[RebelYell]

The story that appeared in this morning's paper is what I woke up to on my first day as the Cleveland Indians manager. Just a little commentary from one of the sportswriters who has known me as the Akron manager. He doesn't really know me too well, but he did a pretty good job summing me up for the fans, I guess.

I've got a thing about sportswriters. They're underpaid and they work pretty hard, but they don't really know too much. They think they do and that's how you have to treat them. That's how I treat them. I'm as respectful to them as I ever was to my father and I don't patronize them. They have a job to do and so do baseball managers. It's possible for everybody to get what they want by working together so that's how I approach them.

It's how I approach coaching and playing baseball, too.

Playing and coaching ball is the only thing I've ever done in my life. Funny that the writer mentioned Crash Davis from one of my favorite movies. I'm a movie buff, an amateur songwriter and a daddy to four kids. But what I do for a living is try to win baseball games.

Really, it's all I know.

And it's brought me here. This is home. I grew up here, which is strange to some people when they hear me talk. I was born in Arkansas. A teammate once told me that it didn't matter where I was born in Arkansas because Arkansas is nowhere.

I didn't agree, but I smiled and nodded at him anyway.

I "came alive with the Tribe in '75." That was the theme back then. I figure some marketing genius might dig it up in '05 and wondered, while I've been away, if they used it in '85 or '95. I skipped school and was there the day player-manager Frank Robinson hit a home run on Opening Day. I saw Len Barker's perfect game on a chilly night by Lake Erie. I saw Hank Aaron play for the Brewers. I saw Lou Piniella hit a home run to beat the Indians while I was waving my "I hate the Yankees" hanky.

I was heavily influenced by some motormouth named Pete Franklin.

I went to a lot of baseball games back then. I was there for night games when the attendance at cavernous Municipal Stadium was less than 6,000.

Me and my buddies started the Eduardo Rodriguez fan club because we got to the ballpark for batting practice and he was the first guy who ever tossed us a baseball. We followed his career as if he were Gehrig and we always sat just above the visiting team bullpen, heckling the relievers.

We tossed pennies to the unfortunate Oakland A's after their dynasty had been dismantled (Pick it up and double your salary, we yelled) and glared at Al Hrabosky when he would stare at one of our group for saying something offensive.

And now I'm back. As far as I'm concerned, I've made it.

But it's a weird feeling. I've made it and I have 100 things to do and I don't know where to start.
I feel like Robert Redford after he won the election in "The Candidate."

He looks at his campaign manager and, pleading with his eyes, moves his lips in the crowded room.
"What do I do now" is what he asks.

I think I know exactly how he feels.