"You do not miss a lot of stuff that comes with the package. But being in uniform, being in the ballpark, being around my players, I think that's something, you know what I mean, that's priceless."
So if you could do it over, would you do anything different?
"No. Not really. No, look at me: I'm like this in 1985 when I got to the big leagues. I'll be the same guy. The difference is, when you're winning, (people say) you're a great pro, 'Look at the way he (positions) that guy,' look at how he takes the best out of his players.' Oh yeah. But when you start losing, it's 'Ozzie's just gone crazy.'"
I don't think he'll ever get another chance with the Sox. Franchise boss Jerry Reinsdorf doesn't forget. But even a joking reference to a Cubs coaching job bothers me.
"I don't know why people come up with that question," Guillen said about the Cubs. "That's the first question I get in the street. People come up with that question."
He wouldn't turn down a Cubs job. But he says he's not actively pursuing one. And that's good because it's hard to type with a black bag on your head.
When Guillen first came to Chicago as a player in the 1980s, he moved to west suburban Berwyn. Guys who knew him from the neighborhood said they liked him immediately because he didn't act like some big shot.
He'd hang out, sit on a porch and have a beer, and watch the neighborhood kids play street games.
"I lived in Berwyn for almost three years," he said. "I'd go to Orlando's to get my haircut. It was a $2 haircut. And I'd ride my bike, see people play softball."
So Lauren wanted to know about his life in the city proper and his favorite hot spot — which he says is Lucia's in Wicker Park. She joked it would make it easier for us to stalk him.
"You can stalk me," Guillen said. "I can tell you where I live, I don't worry about it. I don't have no bodyguards, no gated community. You're walking down the street, you can touch my house."
Guillen belongs to baseball. And baseball should let him back in.
The man's a manager. Let him run a team.