John McLaren wears emotions on his sleeve

PEORIA, Ariz. — John McLaren walked into this job wearing a sling and shedding tears. He looked like he had spent the afternoon as a rhino's tackling dummy. In his dreams, this day never included torment.

He figured he would need a formal interview to become a major-league manager, not be offered the hand-me-down gig of a drained manager. He figured he would get a night's sleep before his first news conference, not a couple of hours to harness the disbelief. He figured he would end the day with a party, featuring champagne and speeches from longtime friends, not a hug from the wife of his departing boss."It's your time," Sharon Hargrove told McLaren last July. "And we support you. Go get 'em."

Shortly thereafter, Sharon left Safeco Field with her husband, Mike, suddenly the former Mariners manager. Now it was McLaren's team. Only it wasn't.

"It was such an awkward feeling," McLaren said. "Sadness, jubilation, they were clashing."

Seven months later, there is no awkwardness, no inner clashing. The manager sits up straight and looks you in the eyes. McLaren tosses away the 2007 season, one memory at a time, stopping to reflect every so often. He reiterates the win-now mandate of 2008. He digs into his past, bringing his mother and Texas hometown into focus.

His lips twitch, his eyelids flutter, and yes, the tears are forming again. McLaren is an epic crier. His baseball cap must be made of onions. If managing doesn't pan out, soap operas are always looking for men with healthy tear ducts.

Therein lies the greatest contradiction of John Lowell McLaren. He's a true baseball man with enough heart to fill a Disney movie.

Where's the brusque demeanor? Where's the surliness? Where's the mandatory frown?

"I've been around guys that are macho, and I've seen them break down in tears," the 56-year-old McLaren says. "I'm an emotional person, make no mistake. I'm not embarrassed to be that way at all."

As a child, he was a mama's boy because there was no father in the house. The family lived in Galveston, Texas, and McLaren's mother, Jackie, worked at his uncle's restaurant. Seaview, it was called, a joint known for its fried chicken.

Jackie awoke at 4 a.m. every weekday to help open the restaurant. She'd work 12 hours, return home, and if someone called in sick, she'd return to Seaview to work another shift.

"We never did without, ever," McLaren says.

When he was 13, McLaren wanted to go to Missouri for instruction at the Mickey Owen Baseball School. It was too expensive, but Jackie came up with a plan. She paid half of the registration fee on time, and while her son was en route to the camp, she sent the rest of the money through Western Union. The funds arrived just in time.

With Jackie's support, McLaren became a professional baseball player. He was a catcher, good enough to be drafted in the seventh round, but he toiled in the minors for seven years before ending his playing career.

Then he became a coaching nomad. He advanced from scout to South American manager to minor-league manager to Lou Piniella's right-hand man.

Today, he has his own team, one now equipped with a playoff-caliber starting rotation. McLaren will not skirt expectations.

"The organization has stepped forward," he says. "Now they've turned it over to us. We need to do our job."

It's bold talk from a man with such little managing experience. Can he back it up? No one can be certain of the answer right now. We can scrutinize the 84 games he managed after replacing Hargrove, but he spent that period not trying to shake up things too much.

The bad timing of his dream job turned comical. Remember the sling? McLaren had rotator-cuff surgery on his right shoulder two days before Hargrove quit. He began his major-league managing career looking wounded, feeling weird and knowing that his doctor was watching on television.

"I didn't like wearing the sling," McLaren said. "I was very self-conscious about it. But the doctor told me if I didn't wear it, I'd risk needing surgery again. And he was watching us on TV. I was trapped."

He chuckles at the awkwardness of the past. Those were uneasy times.

"It took me a while to get my feet on the ground," McLaren said. "I was in shock, and I think the team was in shock. I didn't want to be overbearing. I just wanted them to keep going forward."

At the All-Star break last season, he had his party. Friends came. Champagne flowed. Toasts were made. McLaren felt a little more comfortable after that, but the excitement soon lost its fizzle.

The Mariners progressed under McLaren until they flat-lined in late August. They suffered a historic fall, losing 13 of 14 games, crumbling from every angle possible. McLaren had no answers for a worn-out bullpen and mediocre rotation. He suffered heavy criticism for the first time. Second-guessing, too.

He waited so long for this? Thirty-seven years in baseball for this? Then he relaxed, and the team relaxed, and the lost season ended with 88 wins, which was both an improvement and a disappointment.

This year will serve as a better test of McLaren's managerial acumen. He has his own coaching staff, a lauded group. He has Erik Bedard atop his rotation. He has an entire spring training to mold capable veterans into a cohesive, winning team.

And he has pressure, too. The Mariners signed McLaren through 2009 and hold an option for 2010, but he won't last if he struggles.

Asked if he worries about job security, McLaren replied: "No. Would I like to get fired? No. But I'm going to give the same effort I always have. I'm confident we will make the playoffs. All I ask for is an opportunity, and I've gotten it, and I'm going to run with it."

He's officially in control. Ichiro complimented the organization Wednesday for being more unified. He's impressed not only that winning has become the universal goal, but that everyone is in agreement on the right way to go about it.

Without question, McLaren has done his part to make the Mariners more collegial. His impact is becoming tangible.

"I have a feeling of belonging now," he says.

Home at last, the manager puts his feet on his desk, his hands on his head and laughs long and hard.

There's no question in his mind anymore. This is exactly what he always wanted.

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com. For more columns and the Extra Points blog, visit seattletimes.com/sports