] Geffner: Randolph was robbed This was back in the first weekend of July, at Yankee Stadium during the Subway Series. The Mets were already running away with the NL East, up by 11, and I was sitting in the visiting dugout before the game, as the Yankees were taking BP, when suddenly Willie Randolph, with that purposeful step and stone-cold game face, crossed right in front of me. "Hey "� hey, you!" I called out to him, trying to get his attention, which isn't always the easiest thing � him and that famous focus of his. "Hey, you, manager of the year." It was a playful line, of course, attempting to do two things: bring a smile to his face and let him know, without being mushy about it � he absolutely hates anything mushy � that I thought he was doing a great job. Mind you, I've known Randolph since the day he broke in with the Yankees in 1976. Used to hang by his locker just shooting the breeze nearly every day of the season for years. So I can't help but have a special fondness for him. He quickly snapped his head around, looking to connect that disconnected voice, and indeed gave me that smile. A big one too. Then he slowly came right up to my ear and in a low voice gave me something I didn't expect. "Nooooooooo!" he said, holding that smile, "Joooooooooe Girrr-raaaaaarrr-di. He couldn't have stretched the syllables any longer, couldn't have been more lathered with sarcasm, couldn't have made his point any clearer. He already sensed that the wave of positive vibes � and votes for the NL Manager of the Year � was moving unstoppably, irretrievably, against him and in the direction of the then-manager of the Marlins. A guy who, unlike Willie, unlike him by a long shot, needed a scant two years after his retirement as a player to be in such a supreme position with a big-league baseball team. Funny how I thought at the time that Randolph was merely being paranoid, still gun-shy from all the rejection he suffered for a decade trying to so desperately to land that managing job, simply bracing himself early, out of habit, if nothing else, for another round of disrespect. Little did I know that he had the whole thing nailed. In the end, he got beaten out by a guy who'd led his team to, of all things, a losing record, who didn't even capture so much as a wild-card spot, who was fired right after the season. In fact, in the 23-year history of the award, the thing hadn't ever been given to a losing manager. Until yesterday. Until baseball, with its great wisdom, decided to give it to a guy who'll spend next season not in the dugout but in a TV broadcasting booth. Way to go, guys. Nice job. The final tally: Girardi � 18 first-place votes, 111 total points, Randolph � 8 first-place votes, 81 total points. It wasn't even close enough to demand a recount. Leave it to baseball and its association of writers to find another way to stick it to Willie � despite him winning his division going away and tying with the Yankees for the best record in baseball. And doing all that pretty much without his ace (Pedro Martinez) and two of his other starters (Brian Bannister and Victor Zambrano) and his meat-of-the-order left fielder (Cliff Floyd) and maybe his best pitcher in the pen (Duaner Sanchez). Let the writers who didn't cast a first-place vote for him, who only followed the team from a distance � in the newspapers and on TV � talk about the Mets' huge payroll and all the superstar talent and how it gave Randolph an unfair advantage. Those who saw the club day in and day out at Shea know differently. They know he performed something of a minor miracle to get this hobbling-from-the-start team within a single game of playing in the World Series. They know that, in the tiny space of two seasons, he has turned around the entire mindset of this franchise. Made these Met players not only into winners on the field but also in their collective heads and bodies and souls, molded them in his own image into nothing less than the Yankees by the Flushing Bay. And for all this, he's handed the wonderful Thanksgiving gift of Joooooooooe Girrr-raaaaaarrr-di. I hope he can still smile about it the way he did back in July. Michael P. Geffner's column appears regularly in the Times Herald-Record.