McAdam: Terry Francona's Red Sox legacy only grows with passage of time

By now, he's been gone long enough that his return to town should almost be a non-event, barely worth noticing. After all, as he noted, he's managed in Cleveland almost as long as he did in Boston.

His departure from the Red Sox, needlessly ugly, happened -- can it be? - almost seven years ago.

And yet Terry Francona is still A Big Deal whenever he steps inside of Fenway Park. On Monday afternoon, as he brought his first-place Indians to Boston for the first of four games this week, the Indians were forced to move his pre-game media availability from the cramped confines of the visiting manager's office to the more spacious visitor's dugout to accommodate all the reporters and equipment.

Some of the heightened media interest had to do with talking to Francona about Red Sox manager Alex Cora, who played for Francona for parts of three seasons here and who was the first big league manager to plant the seed with Cora of one day managing himself.

As a matter of fact, Francona can look back on his tenure with the Sox and recall not only two world championships — but also the list of players who have gone on to manage big league teams: Cora, Gabe Kapler, Kevin Cash and Dave Roberts included. It's as if those Red Sox teams in the mid-2000s represented a laboratory for aspiring managers.

When it was suggested Monday to Francona that he had been responsible for his own "coaching tree'' -- the kind football coaches usually cultivate -- he quickly, and typically, directed the attention away from himself.

"Ooh boy, I don't know about that,'' sighed Francona, flush with embarrassment out of fear that he might be assigned credit where he didn't deserve any. "I think I was smart enough to have people around me who were really good -- and some of those guys were players and now they've gone on. If they learned anything (from me), good. I probably learned more from them.''

Returning to Fenway, the scene of his greatest career achievements was once, he acknowledged "emotional.'' There were bittersweet memories mixed with raw emotions surrounding how it all ended. Now, Fenway, for all of Francona's previous history, is just another stop on the circuit.

There are friends to see and acquaintances to renew, but the wounds have healed. Francona has made peace with his history here.

"I think it's more fun to come back here now,'' he said, "because you get some distance and you're able to talk about the good.''

But then, what good history it is: the first franchise title in 86 years, achieved under the most improbable circumstances, with the added sweetness of overcoming a 3-0 deficit against the Yankees. And a second championship three years later. In between the two was a division title, and after the second championship, the Sox bid to return to the Series and defend their championship came up a run short in the seventh game of the ALCS.

His first six years: five playoff appearances, three visits to the ALCS and two parades.

The final two years, of course, weren't nearly as successful, with a September death spiral in 2011 and the subsequent chicken-and-beer revelations spelling an end to his reign.

But that won't be -- and isn't -- Francona's legacy will be in Boston.

He'll be remembered for managing some considerable egos, ignoring the franchise's demons and having fun with his players. In recent days, Cora has fondly and humorously recounted Francona's habit of rewarding players with cash rewards for specific achievements. Surely, it's not a coincidence that Cora himself has revived the practice this season, offering restaurant gift certificates to Rafael Devers every time he hits the ball safely to the opposite field.

In Francona's wake came the overmatched and hapless Bobby Valentine, and Francona's friend, John Farrell, who won three division titles and a World Series of his own but somehow never seemed as comfortable or as authentic as Francona.

As for the current occupant of Francona's corner office, Cora has been rightfully credited with steering his team through better than three-quarters of his rookie season at a record pace, but the hard part -- October -- still remains.

Francona is currently in his 18th year as a major league manager. Some health issues have popped up periodically, and as he readily acknowledges, "the older I get, the travel's a little harder.''

But always, there is the competition that attracts Francona. Competition is his siren, always beckoning.

"I love the games,'' he said. "I love trying to figure out, with our group of guys, how can we be better than the other team. I love that. I never wanted to do anything else, nor do I.''

When he was asked whether he sometimes allows himself to think about gaining election to the Hall of Fame, he doesn't hesitate: "Never.''

That's Francona: modest, self-effacing, intent on crediting others.

"The one thing I would brag about,'' he said, "is that I think I've set the record for being around good people and I think I'm a recipient of that. I'm just a baseball lifer and I've been put in some really good positions, around people that made me better. I'm just grateful for that. I don't think about the other stuff.''

The other stuff — like legacy, place in the game, historical standing.

Theo Epstein, who hired Francona and set in motion the most glorious period of modern Red Sox history, said this past spring that Francona's lasting achievement will be his willingness -- his eagerness, even -- to let players be themselves. Having played for disciplinarian types like Dick Williams and Pete Rose who weren't the least bit interested in what their players felt or thought, Francona intuitively understood that players would perform best when encouraged to act naturally.

It's a template for the modern game, and managers everywhere have followed it. Francona wasn't interested in being front-and-center, or getting the glory, preferring to blend into the background.

The irony, of course, is that seven years after he left, Francona has never been more revered, more beloved than he is now when he returns in the uniform of a rival. And try as he might to focus the spotlight elsewhere, it's impossible to forget what he accomplished as the greatest manager in modern Red Sox history.