I speak, of course, of Phillies manager Charlie Manuel, neither a loudmouth nor a great orator. It's all the more amazing that his ascendancy is taking place in Philadelphia, where we've had a love-hate relationship with bombastic folks like Buddy Ryan or Frank Rizzo or the fiery Larry Bowa.

And while I've relished the accomplishments of the Phillies on the field, I have marveled at watching Manuel. While we may think we're watching a baseball manager, we're seeing much more: A great leader of men. Manuel's methodology would be a fascinating study for the Harvard Business Review.

While Phillies fans were chanting "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie" minutes after the team clinched the National League pennant, let's remember we are talking about the same person who was widely ridiculed and booed when the Phillies signed him as manager a few years ago.

Just Google him, and you'll find someone describing him as "A fat, stupid, turkeylike creature." And that's one of the less outrageous things that have been written or said about him. But all this turkeylike creature has done is bring us one World Series and take us to the cusp of another.

Granted, Manuel wouldn't be my first thought as a motivational speaker. Truthfully, I don't always understand what he says, and he doesn't have slicked-back Pat Riley-type hair or wear the fancy suits that NBA coaches prowl the sidelines in.

With Manuel, the adage of "Watch what I do, not what I say" is far more apt.

And what has he done? It seems like eons ago, although it was only June, when he benched MVP Jimmy Rollins for not hustling. Imagine a professional manager or coach taking one of his stars to task. Multi-World Series ring-winner Joe Torre looked the other way as Manny Ramirez headed to the showers during the fourth game of the playoffs, missing one of the great comebacks ever, albeit not in favor of his team.

Manuel's lesson to his team was simple: Regardless of status, certain things are expected and everyone is accountable. It could have been the beginning of the end, but Manuel was able to give the tough love and Rollins, to his credit, accepted it.

From then on, what player could possibly think it was OK to dog it down to first base or that star power trumped team power? He nipped the issue in the bud rather than taking the easy way out, hoping it would disappear on its own.

If dealing with Rollins wasn't enough, Manuel was challenged the entire year by closer Brad Lidge, this year's bust after being last year's hero. I, for one, shuddered every time he came into a game and yelled at my television for Manuel to get rid of him.

But Manuel persisted. Was it stubbornness, loyalty - or folly? In time, he stopped using Lidge, again putting the team ahead of the individually. But he wasn't forgetting about him or disposing him, as many teams sometimes toss a once-star player as readily as a Bic razor.

Manuel knows that it's not just what happens between the white lines on the field but, more important, what's going on between the ears. Baseball, like all sports - indeed, life itself - is so much about self- confidence and self-worth.

Like a parent, Manuel gave his closer a good old-fashioned timeout. He sat him down for a while so he could regain his composure. And then he dramatically put Lidge in the game to secure the last out. I still get goose bumps thinking about it.

Was it love or loyalty or just some good old-fashioned psychology?

Regardless, in soothing Lidge's mind, Manuel undoubtedly touched the hearts of all of Lidge's teammates. As they stood in the dugout to watch Lidge, and hopefully see him finish the game, they had to know that their manager would be standing by them when times got tough. Imagine the pressure that takes off a player.

RATHER THAN preening or putting on false airs, Manuel appears to be comfortable in his own skin. He exudes a confidence in himself that rubs off on his team. And he doesn't steal the spotlight from his players.

A great orator? Nope. A perfect tactician, nope. Nevertheless, as we bask in the success of the Phillies, let's also recognize that in watching their skipper, we are getting a good lesson in leadership at a much cheaper price than a course at Wharton.

Phil Goldsmith is batting practice pitcher to his four young grandsons.