This hillbilly struck it rich in Philly

ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. – Gawd dang, son, Charlie Manuel sure can sound like a country bumpkin sometimes.

Understanding Manuel can be a tough task for anyone unfamiliar with the Philadelphia Phillies’ manager. Born in West Virginia and raised in Virginia, Charles Fuqua Manuel Jr. has a thick Appalachian drawl and doesn’t articulate thoughts like a professor.

Manuel is uncomfortable speaking in front of cameras and microphones, so he doesn’t come across as a master of the English language.

The folksy 64-year-old skipper would’ve fit in perfectly on “The Andy Griffith Show” or “The Dukes of Hazzard.” A Philadelphia newspaper labeled him “Charlie of Mayberry” during his first season with the Phillies in 2005. Other media members and fans joined in, taking shots at his elocution and mannerisms.

They’re not mocking him anymore.

Manuel is four wins from leading the Phillies to their second World Series title. If Manuel and the Phillies end the city’s 25-year title drought, Charlie-Speak may become a second language in Philly. “What the hell” and “Gawd dang, son” could replace “Yo” and “How you doin’?”

Who knows, everything hillbilly might become cool.

Make no mistake about Manuel’s abilities as a manager, though, no matter how he sounds.

“All you have to do is watch the growth of this club to know what he’s meant to them,” said Dallas Green, who managed the Phillies to their only World Series title in 1980. “He’s remained very consistent, very positive. He’s maintained a discipline that people don’t see that has made the team understand there’s rules to follow and he’s going to demand they are held to them.”

Green, a special adviser to general manager Pat Gillick, called criticism of Manuel’s speech patterns “totally unfair.”

“He’s a good communicator and he’s a good baseball man, and people don’t give him credit for that,” Green said Tuesday. “He knows the game. I think our fans have come to understand that the job of a manager is to get the best out of the players, and he does that better than anybody.”

Manuel has trouble with public speaking, but he expresses himself well in small groups or in 1-on-1 interviews. When he’s just shooting the breeze, Manuel is an excellent storyteller and quite funny. He’s a straight-shooter, too. He’ll tell it like it is, but won’t badmouth his players.

From Manny Ramirez to Chris Coste, stars and backups love playing for Manuel. He had such a strong relationship with Ramirez when he managed the Cleveland Indians that the two consider it a father-son bond.

“There’s enough pressure in this game and he doesn’t add any,” Coste said. “He has a unique way of making you feel, if you went 0 for 4 or 0 for 8, that you went 4 for 4 or 8 for 8. When he walks into the door, he’s like your favorite uncle or favorite grandfather, and you want to go up to him and give him a hug. That’s the kind of guy he is.”

Manuel is genuine and sincere. While some managers prefer to keep their distance from reporters, Manuel is affable and friendly. He personally signs and sends Christmas cards to writers, and will listen to their advice on lineups instead of questioning their baseball acumen. Sometimes during the off-season, Manuel stops by the team’s offices and randomly pops in to chat with employees he’s never met.

“He’s wonderfully candid. He’s a real people person,” said Scott Palmer, the team’s director of public affairs. “He’s a fun guy to be around. If every Phillies fan can be in a foursome with Charlie, by the 18th hole they’d be his best friend.”

Manuel is no dummy, either.

He could’ve been an Ivy Leaguer. Manuel turned down a scholarship to play basketball – his first love – at the University of Pennsylvania because he needed to work to support his mother and a big family. Manuel’s father died during his senior year at Parry McCluer High School in Buena Vista, Va. That left young Charlie, the oldest son of 11 children, to be the provider and father figure.

A three-sport star, Manuel didn’t think twice about giving up an opportunity to pursue an education and play ball in college. He knew his family needed him, so he did whatever he could. He worked the graveyard shift at a sawmill while finishing high school, making less than $50 per week. A year later, Manuel signed a professional contract with the Minnesota Twins and had more money to send home.

Manuel didn’t last long in the big leagues, batting .198 in 242 career games with the Twins and Los Angeles Dodgers. But he was a star slugger in Japan, hitting 189 home runs over six seasons.

If you think Manuel has trouble with English, imagine him talking Japanese.