Bobby Valentine
Fairfield, Conn.�All was beautiful for Bobby Valentine again. There he was, on a February morning in Connecticut, sitting before a pretty red background, introduced as the next executive director of intercollegiate athletics at Sacred Heart University. He was the out-of-the-box choice. But an intriguing choice. He was why this big room was packed. Here was Bobby Valentine. Bobby V! Sixty-two years old and looking terrific. He wore an impeccable gray suit and a blue tie and his teeth were bright and flawless. His teeth could host an awards show.
He spoke. He took questions. His answers swerved from humble and gracious to worldly and pointed. This, of course, is part of the Bobby V experience. Bobby Valentine answers questions in a way that shows why canned answers were invented. He pauses and sidetracks in a way that makes you hold your breath, but sometimes, he really sticks the landing. When Valentine talked about his new job, he offered a quote straight out of a glossy, parent-pleasing brochure.
"I hope that I can be a brother to some, a father to others, a mentor to those in need, and a friend to everyone here on campus," he said.
Swoon. You could hear the administration's knees buckle. Valentine couldn't have said it better. This was really going to be great. Sacred Heart student-athletes jammed the back of the room, wearing their Pioneer red sweatsuits, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new boss. This was not just an AD. This was celebrity. A brand name. The camera phones went up. Click.
Was this supposedly curious hire really so curious? Valentine was a guy from the neighborhood, down the road in Stamford, Conn. He was not a stranger to Sacred Heart. Went way back with the school's retiring AD. The university began talking to Valentine and the idea started making a lot of sense, even if the candidate had no experience running an athletic program at a Division I school. Bobby V! Native son. Grand return. How do you pass that story?
"We're known as the Pioneers, and once again, we are pioneers�we're doing something unconventional�with the appointment of Bobby as our AD," said the bow-tied university president John Petillo.
Fifteen months ago a similarly enthusiastic scene had played out in Boston. The Red Sox hired Valentine as manager to replace Terry Francona, a two-time World Series winner brushed out the door like a stray cat. Francona's 2011 Red Sox had crumbled in September, and the team was surly and unlikable, humiliated by comical reports of mid-game chicken and beer soirees in the clubhouse.
Valentine would polish that up. Once more he was an outlier�it had been a decade since he'd managed in the majors for the Mets; his most recent iteration had been as a blunt analyst on ESPN�but the Red Sox made it sound so sensible. Boston needed an unflinching boss, who would tell put an end to the millionaire mishigas. Bobby V was going to open a window, and let the fresh air rush right in.
It didn't go well. At all. Valentine maintains he did a respectable job in Boston under lousy circumstances, but it never felt like a fit. The whining and surliness continued and festered. Boston's lavish roster was eventually gutted, its expensive parts dumped upon Los Angeles. The final months of the season felt like a lost walk through a corn maze. In October Valentine was dismissed.
He said he was over it. Setbacks were part of the Bobby V narrative. He reminded that he had risen and fallen, with plenty of detours, including tours as a manager in Japan. People thought he'd never last there, but Bobby V wound up thriving overseas.
"One thing you can't teach is experience, and I have a boat load of life's experiences," he said. "I have lived in five different counties. I have spoken different languages. I've been fired. I've been up. I've been broke. I've been rich. I have things that I think every person in life wants to experience. I can't experience those things for anyone here, but I think I can share my experiences and make the situation better."
He said he was learning what it needed to be done. A man who has walked the hot coals in Boston and New York will be fundraising and studying NCAA regulations and trying to figure out where the women's lacrosse team can practice if it can't practice outside. Was he really all-in for this new career path? "Some people ask if this is kind of a joke," a reporter said to Valentine.
"Ouch," Valentine said. He acted wounded, as if this was the first time anyone had ever suggested this move was unusual. "I'm a guy who loves challenges," he said, launching into an answer that was virtuosic in its Valentine-osity: "You know, I was a ballroom dancer during the Babe Ruth League state and regional championships. I was a third base coach, first day of a season, and I'd never coached third base before. I was a manager at 35 years old and I'd never managed before. I opened up a restaurant in 1980 and I'd never flipped a hamburger before."
Now he was an AD, as of July 1. Why not? To question his motivation was to be narrow-minded about the curvature of life. Why define yourself? Not long ago Valentine had been the Director of Public Safety in Stamford. He had taken the Mets to a World Series but also had a claim as the inventor of the wrap sandwich. Didn't everyone know these things?
Valentine was asked what he would do if a Major League team called. He gave a digressive answer about contracts and how he once had a lifetime contract in Japan, or so he thought. "I found out it was the lifetime of the owner's dog," he said. The room broke up in laughter.
"Some team calls? I always answer the phone," he continued. "That doesn't mean I am going to rush to judgment and run away from a situation I think is a very good situation."
This was where the road had arrived. Bobby Valentine is going to be a college athletic director. The journey continues. It all sounded fun.
Write to Jason Gay at jason.gay@wsj.com
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