There are times you can see the nine-car pile-up coming, long before the first collision, long before the first screech of brakes, the first sound of shattering glass.
Art Howe was like that. Fred Wilpon talked about how Howe “lit up the room” in his interview and I can remember a roomful of writers staring at each other, wondering why Papa Fred would hand us a straight line like that, because it was obvious to anyone in the 718 area code that Howe didn’t have enough personal electricity to fire up a pocket flashlight.
Rich Kotite was like that. Leon Hess spoke earnestly about being 80 years old and wanting to win now, and it was hard to maintain the professional wall and not break into laughter, then break it to the tough old oil baron that he’d better plan on hanging around another decade or three if this were his idea of urgency.
Terry Collins isn’t like that. He isn’t. He may not get your heart racing if you are a Mets fan. He may not make you want to reserve a bloc of season tickets. You know what? Even if the Mets had hired Joe McCarthy, they haven’t earned the right to your blind faith. Not yet. If they’d hired Wally Backman based solely on his appeal with the fans, that would have been misguided; the Mets are at a place in their history where they have to sell product, not populism.
Does Collins come with issues? Sure. We hear lots of stories now about how he didn’t get along with Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio in Houston, allowing him to lose the clubhouse there after collecting three winning seasons in three years there. We hear stories about how he really lost the clubhouse in Anaheim, a situation that crested when Mo Vaughn decided not to take part in a beanball-inspired brawl on a night when the Angels had blown an eight-run lead.
Fine. Fair. Those are marks on his permanent record that no amount of spin or explanation will erase — even if we were to be so bold to observe Bagwell and Biggio reside in championship-free retirements right now, even if we might gently mention Collins wouldn’t be alone on the wall commemorating all the managerial pelts Vaughn has collected (ask a certain ex-Mets manager named Valentine about that).
These also go on Collins’ dossier, however: four winning seasons in five full years managing in Houston and Anaheim, baseball frontier outposts at the time Collins arrived in both places. A universal reputation as a good, smart baseball man with a no-nonsense approach, which might be a fairly useful skill set to bring to a franchise that has known little other than nonsense for most of the past decade.
Collins also went a long way toward restoring the Mets’ relationship with their Triple-A partner city, Buffalo. Collins is among the most revered baseball figures ever in that town, and when he lent his voice and professionalism to the Mets’ efforts there this year, he helped forgive a lot of the animosity that had been fostered by Tony Bernazard’s flame-torch personality.
What’s that? Terry Collins as a soothing voice? As a peacemaker?
It’s true. Ask around. Now, does that mean the Mets have hired themselves a magician who will clean out the graveyard at Citi Field and instantly restore the stolen promise of 2006, a season that suddenly seems to have occurred during the Lindsay Administration? Of course not. And not even the Mets’ brass seems certain about this, with a two-year contract climaxing a two-month search process.
Collins might not work here. Time will tell.
But that’s far different than saying he can’t work here. And it would be ludicrous — and grossly unfair — to lug his debits to the accounting room without taking a long glance at the credits, too. It would also be ridiculous to look at what the Mets had as manager, and what they have now, and not call this hire what it really is, bottom line.
An upgrade.
michael.vaccaro@nypost.com