IT was difficult for him and his family. It was uncomfortable for his players and support staff. It was disturbing to management and fans.
But the reality is that when Bobby Valentine – for lack of a better term – was widely perceived as a jerk, his Mets teams played better, deriving energy from the lightning-rod provocation of their manager.
In the past two years – since the validation of getting his team where he had so often heard he could not, the World Series – Valentine has been more publicly restrained and his Mets have played without spunk and purpose. He called it “nonsense” to link the two items. Several of his players downplayed what their manager did or didn’t do on the team’s overall performance.
GM Steve Phillips said he would not engage in “public evaluation.” Fred Wilpon said Sept. 11 impacted his manager more than anyone else he knew, but said he did not see a “correlation” between the toned-down Valentine and the down-and-out team. However, Wilpon said that if more “feistiness” is needed for success than he blessed it, especially since he reiterated that Valentine is his manager for 2003.
The feistiness is needed.
When Met players feared Valentine might brand them part of a group of five losers or intimated they were drinking too much or caring about the team too little, there was an uneasiness that goaded a group edge. That edge has been absent the last two seasons. This year, in fact, the players have performed without fundamental skill, passion and, it seems on most days, care. It all reflects terribly on their manager and the players also don’t seem to care about that.
If Valentine cares, and he says he still cherishes his job, then he must renew his outwardly flagging passions and return to be an instigating presence. It is understandable why he would prefer not to be that guy. How would you like to be the center of the storm daily in the tabloids?
But, again, it is hard to ignore how successful Valentine’s Met were when he was questioning Todd Hundley’s sleeping patterns or nearly coming to blows with Pete Harnisch and Bobby Bonilla. His enemies’ list was so long that a national publication blared from its front page in 1999: “WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE BOBBY V?” Oh yeah, that was the first season, the Mets made the playoffs in 11 years.
That allowed Valentine to sidestep the strongest knock on him – that he could not get his team to the postseason. He reached the World Series the following year. Along the way, he won playoff series against Buck Showalter, Dusty Baker and Tony La Russa, a trio who had amassed five Manager of the Year awards.
Valentine felt achievement and no longer injected himself in every Met controversy. He didn’t want to wear the fake mustache and glasses anymore. He received a lush, three-year contract – another validation. Over the past two years, while there has remained criticism of Valentine’s strategy, there has been a whole lot less condemnation of his behavior.
The worst flap in the past two seasons didn’t even involve one of his own players, but the brouhaha over whether Cliff Floyd had been told he was an All-Star last year. Besides his involvement with Sept. 11, Valentine also was coping with intense back pain last season that seemed to rob some of his enthusiasm. But this season, having found a way to manage that problem, he mostly has endured the pain in the neck that is his team.
Clearly, Valentine and Phillips do not co-exist well, and Valentine’s ability to be a provocateur is diminished if he does not believe his GM has his back. When Valentine did step out recently in a too-little, too-late rant that, among other things, questioned the focus of Al Leiter and Edgardo Alfonzo in walk years, Phillips was noticeably quiet.
Nevertheless, Valentine cannot be as silent. He needs to push, to prod, to stir. He needs to get his team playing with edge again. It’s no fun to be thought of as a jerk, especially since Valentine’s foremost qualities are intelligence and diligence. Unfortunately for Valentine, however, that is when he seems to get the most out of his teams.
