Andy Martino, SNY.tv | Twitter |

Sandy Alderson's 87-year-old father died on the eve of his first general managers' meetings with the Mets. Greeting a New York media that he barely knew, Alderson cleared his throat between words, blinked frequently, and did everything he could to remain stoic and professional. He nearly succeeded, but his humanity poked through.

The better part of a decade passed before we saw Alderson close to tears again. That came on Tuesday afternoon, when he announced that the cancer he'd beaten in 2016 had returned, and that his time running the Mets was likely over. The poignancy of the moment was almost unbearable, as Alderson was again forced to fight through private feelings while in the public glare.

There will be time to write about baseball, to ask questions about the Mets' struggle and Alderson's legacy, and analyze where the franchise is headed under its three interim GMs. Those topics matter to the people who spend so much of their lives caring about this team.

But before that happens, it's worth stepping back for a moment to note that the current National League East standings do nothing to change the fact that Alderson's career in baseball was marked by a pioneering spirit, personal integrity, and more humor and emotion than he was typically willing to show in public.

Alderson would sometimes tell stories about working with Billy Martin when he was first named GM of the Oakland A's in 1983. Back then, the men who held that job were typically crusty baseball lifers and former players, and were often subservient to the field manager. This was the dynamic that Martin expected, but Alderson had other ideas.

As a former Marine and combat veteran, he was able to see through the pseudo-macho culture that permeated the game, and pushed back against its stubborn anti-intellectualism. He studied the obscure work of analytics pioneer Bill James -- and, when he ran into resistance from Martin and his ilk, he pushed forward, changing the sport in the process. Much of the ideological underpinning of today's game flows from Sandy Alderson's open-mindedness.

Alderson won a World Series with the A's, had a distinguished tenure as a high-ranking MLB executive, and was CEO of the San Diego Padres. Then, in an unexpected coda to his career, he took the Mets to the World Series in 2015.

As with any strong personality, Alderson has always had his detractors. Reporters, agents, rivals and employees have at times bristled at his blunt style, and scoffed at implementation of ideas that seemed rigid at times. But no one questions his intelligence or integrity. Anyone who misinterprets Alderson's bluntness as arrogance fails to see that he is as tough on himself as he is on others -- as evidenced when he followed his cancer news by saying that he no longer deserved his job anyway.

Having covered Alderson all through his Mets tenure, I've seen all sides of his personality. Once, after a trip to Las Vegas to write a feature on Noah Syndergaard as a minor leaguer, I dashed off a blog post that contained anonymous criticisms of Mets prospects from scouts.

In the press box at Citi Field that night, I received an email from Alderson. The subject line was formal, characteristic of his style: "Today's column." When I opened the email, I saw that the entire note was: "Complete horsesh-t."

Later, when I confronted him, he was smirking -- but he stuck to his point that shots against players from one scout made for a cheap column.

That's Alderson. He might have come across in news conferences and interviews as cool and distant, but that façade always masked a deep emotional engagement in the daily affairs of the team. Colleagues said that he could be difficult to sit with during games, because he would brood and curse. And he was always willing to mix it up, as long as you came prepared.

Alderson's humanity came through in Tuesday's news conference, as it did all those years ago, when his father passed. This time, he came even closer to crying in public, and left the fans with a clear picture of who he is, beyond the dry professionalism of his public persona: A strong and passionate man of integrity.

Popular in the Community