Mariners thriving under manager Don Wakamatsu's steady leadership

The extraordinary thing about Don Wakamatsu is, well, nothing. He isn't a man of superlatives; his essence can't be whittled down in that manner. He is a creature of routine, of stability, of the ordinary.

My boss asked me last September why Wakamatsu worked so well as a rookie Mariners manager. It puzzled me that Wakamatsu's success was surprising to him. My boss said it was because, in postgame interviews, the manager comes across so milquetoast.

"That's not really Wakamatsu," I said. "I wouldn't judge him too much on those interviews."

"Well, maybe you should tell us what he's really like," my boss said.

And here we are, seven months later, about to start a new season, and I'm finally heeding that advice. This isn't the recommended reaction time to a superior's request, but this side story serves as a reminder of how difficult it is to get people to listen to you and, ultimately, follow you.

Wakamatsu mastered that as a first-year skipper. Why? He's solid. He doesn't change. He's clear in his commands, direct but conversational, forceful but fun-loving. And, as we learned last season, he knows what he's doing.

An unbending approach defines Wakamatsu. It's a reason the Mariners survived injuries, roster upheaval and poor hitting to finish 85-77 a year ago. And it's a reason the 2010 ballclub, which inspires both major optimism and concern, will perform just fine amid increased expectations.

"Nothing will change him," said Mike Sweeney, the Mariner who knows Wakamatsu best. "Championships, paychecks, World Series, disappointments — nothing will change him. He's really simple, but there's something about that. You know who Wak is. He loves the game, loves his family and commands respect. That will never change because he will never change."

His nickname, Wak, is pronounced "wok." But center fielder Franklin Gutierrez — excuse his English — sometimes makes it sound like "wack," which is a synonym for lame. Make no mistake, however: Wak isn't wack.

Last season, he impressed with how prepared he was to be a manager. He used 140 different lineups in 162 games and won more than he lost. He hired pitching coach Rick Adair, who helped the Mariners post the American League's lowest earned-run average despite having only one fixture (Felix Hernandez) in his starting rotation.

Wakamatsu was firm when he needed to be, as evidenced by his stern words for Hernandez early last season that led to a dominant year for the young pitcher. At the same time, Wakamatsu was loose when he needed to be, as evidenced by the leeway he gave Ken Griffey Jr. to keep the clubhouse in good spirits.

For those efforts, the jokester Griffey inserted an image of himself into a Wakamatsu family photo for one of his many pranks. It was hilarious, but it had meaning, too. In a short time, Wak had endeared himself to the Mariners, including their iconic aging star.

But he didn't do it by pacifying his players. Griffey had to buy into a reduced role. Even Ichiro, at the center of clubhouse dysfunction in 2008, made a seamless transition to Wak's way.

The manager kept preaching about a "belief system." Even though he used those two words so often they became more like verbal filler, the message reached the players. The Mariners found stability because they had a stable manager.

"When you're in that manager's seat, everyone knows if you have that X-factor or if you don't," Sweeney said. "Don has it. Ever since I met Don, back when he was a third-base coach in Texas, he had an aura about him that commanded respect. Likewise, he gets respect.

"He carries himself like he's been doing this his whole life. But he doesn't act like he knows it all. Think about those two things. They're not opposing ideas if you know what you're doing. Wak knows what he's doing."

Delve into Wakamatsu's past, and his family will tell you he has always been a master communicator. Even as a child, he knew how to talk to adults.

"We're not sure where he got that from," said his mother, Sandra Wakamatsu, during an interview last spring.

He's a natural leader. Many managers lose their clubhouses because they make decisions in a bubble and alienate their players. Almost every day, Wakamatsu makes sure he "touches" his players: communicating with them through private meetings; or walking the clubhouse for friendly banter; or throwing batting practice to the likes of Griffey and Ichiro.

Gutierrez credits Wakamatsu's trust in him as a factor in a breakthrough 2009 season. You can count closer David Aardsma among the many Mariners who echo Gutierrez's sentiment.

This season will present some new challenges, which include trying to get the best out of Milton Bradley. But here's what won't change: Wakamatsu's temperament.

He'll just do his job, steady as ever. He's so ordinary. And it's so wonderful.

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com, Twitter: @Jerry_Brewer

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