Yogi, the Commissar

He looked almost like a manager. He acted almost like a manager, though he still grimaced greenly when he puffed his executive stogie. He even talked al most like a manager. "I'm doing plenty of looking," he said sagely, "and that's why I'm watching so much."

If it was publicity that the New York Yankees were looking for when they named Lawrence Peter Berra, 38, as their manager last October, they were certainly getting it. In fact, if Yogi gets much more publicity, worried one Yankee official in Florida last week, "he might become more of a personality than a manager"--J. Fred Muggs, perhaps. "My big problem as manager will be to see if I can manage," said Yogi with indisputable logic, and he wasted no time letting the proud Yankees know who was boss. Calling the team together in the clubhouse at Fort Lauderdale, he announced: "I'm running this club, and these are my rules.

No swimming. No golf. No jai alai. No race tracks. No gambling at all. Everybody in at 11:30. Lights out at 12, and radios off. There'll be a 7:30 call for everybody, and everybody better look like a Yankee. No walking around in blue jeans, and no shorts."

It was just Berra's little joke, of course. "Oh, that Yogi," sighed one bemused Yankee. "He scared hell out of me," admitted Mickey Mantle. All the same, the Yankees were working harder than they had in years. With Outfielders Mantle and Roger Maris healthy once again, the Yankees were a far cry from the injury-ridden club that lost four straight games to the Los Angeles Dodgers in the 1963 World Series. But Yogi was taking no chances. "We had too many pulled muscles last year," he said, ordering ten minutes of rugged calisthenics every day. At practice sessions he was everywhere--gesturing with a fungo bat, exhorting his players ("C'mon now, c'mon . . . let's hustle . . . attaboy . . . here we go . . . let's move"), scribbling furiously in a bulging notebook.

But by week's end, with their grapefruit-league schedule well under way, the hustling Yankees had four wins in eight games, were showing only flashes of midseason form. Manager Berra was copping his first plea. "Just in case we lose a few and you guys want to know why," he grumped, "we ain't playing to win down here."

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