaver’s success, our complicated natures, and the nature of leadership.”
Weaver prepared his players during spring training, never imposed curfews or criticized players behind their backs, Miller writes. He also enjoyed confronting players, believing that players would better respond to pressure during game situations.
“If you couldn’t handle him, he didn’t want you up with the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth,” Doug DeCinces said.
Weaver’s career was a pivot point in baseball history, Miller writes. “He entered the old-time baseball world and, when he left, the game was modern.”
“He was more intense than any manager I ever had in spring training,” Ken Singleton told Miller in an interview.
“Earl had everything,” former Orioles general manager Frank Cashen said. “He drank his brains out. But he was an (expletive) genius.”
Miller has crafted an absorbing and revealing look at one of baseball’s greatest managers. His thorough research and detailed interviews make The Last Manager a fascinating read.
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