The beauty of the Weaver clip is that it comes with sound. (The language is pretty raw, so you had better not play it when kids or bosses are around.) Weaver shouts at the umpire, identified by YouTube commenters as Bill Haller, that he‘s going to the Hall of Fame. Haller deadpans, "For [screwing] up the World Series?" Just about every time the argument seems to be over, Weaver hurries back to make another profane point, to the cheering of the home crowd.

As out of control as managers like Weaver, who still holds the all-time American League manager record with 98 ejections, and the late Billy Martin seemed, they knew the best manager tirades are like hockey fights. They might slow down the action. But done right, they get the crowd on your side, the players fired up, and make clear to everyone that you are ready to take one for the team.

A few managers today know this — most notably, Lou Piniella, whose June 2 dirt-kicking, cap-throwing bomb at an out call at third is widely credited with turning around the Chicago Cubs’ season.

Umpires have thrown out Cox for bench jockeying, plays at the plate, balls-and-strikes calls, just about anything. But never has a Cox tantrum been the sort of thing credited with firing up what always seemed to be a very business-like Braves team. Then again, ejections didn’t seem to have a lasting effect when Cox managed losing teams, either.

But in that way, Cox is like most non-Piniella managers. Raw emotion is not seen as an asset. Then again, hockey fights aren’t universally beloved, either. Sure, raw emotion that is completely unbridled can be just as much of a negative as someone who stays quiet. But is it too much to ask to put a little flair behind the tantrums?

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It would be apt if Piniella, so ready for a good fight he once wrestled one of his own pitchers (Rob Dibble, no pipsqueak) as a Reds manager, would make a run at Cox’s record. But with only 60 ejections, he has a long way to go. Actually, Piniella is one behind Tony La Russa, never considered the hottest head on the field.

But perhaps Piniella has figured out it’s not how often you blow up, it’s how you blow up. Maybe for No. 133, Cox can work on kicking some dirt, or tossing a base, or emptying a rack of bats, or telling an umpire he’s going to the Hall of Fame. ("For [screwing] up the World Series?" the umpire will answer.) If you’re going to bother coming out of the dugout, you should have something more interesting to do than merely argue the call.