When Yogi Berra was learning how to catch, the manager was in the habit of calling all the pitches from the dugout—and in the major leagues such a manager could well be accused of micromanaging. The pitchers didn’t like this. They wanted Yogi to see the game through their eyes, not the manager’s—and one day Allie Reynolds told the rest of the staff that he would break Yogi of that habit. He did so, and from then on it was Berra who would call the pitches.
When I played, many moons ago, I had a very good catcher who knew my stuff and what I could do with it, and so he would call the pitches. There were two exceptions: one, when there was a runner on second, and two, when I was going to crossfire a pitch (I was one of those exasperating, infuriating sidearmers)—in those two instances I would call the pitch myself. No problem. All he had to do was position his mitt and wait for the ball. Also, on one or two occasions when I had to work with a substitute catcher (like the time when my regular catcher had to spend the whole day at the dentist’s office with a screaming emergency), I would tell my catcher-for-the-day that I would call the pitches. Again, no problem.
And all our manager had to do was sit back and enjoy my strikeouts.