Whether Paul Molitor's tenure as Twins manager culminates in a parade or a pink slip, hiring him feels right, like pulling on a broken-in baseball cap and heading to the local ballpark.
Molitor grew up on the sandlots of St. Paul. He learned from legendary coach Bill Peterson, who taught him that you should slide hard enough to singe body hair. He played at Cretin, then at the University of Minnesota, and became a star in Milwaukee under the tutelage of a classic Midwestern sports hero, the stoic and exceptional Robin Yount.
Molitor earned a ring as the MVP of the 1993 World Series, and three years later came home to Minnesota, where he enjoyed a Favre-like late-career renaissance and collected his 3,000 hit in the uniform of the team he grew up following. One night in Kansas City, he would become the first baseball player ever to make his 3,000th hit a triple, paying homage to Peterson by diving head-first into third.
The best story lines don't always produce the best leaders, but Molitor, at 58, has prepared himself more thoroughly for this job than any other candidate could have, just as his predecessor, Ron Gardenhire, earned the job the last time Terry Ryan chose between the two men.
Molitor worked as a coach under Tom Kelly, the equivalent of a physicist temping in Einstein's lab. Molitor worked as a special assignment scout for the Twins, and when a young team earned its only playoff series win since 1991, beating the formidable A's in 2002, many players credited Molitor's incisive scouting reports.
In recent years, Molitor has worked closely with top prospects throughout the organization, prompting the likes of Byron Buxton and Miguel Sano to rave about his insights.
When Molitor became a coach under Gardenhire last season, second baseman Brian Dozier credited Molitor for his improved baserunning, and several players privately hoped that Molitor would become their next manager if Gardenhire were fired.
Molitor will have to prove he can withstand a big-league manager's exhausting schedule, the media obligations and the constant second-guessing. There can be no concern about his expertise. He might have been the smartest player of his generation. While sitting on the bench with various Twins farm teams, he would shock players by calling out what the opposing pitcher was about to throw, or offering baserunning insights they had never before heard.