BOSTON -- There are some who believe the manager's role in wins and losses is vastly overstated.
A manager may win a few games with a strategic move here and there, but for the most part, many of those moves are predictable.
When to move the infield in. When to try to steal a base. When to put on the hit-and-run. When to take a pitch. When to lift a pitcher.
OK, so maybe they're not all predictable, with Game 7 of the American League Championship Series standing out as Exhibit A of how something that can seem so obvious to a region of Red Sox fans isn't so obvious to the Boston manager whose decision counts.
Some moves made during a game can lead to bad results that can be costly.
Grady Little has been villified around here for leaving in Pedro Martinez, a move he has said he would make again if he had the chance and a move that scores of Red Sox fans knew was a bad one as soon as the manager left the mound without taking Martinez with him.
But while in-game decisions are vitally important, there's another part of the manager's job that's equally important, a job that is performed behind closed doors, in the clubhouse.
The manager knows he can't keep everybody happy. There are 25 players on an active roster every day, and all 25 think they deserve to play a starring role. That attitude, plus ability, is what has gotten the player to the big leagues, and huge salaries reinforce this attitude.
A manager, though, can't play everybody in a starring role. But he also knows that at some point during the season, he will need everyone, mixing and matching the players because of injuries and slumps. So he has to be more of a psychologist, not to mention a buffer against the probing media, to get the most out of each of his players.
That is easier said than done in this day and age of entitlement that, in many of the players' minds, goes along with the numerous zeroes on the paycheck.
It is rare now when a manager can be a hated man and still lead a team to the World Series, the way Dick Williams did in 1967. Could it still happen? Maybe, but less likely. The Phillies hated manager Larry Bowa and almost made the playoffs, so it's possible.
But while having to make hard decisions, the most successful managers these days have the players' respect.
Certainly there's no substitute for talent, and some will scoff at the word chemistry, claiming victories breed chemistry and not vice versa. And the maturity and personalities of the players contribute to the clubhouse atmosphere as well.
But it is the manager who has to keep it all from falling apart, and that is where Grady Little did a terrific job over the last two seasons. His demeanor was easygoing, but he learned in his first two seasons how to make some tough moves when necessary.
For instance, at the tail end of the 2002 season, Manny Ramirez failed to run out a bouncer he hit back to the mound. As the ball settled in the pitcher's glove, Ramirez just pivoted and walked back to the dugout, not even jogging a step or two in the direction of first base.
Little did not discipline Ramirez. He didn't bench him right away. He left him in the lineup and Ramirez broke a tie with a homer in the seventh. The next day, Little seemed to agree that he should have disciplined Ramirez right then and there.
This season there was another flare-up with Ramirez. He missed a couple of games because of pharyngitis, socialized with a Yankee while sick but didn't report to the ballpark for a checkup and then was too sick to pinch-hit, refusing Little's request.
This time Little sat out his cleanup hitter the next game, when he said he was ready to play. Little was willing to weaken the team for the day to prove a point and maybe teach Ramirez a lesson, winning points with his team.
His personality played a role in the Sox' ability to bounce back time and again this season, staying focused on winning ballgames. Little never criticized his players publicly, a quality appreciated by his players.
"He never throws any of us under the bus," said Garciaparra late in the season.
"If something went wrong in the clubhouse, it never got out of the clubhouse," added catcher Jason Varitek a little over a week ago. "There were probably a billion things that happened in the clubhouse that could have destroyed this team but they didn't because of Grady."
So Grady endured the T-shirt king -- Kevin Millar -- who did a booming business with his "Cowboy Up" and other shirts. He just turned a deaf ear every time Damian Jackson would wander up behind someone in the clubhouse and let out a high-decibel holler, just to scare the unsuspecting person.
He even let some of the Sox cut his hair short, getting in the spirit of the postseason shearing even if he didn't revel in the hijinks himself.
It was all about getting the players to play hard. And to a man they all played hard, not only for themselves, but for Grady Little.
That's one measure of a good manager. But it wasn't enough to convince the Red Sox that he was the man to take the franchise to what officials yesterday called "the next level."
