Baseball Time in Arlington sings the praises of Derek Holland, but also notes this managerial reversal (emphasis added):

The pitcher listened attentively, gently nodded his head at the appropriate moments, and then served as the eager recipient of a playful slap to the cheek from the manager as he wrapped up his talk and sent him on his way. I don’t know exactly what was said during that conversation, and I doubt we’ll ever know exactly what was said (though Richard Durrett gives us a fairly decent idea this morning), but then again, I’m not sure that what was said matters so much as the fact that the manager and the pitcher truly connected on a visceral level in that moment. The kid simply didn’t want to disappoint his baseball dad again.

Three hours later, the pitcher was being serenaded with his own name by one of the largest crowds in the history of Texas baseball. A few minutes later, the win was carried across the finish line by the erratic-but-thankfully-just-good-enough closer, and the plaudits began to shower down upon the pitcher who had just turned in one of the most brilliant pitching performances in World Series history. His manager beamed, while the purported managerial genius helming the other team found himself — and his decisions — peppered with second guesses almost immediately. It turns out that you don’t have to win the managerial “chess match” if you overturn the table upon which the chess board is resting.

The manager of men beat the manager of strategy Sunday night.