Ex-Nationals manager Riggleman strikes a blow for freedom

On Thursday, the same day the Flyers traded Mike Richards to Los Angeles and Jeff Carter to Columbus - while the team's fans swapped their calcified loyalty for shock and, in some cases, open anger - a different and even more compelling drama was developing south of Philadelphia. How fitting that the saga unfolded in our nation's capital. There, in Washington, on a soupy summer day, an American hero was born.

Until recently, Jim Riggleman was merely the manager of the Washington Nationals. Today, he's so much more - he's a symbol to the mistreated masses, a national inspiration who stood up for himself and refused to be pushed around and taken for granted any longer.

If he ran for office, I'd vote for him. If his visage flew atop a flag pole, I'd salute.

Riggleman had the Nationals playing pretty well of late. On the fateful day in question, his club beat the Mariners, 1-0. It was Washington's 11th victory in 12 games, and it moved the Nationals - surprising owners of the best record in the National League to that point in June - above .500 for the first time in six seasons.

After the victory, Riggleman did what so many Americans have fantasized about after a difficult stretch at work: He marched into his boss' office and quit. If July 4 is a national holiday, June 23 should be as well. Riggleman's Individual Independence Day doubled as a blow landed on behalf of everyone who never had the guts to take that sort of bold swing.

Riggleman told reporters that, before the game, he asked general manager Mike Rizzo to "just have a conversation" about the manager's contract. Riggleman was working on a meager one-year deal worth $650,000 this season, with a club option worth $700,000 for 2012. Riggleman said Rizzo refused the request, at which point the manager felt he wasn't "the guy they want to go down the road with." And so he quit.

"It's been brewing for a while," Riggleman told an assembly of stunned reporters. "I know I'm not Casey Stengel, but I do feel like I know what I'm doing. It's not a situation where I felt like I should continue on such a short leash.

"To do this job, you have to feel there's a commitment to you. I didn't feel that. I just wanted to have a meeting in Chicago [on Friday]. They wouldn't do that."

Riggleman said that he realized there might be fallout from his decision, and that he may "never get another opportunity" to manage at the major-league level. ESPN reporter Buster Olney confirmed Riggleman's fear, tweeting that "there's no doubt Jim Riggleman's decision to resign in the middle of the season damages perception of him in eyes of some rival executives." Olney reported that one front office higher-up told him he "wouldn't hire [Riggleman] for a double-A or triple-A job."

Which might very well be true, but self-respect and worthwhile causes come with a heavy price. To borrow from well-known Nationals fan Thomas Jefferson, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time at the expense of a baseball manager's wallet. Riggleman may be financially poorer today, but so many others - those who have always wanted to tell their bosses where to go and how to get there - are spiritually richer for what he did. He has given hope to the workingman, even if the workingman never rises up and follows Riggleman's lead.

And here I will shamelessly plagiarize myself - sadly, it's come to that - and recast some of the words I originally crafted during a drink-fueled Twitter session after the news initially broke: I nominate Riggleman to lead a still-embryonic but promising political grassroots movement with a simple universal dogma: Don't Mess With Me. I want to buy his self-help audiocassettes and buy his infomercial Ginsu knives. I want to subscribe to his newsletter and regurgitate his teachings while swathed in the American flag and perched atop a milk crate outside Target or, in extreme cases, Wal-Mart. I want to follow him if/when he mobilizes his party and marches on Washington. If Glenn Beck can surround the Lincoln Memorial's reflecting pool with his minions, surely Yankee Doodle Jimmy could do the same.

Riggleman might disappear for a while, but his incredible and rousing tale will remain. The man's legend will grow large. He's Davy Crockett without the creepy coonskin cap. He's George Washington without the cherry tree. He's Paul Bunyan without the blue ox. He's Johnny Appleseed without the, uh . . . what did Appleseed do again? Eh, it will come to me.

Riggleman is a folk hero now, and one day our children's children will tell their children the incredible story of the day one largely anonymous baseball manager did something that would have made Howard Beale blanch.

Gather 'round, kids. I have a story you may not believe, but it's one you'll never forget . . .