"They want you to cook the dinner; at least they ought to let you shop for some of the groceries." — Bill Parcells, professional angry person and former head coach of the Giants, Patriots, Jets, and Cowboys

We suppose we should be excited about this — the man who manages the unlikely Oakland A's to repeated success is kinda sorta maybe a Jew (his mother is Jewish, but he doesn't practice or self-identify). Can't you picture the dramatic field general — one foot in the dugout, the other on the field — driving his boys to victory?

Yeah, not so much.

Y'see back when Connie Mack was a slightly younger fossil, a person such as Melvin put the man in manager. He acquired the players, he filled out the lineup card, he made the strategic decisions.

By the time Tony LaRussa was making his 543rd pitching change in the fourth inning, the role of the manager had been reduced to the field. Some other dude signed the free agents and made the blockbuster trades. The manager was just the guy who told Cal Ripken Jr. to shade slightly to the left of the infield.

And now? Well nowadays we can't even ask out managers to do that much. It's the General Manager, the Theo Epsteins and Billy Beanes that make every decision, leaving the manager to... act surly in front of reporters? Show the rookies how to scratch their crotches and spit chaw? Who knows?

So, yeah, Bob Melvin twenty years ago? Awesome. But the man who's currently paid to be the puppet where Billy Beane's hand lives?

Eh.