The Quiet Man

By Mike McGann
Posted Sunday, March 11, 2007

To say Willie Randolph has a complicated relationship with Mets’ fans is something of a gross understatement.

Almost immediately after his hiring in 2004, replacing the kindly but ineffective Art Howe, Mets fans were less than thrilled. Some suggested that the new General Manager Omar Minaya was less than thrilled, although it’s almost impossible to prove whether Minaya secretly coveted Rudy Jaramillo, then the Rangers’ hitting coach. People still think Minaya had Randolph thrust upon him by Fred Wilpon. A few whispered that race might have had something to do with the hire.

However it happened, it happened. And Mets’ fans weren’t exactly warm to the idea. Then came the facial hair ban — and Mets’ fans began to worry that Randolph was just trying to turn the Mets into a Flushing version of the Yankees. Then he started the 2005 season — and his managerial career — with five straight losses. There were some bone-headed on field moves, messing up a double switch, odd bullpen use and the kind things you’d expect from someone who never managed outside of Winter Baseball.

Still, an interesting thing happened: although the 2005 team was better than the previous couple of years, in part because of the addition of Carlos Beltran and Pedro Martinez, it wasn’t really a playoff team. But under Randolph it continued to play hard as the season wound down. Even if the fans weren’t convinced, it appears the players were.

That off-season, the jury remained out. With the addition of Carlos Delgado and Paul Lo Duca to replace Mike Piazza the Mets were expected to contend. Like the fans, the media wasn’t sold on Randolph, who did not treat them with deference — and he didn’t seem to mind mixing it up with the Knights of the Keyboard. One beat writer told me privately at the Winter Meetings in Dec. 2005, that if the Mets didn’t get off to a hot start, the sharks would be circling quickly and that Randolph would get hammered by the media, in part, because they didn’t like him.

But a funny thing happened: 2006 spring training was tranquil, highlighted only by the Pedro Martinez toe crisis — which foreshadowed worse issues later in the season. The team that gathered in St. Lucie had chemistry and a firm hand running the clubhouse. Despite one pitching meltdown after another — and some sheer bad luck — Randolph kept this team on an even keel and day after day, it romped and ran away from the rest of the National League East — even the rest of the National League.

This despite losing their ace, Martinez and the emotional crisis of his blowing out the shoulder that everyone knew was a ticking time bomb, going back to his days in Boston. This despite losing Duaner Sanchez in a freak taxi accident, and the resulting trade that brought Roberto Hernandez and Oliver Perez, but deleted Xavier Nady and, with him, suddenly, the ability to hit left-handed pitching. This despite enduring one crisis after another, Randolph kept this team on the steady course to a division title.

But because the Mets ended up one hit short of the World Series, a lot of Mets’ fans are still ambivalent about Randolph. I’m not. While I didn’t think he was a good choice when he was hired, I’ve seen him grow as a manager and use his God-given ability to lead men. While he’s not impressed with the local media and disinclined to offer up a pithy quote to keep them happy, he’s seen dozens of other managers done and undone by the New York media. Interestingly, he seems to be one of the few figures, like Bill Parcells, who has been able to maintain the upper hand in the give-and-take with the media.

Randolph says very little, but means what he says. While the media may not like it, the players sure seem to. The recent handling of Duaner Sanchez’ lackadaisical behavior in rehabbing his injured shoulder shows the Randolph technique: he won’t show a player up publicly — unless they choose not to listen. Then he’ll do what is needed for the sake of the team. He has one set of rules for the entire roster: show up on time, play hard and be a professional.

And so far, it’s worked.

In fact, it’s worked twice in Mets’ history. Another long-time New York infielder ended his playing career with the Mets, an All-Star but not quite (allegedly) a Hall of Famer. A quiet, tough guy who wasn’t intimidated by the media and had one set of rules: show up on time, play hard and be a professional.

Gil Hodges.

And while some might call it blasphemy to say this, there’s a lot of Gil Hodges in Willie Randolph. Be fair: besides Hodges, is there another Mets’ manager you can imagine making the long walk to left field to take Cleon Jones out the game — or Lastings Milledge — for not hustling? I can’t.

Randolph is firm, direct and he expects guys to work hard and play hard. Unlike Giants’ coach Tom Coughlin, he’s not a self-promoting martinet. In two years, the clubhouse has gone from fractured and chaotic to close and focused. This team expects to win, and like Randolph, they don’t need to run to the media to tell everyone. They just kick tail on the field.

Willie Randolph may never be among the best in-game managers - the “smart guys,” guys like Tony LaRussa, although Randolph held his own in the National League Championship Series against the Cardinal manager. What Randolph is, though, is a rarity in modern sports: a leader today’s players listen to. Like a tough-minded combat sergeant, he leads his men from the front and brings them home winners.

And while some Mets’ fans might need to see a championship before they will accept Randolph, I think he’s earned his stripes — and the respect of Mets fans.

The quiet man at the Mets’ helm is a leader — again.