You will find no mention of it in the official Detroit Tigers record book _ or in any other record book, official or unofficial, for that matter. Cooperstown doesn’t care.
        But trust me: I once managed the Tigers _ even if it was only a 1975 late-morning spring training intra-squad game at empty Marchant Stadium.
        I picked my team, I made out the batting order, and, most important of all, I won, 1-0.
        Please, hold your applause.
        If memory serves me right, I was the genius who stationed piano-legged catcher Gene Lamont at third base in place of  rifle-armed Aurelio Rodriguez and batted Lamont seventh in the order, which put him in perfect position to triple _ yes, triple _ home Leon Roberts with the winning run.
        Actually, I had no little choice in the matter because Ralph Houk, the real manager who was looking over my shoulder,  told me I couldn’t use Rodriguez, who was sidelined with a badly bruised instep. Lamont was the only able-bodied extra player I had.
        But why let the facts stand in the way of a good saga?
        In my mind, my daring move ranks right up there with Mayo Smith’s decision to start centerfielder Mickey Stanley at shortstop in place of Ray Oyler in the 1968 World Series. That one worked out pretty well, too, as I recall.
        During the game, I did everything I had watched my predecessors, Smith and Houk and Billy Martin, do.
        In other words, I folded my arms. I unfolded my arms. I crossed my legs. I uncrossed my legs. I leaned forward in my seat on the bench. I leaned back.
        And, of course, I spit up a storm _ although I resisted Houk’s invitation to put in a chew.
        In other words, I made all the right managerial moves.
        When my two best hitters, Bill Freehan and Nate Colbert, struck out with Ben Oglivie on second base and one out, Houk leaned over and cackled in my ear, “Now you know what I go through.”
        I made a mental note to remember that. I felt like I was in the fraternity.
        I even got six scoreless innings out of my starting pitcher, Lerrin  LaGrow _ which, I am not too modest to point out, was more than Houk, with all of his New York Yankee moxie, was able to do all spring.
        Unfortunately, the  ‘75 Tigers never recovered from my brief stint at the helm. They lost 102 games that summer.
        But I knew enough to get out while the getting was good. I retired, undefeated, untied and unscored upon.
        And, of course, after the game, I refused to speak to the press.