Four games into the Yankees' season, we've already seen an eye-popping difference between their former manager and their current one.
But it's not what you think.
Sure, Aaron Boone blew it Sunday, walking a cold batter for a hot hitter -- a righty for a lefty, against David Robertson, no less -- and then gazed in misery as the lefty "Smoaked" a pitch over the wall for a grand slam, which cost the Yankees the ballgame.
But everyone makes errors. We all remember the Yankees manager last year failing to challenge a play in the American League Division Series, which cost them a game against Cleveland.
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No, the clear difference between Joe Girardi and Boone is not in talent, but temperament. Girardi, a very smart guy with an engineering degree from Northwestern, was not a media darling. The former Yankees skipper wasn't barbaric, but could be curt or caustic, smirking or sarcastic. He kept his answers tight and short and void of laughter. He could guard injury info with top-secret rigidity and rarely showed a softer side.
Yet already we've seen Boone address questions with disarming comfort. Surely, he knew everyone in the media would question his move and he'd be compelled to defend his decision before a bouquet of microphones just moments after the loss. But he did. And he did it well. You may disagree with the logic -- Boone said he preferred long-term trends over the momentary stats of a particular game -- but he is so agreeable about it.
Even the folks at the YES Network, hardly known for knuckle-busting reportage, voiced their disagreement with Boone's call to let Robertson walk Josh Donaldson and load the bases for Justin Smoak. Boone's call wasn't wrong because he lost the game. Boone lost the game because it was the wrong call.
But Boone is so innately relaxed, candid and affable it was impossible to pound him. We've seen the rancorous relationship between a coach or manager bubble over into incessant, recycled questions and then insults and, occasionally, furniture tossed across a room. Unless Boone suffers a staggering decay in character -- or if the Yankees suddenly morph into a bad ballclub, he will have the notoriously piercing Big Apple media eating out of his hands. Perhaps it's not the same in the world west of the Hudson, but running the Yankees is much more than a baseball endeavor.
New York City is the main nerve of American media, with more pens, smartphones and microphones flooding the clubhouse than any town in the nation. If a new skipper starts off poorly on the field or is defensive in the pressers, he will find himself buried under bad will and bloody headlines.
One of the more shocking failures behind Willie Randolph's tenure as Mets manager was his tense, terse relationship with the media. Born in Brooklyn, playing and coaching for the Yankees and winning six World Series rings made Randolph more qualified (or at least prepared) for the job than anyone. Yet you could see him burn under the bright lights of Broadway.
But even as a neophyte, Boone, who spent seven years as an anlyst for ESPN, wears the job well. Charisma goes a long way, even in this new world where both NYC managers were introduced in kinder, gentler tones, embracing the group hug ahead of wind sprints and batting practice. Both Boone and Mets manager Mickey Calloway insisted they would love these players until they loved themselves. We saw a bit of this with Joe Torre, who had a paternal bond with many of his players, but always had to squirm under the stone fist of George Steinbrenner.
Now Boone and general manager Brian Cashman are simpatico, and it's a love fest. And based on Boone's opening act, it feels like it will work.
As long as the Yankees win.
If they don't, not even the loving touch can keep a Yankee manager lovable.
Follow Jason on Twitter at @JasonKeidel
