Tony La Russa doesn't readily show much beyond the standard managerial poses -- deep-in-thought, joy-in-triumph and flash-of-temper-when-annoyed. He is, except to confidants and people he knows well, a need-to-know-only manager.

But confronted with the challenge that comes from Darryl Kile's stunning death, he also will show the parts of the manager's job that aren't readily accessible on television or in postgame interviews. His character and sense of duty will be revealed, in small but detectable swatches, over the next several weeks.

		He is now the manager of a team which must grieve in public, which is often the worst grieving there is, and protecting his players from excessive prying will become less of a fetish and more of a demand in the weeks to come.

La Russa has never been an overwhelming presence in any of his clubhouses over the years, blessed as he has been with veterans able to police the area themselves. His Mauchian obsession with preparation, both on his own part and that of his players, will not change, but he will be more visible within the clubhouse, checking moods and taking temperatures, performing more of the father-confessor role and less the distant tactician.

He will also be more available with the media, spending more time so that his players can spend less. He has always been skilled at playing the sporting press, being open and combative in alternate turns, as both his mood and the exigencies of the moment suit him. He is now the manager of a team which must grieve in public, which is often the worst grieving there is, and protecting his players from excessive prying will become less of a fetish and more of a demand in the weeks to come.

Within the team, though, he will show himself to be the iron-spined soldier, leading his troops to the objective despite their heavy hearts. Like many coaches and managers, he is well-read on the famous generals of history, and with his close kinship to Texas Tech basketball coach Bob Knight, he operates as such. Like Knight, he is a multi-dimensional leader, changing motivational tacks as needs dictate, but he also knows that while normalcy cannot be attained inside the Cardinals' clubhouse, it must be sought on a daily basis because there is still a division title, and perhaps more, still to be obtained.

La Russa has been a manager for more than 20 years, and there is little he hasn't seen. The death of one of his players is one of those circumstances, though, and while there is small consolation in knowing that his death seems to have been simply a cruel accident of body chemistry, there isn't enough consolation to modify the sense of loss, or the enormity of dealing with that loss on the fly.

This might be the greatest test of Tony La Russa's career, and there is nothing discernible to suggest that he won't be its equal.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com