This concisely sums up Valentine’s tenure as Red Sox manager. Valentine came on the line and asked whom he was talking to. The reply—I believe from Glenn—came in a derisive tone referencing Valentine’s weekly appearance on ESPN New York with Michael Kay as if the very idea of appearing on a New York based radio show with an unabashed Yankee-lover like Kay was a transgression in and of itself and an insult to the people of Boston.
Valentine was asked if he’d checked out on the season and Valentine replied by saying that if he was in the room, he’d punch Glenn in the mouth. Then he laughed loudly and somewhat ludicrously. It was over-the-top. He was kidding with an implied, “Wanna see how serious I am? I’ll punch you!” It wasn’t funny, but that was the intent. He wasn’t going to punch anyone.
At the mentioning of Valentine showing up late for a game against the Athletics in Oakland, Valentine got truly and legitimately angry—understandably. He wasn’t late. He got to the park at around 4 PM. The game was due to start at 7:05 PM. The reason he was late? His 29-year-old son hadn’t seen him manage all season long and was coming in to the Bay Area for a visit. The flight was late due to the fog in San Francisco and Valentine got stuck in traffic. That’s why he was at the park “late” when he really wasn’t late. But the intimation was that Valentine showed up late because he doesn’t care; because he wants out as Red Sox manager. Valentine then demanded to know who said that he was late. The hosts looked it up and found that Nick Cafardo and Sean McAdam, among other unnamed people, had reported it. Repeatedly Valentine referenced Rays’ manager Joe Maddon’s preferred time of arrival as 4:00 for every night game. Valentine said he’d talk to Cafardo when he saw him. I doubt he’s going to punch him in the mouth.
When asked about his meeting with Red Sox owner John Henry and GM Ben Cherington when both flew to Seattle to see Valentine (stoking speculation that the manager was about to be fired), Valentine tried to make a joke out of it saying that there was no brown sugar for his oatmeal and Henry’s ham was overcooked. It was cringeworthy in a way similar to Valentine’s famous “stoned” dance while he was managing the Mets and imitated a hitter trying to bat while high. But he was kidding. Was there a bit of sniping under the joke? Possibly. But this is Valentine we’re talking about. Everything he says drips with condescension. Some of it is unintentional. (I think.)
When asked a question from a fan as to whether he regretted coming back. He said no, but admitted that this season has been miserable. What was he supposed to say? That he’s had a ball with the team underperforming, the players trying to get him fired, the press baiting him, and having his reputation destroyed in large part because of a mess that was present and unfixable when he arrived?
At least he was honest. The season has been miserable. Had he said anything different, he’d have sounded like a delusional fool.
After that, he brought up the accusation of having been late again. That really bothered him.
Was this as big a deal as it’s being made out to be? No. This is a microcosm of what’s gone wrong with Valentine and the Red Sox from day 1. He wasn’t the choice of the GM; he was taking over a dreadful situation that no manager would’ve been able to navigate successfully; the media was waiting for him to trip up and trying to trip him up; it took him time to get back into the swing of big league managing after not having done it for 10 years and not having been in the American League for 20; and he’s Bobby Valentine. Being Bobby Valentine invites madness in and of itself.
As a polarizing figure, the only way for Valentine to succeed in 2012 was if the Red Sox were 100% healthy; if the players who were responsible for the 2011 collapse took responsibility for what went wrong; and if they got off to a good start to wash away the bad taste permeating the organization inside and out since last season.
None of that happened. It got worse and worse and it’s come to this. Valentine didn’t threaten anyone, nor was the interview something to treat as a headline story. It was awkward. That’s all.
But that doesn’t really matter, does it? At first when Valentine took over the Red Sox, they were a disaster. Now they’re still a disaster, but it’s a lawless land where the story isn’t the club, but the endless stream of controversies. Until the manager is gone, it’s not going to stop. The managerial death watch is on and there won’t be a reprieve. He’s not innocent, but he’s not exactly guilty either.