SARASOTA, Fla. — Jim Palmer started by ribbing Earl Weaver, because how else would he? The Hall of Fame pitcher, who famously had a love-hate relationship with the Hall of Fame manager, had just finished reading “The Last Manager,” a book about Weaver written by John W. Miller.

Palmer was there for most of Weaver’s storied managerial career. The stories told in the book brought back fond memories — even if some of those fond memories involved spats and disagreements. They had long buried that hatchet. Weaver and Palmer? They were all right, actually.

But Palmer had to say something. There was no other way to begin. When asked what he learned about Weaver from the book, Palmer pointed to Weaver’s high school basketball days in Missouri.

“I mean, for him to be an all-state basketball player, I figure they must not have had very good basketball in St. Louis,” Palmer said, before poking fun at Weaver’s height. “Or maybe he dribbled through their legs. I don’t know what it was.”

That’s the way Palmer and Weaver were. They batted at each other through the press, snarled at each other in the dugout, and all the while they helped lead the Orioles to multiple World Series appearances (and they won it once together). The relationship isn’t a straightforward one. It wasn’t unpacked in detail within the book, either, Palmer said.

But, in a recent phone conversation, the good, bad and downright confusing nature of the relationship between Weaver and Palmer was laid out, at least from a one-sided perspective. Weaver died at 82 in 2013. But before then Palmer grew to understand the respect Weaver held for him. Even if he didn’t make it obvious.

Palmer has his own recollections of much that Miller unpacks, and he said the book is well worth reading.

What it does best, he said, is illustrating the hardships of baseball in the 1950s and 1960s. Weaver sold used cars in the offseason and Jim Frey, Baltimore’s first base coach, sold life insurance policies. Even Palmer worked at Hamburgers, a men’s clothing store.

“This book lets you know what it was like going on a nine-day road trip, and they give you $27 for meal money, and you don’t have a cell phone and you don’t have a credit card,” Palmer said. “You find a place to eat in Winnipeg for 85 cents, or all-you-can-eat for 89 cents. That’s the way the game was. That’s what the book shows. And you know what? The only way you went to the next level was if you played well as a team, and if you were successful, especially if you were managing. And that’s how Earl worked his way up.”

After reading it himself, Palmer related some of his favorite memories of Weaver. And in them what’s clear is how much Weaver cared, even if he didn’t always express it.

“Earl took over in ’68 at the All-Star Game, he has a winning second half. Wins 109 games — one-year deal. 108 games — one-year deal,” Palmer said. “Every year that he managed up until 1980, he had a one-year deal. So who is he relying on? He’s relying on us, and every fourth day he always gave me the baseball. You can’t ask for anything more than that.”

Palmer, 79, developed that understanding as the years passed. And, after finishing “The Last Manager,” it was a good time to reflect.

‘He never wanted to be your friend’

Palmer, sitting in the window seat, kept blowing the smoke out of his face. Mike Flanagan sat next to him, and, as was Flanagan’s way, he smoked a cigarette on the plane. It was his first full season in the majors, and he held a 2-9 record and there was something eating at him.

“I don’t think Earl has any faith in me,” Flanagan, then 25, told Palmer.

Palmer reasoned with him, noting that he was still trotted out there every turn in the rotation. But, once they arrived in Boston, Palmer mentioned the issue to Weaver — to see if Weaver could assuage the young starter’s misgivings. He found Weaver in the hallway and delivered his message.

“You know, I sit with Mike Flanagan. You wouldn’t know that because you sit in first class, but we sit in the first row of bulkhead,” Palmer recalled saying. “But he doesn’t think you have any faith in him.”

Then a classic Weaver response that will be almost unreadable in this format: “‘F----- faith? I put the f------ [expletive’s] f------ name in the f------ lineup every f------ fourth day and he’s f------ 2-9.”

After digesting that, Palmer asked Weaver a favor: “Here’s the deal. I don’t care if you lie to him, just please call him in, talk to him, tell him you believe he’s going to be successful and have a nice career.”

Well, Weaver didn’t do that. It wasn’t his style to call in a player for a pick-me-up. But he did perhaps the next-best thing.

Flanagan was a native of Manchester, New Hampshire, and his family grew up as readers of The Boston Globe. So Weaver went to Clif Keane, a legendary sportswriter for the newspaper, and delivered a nugget that would have a lingering morale boost.

“He goes, ‘I don’t care what Flanagan’s record is. He’s going to be a winning pitcher in the big leagues,’” Palmer recalled. “Mike ends up 15-10.”

It wasn’t exactly how Palmer imagined Weaver would do it, but reading that line in the paper in 1977 was an early illustration of the weight Weaver put on Palmer’s words.

Their relationship was hardly ever straightforward. They’d golf together in the offseason, Palmer and Weaver, and often played the game bridge golf in groups of four. There wasn’t a whole lot of money on the line, but Palmer joked that he ate out twice a week on Weaver’s money.

“Earl was a unique guy. He never wanted to be your friend,” Palmer said. “We had this relationship, but when the season started, he never shook my hand, never did any of those things.”

Still, on another flight with Flanagan, Palmer gained more insight into how Weaver really did think highly of his ace.

Palmer threw five innings in a spring training game, then began his outfield running program — back when pitchers would run laps on the warning track while the game continued. With a young Flanagan in the Orioles’ dugout, Weaver called him over.

“See that guy?” Weaver told Flanagan, as the latter relayed to Palmer. “Just do what he does and you’ll never have a problem playing in the big leagues.”

Palmer kept it to himself that he heard those words from Flanagan, but he never forgot them. They were in his back pocket all the way to 2007, when Palmer and Weaver were sitting together ahead of Cal Ripken Jr.’s induction into the Hall of Fame.

Palmer had recently married his wife, Susan, and Weaver hit her with some well-intentioned snark: “I can’t believe you went through with it. I told you not to do it,” Palmer remembered.

They had each enjoyed a few drinks by this point at the gala the night before Ripken’s induction, so Palmer finally reached into his back pocket. He would cut to the chase with Weaver: For all their bickering, for all the love-hate storylines, there was a lot more love than there ever was hate.

“He’s getting older and I’m joking around with him, and I said, ‘Earl, listen, Mike Flanagan told me what you said about me. Just do what he does. I know you really like me,” Palmer said.

“He looks at me, and we’re about ready to go,” Palmer continued. “He goes, ‘I didn’t just tell Mike Flanagan. I told them all — Just do what Jim Palmer does.’ So all those years we had this love-hate relationship, he really did like me. I like the fact he trusted me. He liked the fact I won more games than I lost. Now, I mean, I could pitch 25 complete games and he could want 27. Ten shutouts, he wanted 12. That was just him, and maybe it made me better, maybe it didn’t.”

All these years later, Palmer looks back fondly on that relationship. Sure, they had their run-ins. They had plenty of them, actually. But, as Palmer read that book on Weaver, so many good memories flooded back. And he thinks you should read it, too.