Valentine, a 61-year-old native of Stamford, Conn., with 40 years of professional baseball experience (15 seasons as a big league manager) is nothing like Terry Francona, Grady Little, or Jimy Williams. He’s a guy who’ll wear eye-black in the dugout. He’ll refer to himself in the third person. He’ll have an opinion on everything and he’ll make opponents try harder to beat the Red Sox. He will never be boring.
Even the number on his back is provocative. Valentine’s the only Red Sox manager bold enough to wear No. 25, a number many old-time fans think should be retired in honor of the late Tony Conigliaro. Valentine’s favorite number (2) belongs to Jacoby Ellsbury, so he said he’ll wear No. 25 and nod to the legacy of Tony C.
“Bobby Valentine is the right man in the right place at the right time with the right team,’’ said Sox CEO Larry Lucchino. “We are optimistic about our future and so are our fans.’’
Valentine’s introductory press conference was cleverly scheduled for 5:30 p.m., allowing every local television station (and ESPN) to carry it live. Clam chowder and sandwich wraps (rumored to have been invented by Valentine himself) were served and Sox employees papered the house, applauding madly when Bobby V was introduced.
“I am honored, I’m humbled, and I’m pretty damn excited,’’ Valentine said after the applause died down. “I understand how difficult this was for the organization. I understand the rich tradition of baseball in this city, of sports in this community. I understand the great rivalries that this team has, and I understand the great talent that has been assembled here.’’
This was a big moment. How big? John Henry, who hadn’t been seen locally since he burst into the 98.5 The Sports Hub studios in October, interrupted his Liverpool duties to sit in on the presser and Heidi Watney came back for one last round of interviews for NESN.
There was plenty of pomp. After Cherington and Valentine spoke, before they broke away for individual interviews, the new GM and manager posed for a “all hands in’’ photo, flanked by Henry and Lucchino.
Swell stuff. So good, so good, so good. Boston baseball’s winter of defection and discord was badly in need of this Sweet Caroline moment.
