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Mike Piazza is married to a former Playboy playmate and has his name on a Honda dealership, but few catchers have it quite so made in the shade. There's not much glamour in backaches, arthritic knuckles and bathing in a pool of sweat for nine innings at a time.

Advil consumption notwithstanding, a catching gig sure fills out a résumé. Of the 30 current big-league managers, nine were catchers in the majors. Throw in Jim Leyland, Grady Little and Joe Maddon, who caught in the minors, and nothing spells skipper-in-waiting like long hours squatting in the dirt.

The catcher is, by definition, well-rounded. He knows about defensive positioning and scouting reports. He must learn the tendencies of opposing hitters while tending to his own offensive game. He must be tough enough to block the plate, fearless enough to call for a slider with a runner on third base in a tie game, and accountable enough to analyze the night's events when the starter is hiding in the trainer's room.

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