10/01/02 — Mets Fire Bobby Valentine (some notes from the kcmets.com staff)
The Mets ended their six-year managerial relationship with Bobby Valentine at a 3 PM press conference today at Shea Stadium. There was no discussion of possible successors for the 2003 season, although both Fred Wilpon and Steve Phillips both stated (in radio interviews) that it was likely that the replacement would be a well respected baseball guy with major league experience.
Valentine joined the Mets in August of 1996 replacing the ornery Dallas Green. Valentine was dubbed, by Mets' GM McIlvaine in a Marty Noble column as "an exceptional teacher", in sharp contrast to Green, who he labelled, "the last of baseball's on-field dinosaurs". Thanks to our friend at Mets By The Numbers and his Way-Back Machine for finding the 1996 column.
Valentine is the second winningest manager in Mets' history with 536 wins, behind Davey Johnson. He skippered the Mets to the playoffs in 1999 and to a World Series loss to the Yankees in 2000. His teams in 1997 and 1998 were exciting, and brought life back to Shea that had been dead for much of the decade.
2001 and 2002 saw a sharp decline in the Mets' on the field performance. 2002 was a nightmare of a season, but in 2001 the Mets sparked some life into a deeply saddened New York with a nice run at the end to make things interesting, if only as a diversion from reality. Valentine's work after the attack on the World Trade center was tireless, and he recently received the Branch Rickey Award for "service above self" for his efforts.
On a personal note, I'll miss the Bobby Valentine era. He's been manager throughout the life of our site. I've been a season ticket holder through most of his tenure, and I completely disagree with the decision to let him go. Mets' history will be kind to him, it's just going to take a couple of years for some to come to their senses. Good luck, Bobby — thanks for some great memories.
In a lot of ways, I associate Bobby Valentine with watching the Mets with my family. I didn't follow the Mets particularly closely during the early '90s, when my older children were born, and Valentine was named manager when my youngest child was just a few weeks old. The little guy's first visit to Shea was only four days after Valentine was named manager, so all of my memories of attending games with my complete family were during the Bobby Valentine era.
My most vivid memory of Bobby Valentine isn't game related, however. It was when we met him at his restaurant last year. The plan was to meet KC and his wife there to check out the newly opened eatery, and we felt ourselves very lucky when we learned that Valentine was actually there that evening. It was a quiet, off peak time only a week after the restaurant had opened, and Valentine came over to greet the customers in attendance. We got up the nerve to ask whether we could interview him for the website, and to our amazement and delight he sat down and chatted with us for a substantial length of time.
But even more impressive was Valentine's ultimate attention to the children. While the adults were asking questions, my young sons busied themselves by coloring their placemats. When Valentine was preparing to leave the table, he noticed the boys' creations, complimented them on their artwork, autographed the two placemats, and posed for a photo with them. It was something that the boys remember fondly, and it made a big impression on them. When Valentine left, KC commented, "You just can't fake that brand of hospitality."
Goodbye to a crafty manager, a tireless humanitarian, and a gracious host. All the best to Bobby Valentine on whatever he does in the future.
Bobby Valentine is a talker. He clearly loves to hear the sound of his own voice. To his credit, he generally has something interesting to say. Hearing his press conferences and radio interviews over the years, I always came away with the impression that he loved the game, cared about the fans, and wanted people to understand him. Sadly, many fans (and members of the media) never did figure him out.
He started out being very aggressive as a field manager, but as the team became "better" he seemed more willing to let them play at their own pace, rather than pushing them. The hit-and-run plays became fewer. The pick off attempts at second were less of a certainty. Even personnel decisions seemed more conservative (like letting Ray Ordonez stay in games, when pinch hitting seemed likely). He seemed to be worried about not wanting the players to be "unhappy." Maybe he wanted everyone to love him, and was concerned about the reports that there was dissention among the players — that not everyone liked him as a manager. He always downplayed that, but it was always there.
For the fans, though, he was always available. His charity work — even before 9/11 — was monumental. He was willing to talk to the fans, before games, at his restaurant, and through the media.
I'll miss him. I don't think the team can do much better than him.
For an off-season holiday dinner, several members of the kcmets family met at Bobby Vee's then-new restaurant in Northern Queens. When I entered I found the proprietor engaged in conversation with my colleagues. I greeted the Mets manager, but I slunk off shyly from engaging in conversation, despite him being a central character in the Mets story around which so much of my free time is focused.
Later, during dinner, Bobby returned and visited our table. I was struck by how genuine he was in his appreciation of baseball appreciators, and how generous he was with his time. By this time, the tall shadow cast by the short man had hit several members of our party as it had hit me, and many of us grew afraid to speak. So, as the evening's organizer, I cleared my throat and broke the ice by clumsily and ambiguously asking all of my colleagues to join in toasting our host.
It started the conversation, but, as I told my colleagues later, it wasn't at all what I wanted to say. We all wish we prepared our life's script before the scenes unfolded. I stuttered through without the book, and then later found the words:
"My friends, please join me in drinking to our friend Bobby Valentine — a man who showed us that the attack on our city and nation this past Fall, was not just a time of unspeakable horror, but that times of adversity and loss, no matter how great, are opportunities to show what we stand for, when self-sacrifice and civic virtue lose their hollowness and become powerful and inspiring.
Bobby, I lost a friend that day, and as somebody who grew up among police and firefighters, I feel like I lost a hundred more. Because of you and people like you, I will recall that time not only great sadness but also with faith in myself and my fellow citizens. If you don't win game one this season, that's OK with me. Here's to you, Bobby."
I didn't say it then. But I'm saying it now, and I stand by it.
BV was a great fan's manager, Casey Stengel without the doubletalk.
The night we all went to his restaurant and he joined us for a few minutes, he was so frank in discussing the Mets' upcoming season (and in retrospect so absurdly optimistic about it) that I worried for his job. One of our party asked him about his lack of infield depth, and he just said that he pretty well expected Alfonzo, Ordonez and Alomar to play every day, which I thought was impolitic, especially considering that one of us was wearing press credentials around his neck, and several others of us were at least semi-professional writers. He was so gracious in answering our questions that I wondered if he knew that this was another potential Whartongate brewing, but he seemed genuinely not to care, or at least to consider talking to us worth the risk that his words would be distorted in some account the next day.
He was super-friendly with the kids, eager to sign autographs for them, genial about posing for photographs with us (I have a picture of me and Bobby where he looks like a lifesize mockup, so perfect is his smile and so tucked in his shirt, unlike my dazed expression and rumpled clothes.) He just projected the PR image to the fans that every MLB manager needs to project. But so few do. That's only a small part of his job, but it's the only one we can see close up.
If he had been as successful in other parts of his role in managing the Mets, he would have been signing a five-year extension this afternoon instead of getting fired from the job he considered the best in the world.
Some call him intelligent. Some call him difficult. Others call him egocentric. Maybe it's an East coast thing, or even an Italian thing. But those of us who have met Bobby Valentine usually use the same word: decent.
I have so many memories of Bobby Valentine as a manager: Whartongate, The Groucho Marx mustache and glasses incident, the mental undressing of Tony Perez, the unbelievable charitable efforts after the 9/11 attacks to name just a few. But the biggest, and most pleasant memory I have of Bobby happened when he was still the Mets third base coach.
It was the second game of the season in April of 1983 when I decided to cut classes and drive down to Shea to catch a game. I eventually moved down to the Field Box seats right by third base when Bobby jogged out to the coach's box during the 7th inning stretch. "Bobby!", I yelled. No response. "Bobby!", I yelled again. No response. After the third time, he snuck a look over his shoulder - "Are you going to Milford tonight?" (he had a restaurant around the corner from my house) - and a slight nod indicating that he would be there.
I bolted home (as fast as the Whitestone bridge traffic allowed) after the game, ate a quick dinner and headed to Bobby V's Sports Gallery Cafe and sat at the bar. Bobby came in about an hour later with a big smile and handshakes for everyone. When he stepped behind the bar, he looked at me with a sort of "I know this kid, but I don't know where" look. I immediately told him, "Yes, I was the idiot who called out to you in the 7th inning"
He laughed, leaned on the bar, talked. About baseball, about the restaurant. Hell, we even shared a plate of nachos. He was friendly, and treated me, someone he didn't even know, as an old friend. It was a night I'll never forget.
It's good to see that almost 20 years later, Sharon and her family had the same experience that I did at his new restaurant in Queens. I wish Bobby nothing but the best, and I hope he gets the chance to manage another big league club soon.
