Did the Fates Mauch us?

CHARLIE MANUEL said that he "rolled the marbles" when he sent Ben Francisco to pinch-hit for Cole Hamels in Game 3 of the NLCS, and added a folksy reminder that he was once the state marbles champion of Virginia.

Gene Mauch might have said that he "rolled the dice" with Francisco and cited Francisco's numbers against a fast ball early in the count with two runners on.

Night and day. Two very different managers of two very different teams from two very different eras. And now, in the gloomy aftermath of the early exit from playoff baseball, people are trying to compare the nightmare that was 1964 with the abrupt ending to the 2011 season.

Night and day. No, more like apples and oranges. Bruised, rotting apples and lumpy, sour oranges, victims of an early frost. The two painful chapters are as different as Manuel and Mauch, and that should make this one easier to accept, despite the high hopes, the 102 regular-season victories, the blue-chip pitching staff.

Maybe, just maybe, Mauch put a hex on this year's team? How else can you explain them losing eight in a row after they clinched the division and homefield advantage in the postseason? And a lot of good that did them, eh?

How else can you explain why Manuel had to wait until the final game of the season to pass Mauch in the record books for most wins as a Phillies manager?

You think Mauch would have figured out a way to lose one of those final four games in Atlanta, even with the Braves gagging? Lose one or two of those games and you would not have had to face a scorching-hot St. Louis team with a genius for a manager, a team that owned the edge over the Phillies during the regular season.

And while Manuel gets credit for upholding the honesty and integrity of the game by playing the Braves tough, that was David Herndon out there in the final innings of that final game, not Ryan Madson or Tug McGraw or Jim Konstanty.

Go ahead, make Mauch the new Billy Penn statue, blame him. You want a motive? Yo, that's John Kruk on the Phillies' Wall of Fame, out there in Ashburn Alley. Mauch is conspicuous by his absence. And Mauch won all those games as a Phillies manager with some very ordinary players and some very ordinary pitchers.

It's the way that the two collapses unfolded that should make this one easier to swallow. Gus Triandos called '64 the Year of the Blue Snow. Jim Bunning pitched that perfect game against the Mets, Johnny Callison won the All-Star Game with a home run, using a bat borrowed from Sweet Billy Williams. Hit if off Dick Radatz. Homefield advantage in the World Series for the winning league? You've gotta be kidding!

Before the wheels fell off, Mauch beat up on the expansion teams, the Mets and the Colt .45s. A team named the Colt .45s. You've gotta be kidding!

And then the blue snow turned to ashes, 6 1/2 in front with 12 to play. Ten losses in a row, Mauch gone church-quiet, sending Bunning and Chris Short out there on short rest, pitching Dennis Bennett when the lefty's arm was so sore he couldn't throw a ball into the ocean standing on Steel Pier. Yanking reliever Jack Baldschun if he ran a 2-0 count on a hitter, that was Mauch. He didn't start Ray Culp for 36 days. Maybe he thought loyalty was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Manuel is loyal, perhaps to a fault. He stuck with Placido Polanco when the third baseman looked as if he was swinging an oar in a windstorm. He let Ryan Howard hit 3-and-0 in the throes of a horrendous slump. In a 1-0 game. He stuck with Carlos Ruiz after the catcher got run over at home plate. He started Roy Oswalt over the younger, more popular Vance Worley.

Both the '64 team and the 2011 team staggered to the finish line of the marathon that is major league baseball. Manuel sends what he perceives to be his best lineup out there night after night, even if some guys are hurt or tired. And then some of those hurt and tired guys wind up hitting .125 in the playoffs.

Mauch wasn't afraid to make changes, some of them for the wrong reasons. He started using Ed Roebuck and Bobby Shantz in crucial late-inning situations, spurning Baldschun. He went with Adolfo Phillips in centerfield, based on an erroneous scouting report.

Lots of those '64 wounds were self-inflicted, and that made the collapse more painful. World Series tickets had been printed; there were whispers about getting revenge against the Yankees for that 1950 sweep. The fans had come to embrace that team because they played smart baseball and because Mauch was such an eloquent spokesman for the game, when he chose to be.

Mauch would look for an edge by standing near the cage while the visiting team took batting practice, checking stances, looking for a telltale hitch. Leo Durocher ended that trickery by hitting fungoes off the back of Mauch's legs. Manuel would never get involved in that kind of monkey business.

The aftermath was the same for the fans - bitterness, anger, frustration. Mauch revamped the team the next year, trading for some over-the-hill duds. That won't happen this time around, and you can all take solace in that.