Kansas City, Mo. ? Some 15, 20 years ago, the manager’s office in most major-league clubhouses was an open door for baseball writers, provided the manager wasn’t busy.

Now, with everything so much more structured and with such a corporate feel in the baseball air, managers generally meet with reporters at assigned times, either in the office or, more commonly, the dugout.

To enter a manager’s office uninvited now, a reporter is wise at least to be armed with a harmless ice-breaker.

And then there is the office of Ozzie Guillen, third-year manager of the Chicago White Sox, reigning world champions. Guillen is alone in his office in the visiting clubhouse at Kauffman Stadium several hours before a game with the Kansas City Royals.

Time for an ice-breaker after renewing acquaintances and congratulating him on his World Series triumph. Guillen is asked: Do you think Gus Polidor would have been a major-league manager today if he had lived?

Polidor was Guillen’s best friend. A former major-league shortstop, Polidor was murdered in his native Caracas, Venezuela, in 1995.

Guillen’s response serves as a reminder that with him no ice-breaker is necessary. He forever is submerged in a warm bath of truth. He doesn’t think about what he’s supposed to say. He says what he thinks. Big difference.

“Gus? Managing in the major leagues? Right now? No,” Guillen said. “You have to deal with so many different things being a manager in the major leagues right now. I don’t think Gus would have the right personality to manage. When the game starts, yes, he could manage.

“But people who think managing is just filling out the lineup card and making pitching changes don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s so much more than that. You have to deal with the media every day and do so many other things.”

Plain speaking

Chicago White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen is shown on July 30, 2005, at Camden Yards in Baltimore. On Wednesday, Nov. 9, 2005, Guillen, manager of the World Series champion Chicago White Sox, was voted AL Manager of the Year in balloting by the Baseball Writers' Association of America. Atlanta's Bobby Cox won the NL award for the second straight year Wednesday after leading the rookie-laden Braves to yet another division title.

Most managers would have processed the question through the “What is the right thing to say?” filter and spit out a response such as: “Absolutely. Gus would have been a great big-league manager. He wasn’t a Hall of Fame player, but he would have been a Hall of Fame manager.”

Not Guillen. Known for his heart as a fast-talking, energetic, swing-at-everything shortstop during his playing days with the White Sox, Guillen speaks from the heart. Sometimes that means blasting his own players. Since he’s already spoken bluntly to their faces, it shouldn’t take the players by surprise when they read the naked truth about their play in the newspaper.

“Here in the United States, people are pretty into what people say,” said Guillen, who became a U.S. citizen Jan. 20, on his 42nd birthday. “When you tell the truth, say what you think, people don’t like it. But that’s the way I grew up, and that’s the way I’m going to do it. I don’t think I’ll ever change. I don’t see why I should. I got to where I am because of who I am, not because of who I’m not, so why would I change?”

What Guillen lacks in education, he compensates for with common sense and a genuine interest in people.

“I never went to school after eighth grade,” he said. “Everything I learned, I learned on the streets.”

To spend any time around Guillen is to realize the most important lesson he learned was to always speak the truth, that way you don’t have to remember what you said.

“I’m around 30 people (players and coaches) every day,” he said. “Why am I going to B.S. them? Sooner or later, they’re going to find out the truth anyway, so why not let them know the truth right away. You’re always going to hurt somebody with what you say.

“Same way with the media. I’m open to everyone. I talk to everyone who wants to talk to me. I don’t B.S. people. When you talk to the media, the media knows when you are lying. So why would I lie? I don’t have anything to hide. The White Sox organization doesn’t have anything to hide. That’s how managers get in trouble. They lie to the media, the media knows they’re lying, and then the truth comes out.”

Chicago White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen, center, smiles as he receives his World Series ring from White Sox Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf, right, and general Manager Kenny Williams during ceremonies before their baseball game against the Cleveland Indians at U.S. Cellular Field in Chicago, Tuesday, April 4, 2006.

Loyalty

Guillen could have lied about visiting his friend Ugueth Urbina in a Venezuelan prison during the offseason. Or, he could have decided against visiting him because for fear doing so would tarnish his image.

Instead, he visited him, and he talked about it. Nothing to hide, remember?

Urbina, a reliever who last pitched for the Philadelphia Phillies, was charged with attempted murder for allegedly joining a group of men in attacking with machetes and pouring gasoline on five workers on the Urbina family ranch.

During that visit, Guillen walked past the jail cell of the man convicted of murdering his best friend, Polidor.

“I was kind of shocked to see him,” Guillen said. “That was the first time I saw him, person-to-person, after what happened. I didn’t say anything to him. Why say anything? It’s like my wife says, it’s not like anything I say is going to bring Gus back to life. Some people say, ‘Ozzie, why didn’t you ask him why he did it?’ I don’t have to ask him why he did it. I know why he did it. The guy was into crack, and he didn’t know that it was Gus he killed.”

Besides, it’s not as if Guillen didn’t help Polidor’s widow and children after his best friend’s death. The families remain close. Guillen gave them their house after having a new one built for his family.

It was one of many gestures that made Guillen such a popular player in Chicago. His smile and his sure glove, his sense of humor and hyperactive body language, also played a part.

Gene Lamont, now a coach on the staff of Detroit Tigers manager Jim Leyland, was one of Guillen’s managers with the White Sox.

Did he ever imagine his shortstop would grow up to become a major-league manager?

“I guess I never really thought of it at the time,” Lamont said. “I always considered him a smart player who studied the game and got along with everybody pretty well, so you’d have to say it’s not really surprising.”

Energy and success

Lloyd McClendon, fired late in his fifth season as manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates last September, had a 336-446 record. He, too, is a coach for Leyland now. Guillen is making it. In his first go as a big-league manager, McClendon didn’t.

Asked for his opinion on what, besides a strong pitching staff, had made Guillen such a successful manager, McClendon answered: “Players.”

What else?

“And more players,” he said. “Ever seen a mule win the Kentucky Derby? This is a players’ game. It’s not our game.”

The youthful Guillen easily could have been mistaken for a player, sitting amid several players on a leather couch in the White Sox clubhouse, eating from a bag of chips while watching television.

Managers don’t win with bad players, but they do shape a difference-making climate on a team stocked with talent.

Royals general manager Allard Baird, asked to name Guillen’s key to success, said: “His energy. Let’s face it. The game has changed. There’s a lot more to managing that there used to be.”

Managers today, Baird said, must keep up more closely on players in the minor-league system, have more time-consuming media obligations than ever, and in many cases even have day-to-day contact with ownership. It’s a lot to juggle over a grueling six-month season (seven in 2005 for the White Sox) after a six-week spring training.

“He’s always on,” Baird said. “I say that from afar, because I don’t know Ozzie.”

Moments before Baird said that, Guillen was on the mound, pitching batting practice.

He’s never too busy to do that and never too desperate to pitch anything but the truth.

How refreshing.