100 Things A's Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die

By Susan Slusser and Billy Beane

With traditions, records, and team lore, this lively, detailed book explores the personalities, events, and facts every Athletics fan should know. This guide to all things A's covers the team’s history in Oakland since the franchise moved there in 1968, including the Charlie O. Finley dynasty years, the “Earthquake Series” and rivalry with the San Francisco Giants, and the team’s four World Series titles in Oakland. Author Susan Slusser has collected every essential piece of A's knowledge and trivia, including Billy Beane and Moneyball, Stomper, the “Bash Brothers,” and Josh Donaldson, as well as must-do activities, and ranks them from 1 to 100, providing an entertaining and easy-to-follow checklist for fans of all ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triumph Books
• Release date: Jun 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781633192003

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Contents

Foreword by Billy Beane

1. Rickey Henderson

2. Charlie Finley

3. Connie Mack

4. Billy Beane

5. The First of Three: 1972

6. Reggie Jackson

7. 1989: The Earthquake Series

8. Rube Waddell

9. Bash Brothers

10. Winning Streak

11. Billyball

12. Rollie Fingers

13. Unexpected Fun: 2012

14. Tony La Russa

15. The Second of Three: 1973

16. Jimmie Foxx

17. Eck

18. Catfish Hunter

19. Grow A Handlebar Mustache

20. Dallas Braden’s Perfect Game

21. And the Third of Three: 1974

22. The Big Three

23. Campy Plays All Nine

24. Lefty Grove

25. The Jeter Flip

26. Dick Williams

27. Travel Overseas With The A’s

28. Yoenis Cespedes’ Journey

29. The White Elephant

30. Bob Melvin

31. Stewart vs. Clemens

32. Sit with the Zany Right-Field Crowd

33. Gibson’s Homer

34. Moneyball

35. Captain Sal Bando

36. Bill King

37. Finley’s Gimmicks

38. Origins

39. Do The Wave

40. Wild-Card Drama

41. Jason Giambi

42. Herb Washington

43. Make an A’s Mix Tape

44. Second Mack Dynasty

45. Campy Suspended

46. Out of the First Round: 2006

47. Velarde’s Unassisted Triple Play

48. Fingers, Rudi Traded

49. Sean Doolittle

50. The $100,000 Infield

51. Go to Ricky’s Sports Theater and Grill

52. Oakland Oaks

53. Hammer Time

54. Bobby Shantz

55. Great A’s Nicknames

56. Too Many Mistakes: The 2003 ALDS

57. Pie Someone

58. Joe DiMaggio

59. Vida Blue

60. Spot Moneyball Liberties

61. Frank Thomas

62. The Five Aces

63. Ride a Skateboard to the Coliseum

64. Broadcast Business

65. Chief Bender

66. Sewage and Sprinklers

67. Move to Oakland

68. Great ’80s Outfield

69. Josh Donaldson

70. See the A’s New Spring Home

71. The Mike Andrews Incident

72. Satchel Paige

73. Join Athletics Nation

74. Charlie O. the Mule

75. Miguel Tejada

76. Gus Zernial and Marilyn Monroe

77. The Swingin’ A’s

78. Debbi Fields

79. The Longest Game

80. Doc Powers

81. White Shoes

82. Stadium Search

83. Integration

84. Balfour Rage

85. Crash Davis

86. Eric Chavez

87. Join the Historical Society

88. Voos and Mickey

89. Marco Scutaro

90. Other Hall of Famers

91. Josh Reddick

92. Move to K.C.

93. Roy Steele

94. Visit Stadium Sites

95. Eric Byrnes

96. Yankees Farm Club

97. Brandon McCarthy

98. Mt. Davis

99. Nick Swisher

100. Go to Fanfest

Acknowledgments

Bibliography

Foreword by Billy Beane

The history of the A’s is filled with characters and stories as rich and colorful as nearly any organization in sports. From Connie Mack through Charlie Finley and from Sandy Alderson through the teams of the 2000s and today, each generation of A’s baseball has put its stamp on history in a unique way.

Some of the greatest teams of all time were the A’s of the early ’30s under Connie Mack. From 1929 to 1932, Mack’s teams averaged more than 101 wins and dominated the game even more than the famed Yankees teams of that era. Though, in a precursor of things to come, Mack was the first one to have to sell off players for financial reasons. History repeated itself in the early ’70s, when Charlie put together three World Series champions, only to see many of his players go elsewhere via free agency. When the Haas family took over and Sandy was running the team, the personality of the club changed from the mustachioed gang of Catfish and Rollie to the rock stars of the ’80s that were Rickey and Jose and McGwire. But, the success of the franchise continued. That team, led by Hall of Famer Tony La Russa and on which I was lucky enough to be a player for a brief moment, went to three straight World Series and set the standard for excellence over the course of almost a decade.

The game began to change when I moved from the field into the front office in the early ’90s, but the circumstances were the same as they’d always been. The A’s were always trying to compete with bigger clubs that had more than we did; whether in Philadelphia or Kansas City or Oakland, that’s been the case. Now in this era, where new stadiums and huge TV contracts create seemingly unlimited revenue streams around the game, we still face those same challenges.

And, with those challenges come solutions that have to be inventive and creative. Mack, Finley, and Alderson—all three were considered great innovators during their time with the A’s. We’ve tried to further that innovation in my 17 years here as general manager. I’ve done some things differently than those who came before me, but always tried to keep the spirit of the franchise intact. To some extent we’ve taken on the personality of the Bay Area and the tech boom around us, using whatever information we could capture to help put a winning team on the field. But, the players on the field and the personalities they bring remain the heart of the A’s.

My first year as GM in 1998 was Rickey’s last year in Oakland. There’s no doubt Rickey is the best player in Oakland A’s history; an incredibly complete player who could impact the game in every way. And there have been some great players who’ve followed in his footsteps over the last two decades. Jason Giambi was the first star to play here in Oakland during my tenure. Eventually, Miguel, Tim Hudson, and Eric Chavez joined Jason and were then followed by Zito, Mulder, and Ramon Hernandez to form those great teams of 2000–2003. That group gave way to guys like Dan Haren and Nick Swisher, who were joined by Hall of Famer Frank Thomas for his magical season in 2006. And then you have the most recent collection of personalities, led on the field by Bob Melvin, who provided the most enjoyable season of my term as GM in 2012. That team went almost entirely unnoticed until the last day of the season when we won the AL West after never having led the division for a single day.

Whether in Philadelphia, Kansas City, or Oakland, the A’s have never lacked for color. There’s a reason our rabid, knowledgeable, and loyal fan base has connected so much with these teams over the years. The players tend to take on the personality of the fans, whose own creativity and passion spills out of the stands and onto the field. It’s not uncommon to hear opposing players say that Oakland is one of the toughest places in the game to play.

The A’s, and those of us who love the organization, never quite know what tomorrow will bring. We take it day by day and have learned to enjoy the team we have in the moment. But, no one can take away the incredible history of this team—the stories, the personalities, the fans, and the characters are what have made the A’s one of the greatest franchises in sports.

—Billy Beane

1. Rickey Henderson

Leading off, of course: No. 24, Rickey Henderson.

On June 24, 1979, the A’s dropped a doubleheader to Texas, forgettable enough in a terrible season, except for the fact that one of the greatest baseball players of all time made his debut in left field. In the first game, the 20-year-old went 2-for-4 with a double and a stolen base, a statistic that became synonymous with Henderson.

The one-time Oakland Tech football star would soon team with a new A’s manager to turn the franchise’s fortunes around—saving major-league baseball in the East Bay.

From his first moments, Rickey Henderson was in a hurry. He was born in the back seat of an Oldsmobile en route to the hospital in Chicago on Christmas Day, 1958.

In Henderson’s autobiography with John Shea, Off Base, Confessions of a Thief, he credits his speed to chasing chickens as a small child at his grandmother’s home in Alabama; after moving to Oakland, he raced city buses.

Baseball wasn’t his early passion, though. Football was Henderson’s game, and he had to be dragged to the diamond by his brother and by some neighborhood coaches who realized they needed the area’s top athlete on their teams, even if they had to bribe him.

I hated baseball, Henderson said from a distance of more than 40 years. "I played because of my brother; he loved it, but I hated the game. A baseball player was nowhere near what I wanted to be.

But I had a couple of father figures who kept me playing. Because I was good at it, I was playing on two teams—they got me to play by bringing me cocoa and donuts to get me out of bed, or I never would have gone to the field. I’d play in Oakland and Berkeley, one game at 10:00 am and the next one at 2:00.

Henderson wound up playing with Louis Burrell, who like his brother, Stanley MC Hammer Burrell, worked in the A’s clubhouse; Oakland players of the mid-70s remember Louis Burrell bringing Henderson around and telling them that here was a future big-leaguer. Another A’s connection: Dave Stewart, the future Oakland star right-hander, was the catcher on Henderson and Burrell’s Connie Mack team.

Henderson was, famously, cut from the varsity baseball team as a sophomore. He was a high school All American in football, however, and he received 20 scholarship offers, with USC and UCLA among the suitors.

I was going to go to Arizona State because of Reggie Jackson and because I could play football and baseball, Henderson said. "My mom was the one who decided against football. She said, ‘I want you to play baseball.’ I said, ‘Mom, I don’t like baseball, I just did it to get away from my chores.’

One scout told me I had a better chance at baseball. He said I was the best athlete he had ever seen and I was going to make it. A lot of teams didn’t like me, though, because I hit right-handed and threw left-handed.

That’s an unusual combo, with only a few dozen in the fraternity (including, lore has it, Eddie Gaedel, though the undersized pinch hitter never threw a baseball at the big-league level).

When I got into baseball, I just looked to see what everyone else was doing, and they all hit on the right side, Henderson said. "So I did it from the right side, even though I’m left-handed. People to this day wonder why I wasn’t a left-handed hitter, but it’s only because I was watching the other kids.

Rickey Henderson holds third base aloft after stealing it against the Yankees on May 1, 1991, giving him 939 career steals, and putting him one ahead of Lou Brock.

In single-A, they talked about having me switch hit, but Tom Trebelhorn was my manager and he said, ‘You’re hitting .380. Why mess with your swing?’ We’re talking a lot more hits if I’d hit left-handed because it always took me awhile to get out of the box. I’d have been two steps closer to first. Batting right-handed, I never got any infield hits because I got so tied up with my swing and getting out of the box.

The A’s overlooked this oddity and selected Henderson in the fourth round of the 1976 draft.

In A-ball, in 1977, Henderson stole 95 bases. He was still perfecting his craft, however. He credits Trebelhorn with helping him learn to steal bases, but Henderson kept working on finding the right sliding style.

When I went feet first, with all the pounding, it was wearing my legs down, Henderson said. I asked [teammate] Mike Rodriguez to show me how to slide like he did and I ran down to second and pow! I crushed my behind. I hit the ground so hard, I hurt my butt. So I tried sliding head first and that hurt more than feet first.

Pitcher Mike Norris, on a rehab assignment at Double-A Jersey City, was an observer.

The first day I got there, they had Rickey in the outfield and they’re teaching him to slide head first on the wet grass, Norris recalled. "But he couldn’t get it right, and come game time, he steals second base head-first and it’s bumpety-bumpety-bump all the way; he arced and slammed down and almost stopped. Later, he got so when he slid head-first, he picked up speed, like throwing a rock on the water, but not then—he couldn’t do it.

Then he stole third, and his belt-buckle tore his stomach open. So he was scared to slide on his stomach, and he was afraid to go feet first because he didn’t want to break an ankle. But he came back and, with his stomach bandaged up, he did it right head-first.

Always trying to better himself, Henderson could find inspiration anywhere.

Four or five years later, we were on a flight to Chicago and I was sleeping when we started to land, he said. "It was windy and when we hit the ground, there was a big bounce, boom, boom. It was a rough one.

"Then, when we landed in Oakland, it was smooth. We hit the ground no problem, everyone was clapping. So I went to the pilot and asked him, ‘What was the difference? That landing in Chicago was so bouncy, this one was nice.’

"He said, ‘It’s about coming in smooth and low to the ground—if you don’t, you bounce a lot.’

So I thought, ‘I’m going to get low to the ground.’

Only one problem with the new technique: Henderson had trouble stopping. He slid way past the bag, and had to back up his low approach until he was five strides from the bag.

Henderson continued his tutelage under A’s teammate Davey Lopes, the former Dodgers star.

I had speed, but I had to learn something more. If you get a better jump, you make it easier on yourself, Henderson said. "Davey said he always watched what the pitchers did when the slowest guys were on base, because they’re not worried about those guys. So what did they do when they went to the plate [versus] when they threw over? What was the key to tell they were going to go home?

Davey said if you’re worried about getting picked off, you’ll never steal a base. Look for one thing the pitcher is doing different when he gets ready to throw to the plate.

Even late in his career, with the Padres in 1996, Henderson was getting tips from Lopes, who coached first.

He’d say, ‘Hey, Rickey, you don’t know the NL pitchers, you can’t read them,’ and bang, bang, I’d be out. Henderson said. "Lopes said, ‘Let me pick a pitch and I’ll yell and you go.’ I said, ‘How can you do that?’

"He’d say, ‘Can’t you see that pitcher flinch with his glove on his breaking ball?’ And I say, ‘What are you talking about?’ So he said, ‘Just listen to my voice and if you get thrown out, I’ll take the blame.’ I said, ‘That sounds like a good deal.’

"The first time he said, ‘Go!’ it scared the hell out of me. I forgot. I panicked. I said, ‘Oh. What?’ And it was too late.

He said, ‘Okay, just relax and listen.’ Two pitches later, he saw something and said, ‘Go!’ And I paused and took off. I got the worst jump of my career—but I was at second base, no contest. I thought I’d be out by a ton. Davey said, ‘No—he hadn’t even thrown the ball yet when you went.’

The most important figure in Henderson’s development was hired on February 21, 1980, days before spring training opened. Owner Charlie Finley had found his new manager, one-time Kansas City A’s infielder and West Berkeley native Billy Martin. Martin loved letting his speedy guys run—especially Henderson. The Billyball team was bunting, stealing home, flashy, exciting. That was reflected in the attendance, which increased by more than 500,000 in Martin’s first season and hit 1.3 million his second—remarkable considering that was a strike year. In 1982, the total was up to 1.7 million.

We went from no one at all to drawing like crazy, starter Matt Keough said. It was a fun team to watch with Rickey.

The fun factor increased in 1982, as Henderson was approaching Lou Brock’s single-season record for stolen bases and Martin was abetting him.

He gave me the green light to go whenever I wanted to, but he also had a sign for me to go whenever he knew a breaking pitch was coming. He knew. He was a genius at picking pitches, Henderson said. He told me that spring training, ‘You’re going to break the record this year. Between you and me, we’re going to do it.’ I’d get to first base and he’d read the breaking ball, I’d peek over [at Martin] and I’m gone.

Martin was determined that Henderson nab record-tying No. 118 at home, and he had one last chance against the Tigers on August 24.

It was Billy vs. Sparky Anderson, the most exciting manager matchup at that time, I thought, Henderson said. They were always anticipating each other’s moves, strategywise.

Jerry Ujdur walked Fred Stanley to open the eighth, Henderson followed with a single, and Stanley stopped at second.

We were going on the road after that, Henderson said, "so Martin told Chicken Stanley to steal third base. Chicken wondered why, because he was the slowest guy in the team, but he was like, ‘I’ll do it.’ Either way, it works for me. Either he makes it, or he’s out, and second base is open.

"Martin was yelling to Stanley, ‘Get a big lead! Get a big lead!’ Sparky heard and he knew what Billy was doing. He yelled to Ujdur, ‘If Stanley gets a big lead, don’t pick him off! Concentrate on Rickey!’

Chicken takes a big lead, bigger lead, and Ujdur wouldn’t throw down there. Finally, he took off and they threw him out.

Anderson was furious, yelling, That ain’t the way the game is played!

He found an ally in third-base umpire Durwood Merrill, who told Martin, You can’t do that, according to Henderson.

So Sparky kept throwing over to first base and throwing over, Henderson said. "I knew I had a chance, and I’m thrown out or I’m not, but I have a shot. So I took my lead, I read the move, and I got a great jump. Everyone knows I’m going and Sparky had Ujdur pitch out. I slid into second base and the throw was good, but the tag hit me on the back leg.

"Durwood said, ‘You’re out!’ I said, ‘No way! He got my back leg!’ And Durwood said, ‘You can’t do it this way. That’s why you’re out.’

Durwood made a bad call, but he said he didn’t want the record to go like that. We were fuming. Billy was furious. He wanted to do it for the home fans, and so did I.

Henderson finished the season with 130 steals, still the all-time mark. On May 1, 1991, he added the career stolen-base crown, sliding safely into third in the fourth inning of a game against the Yankees at the Coliseum for No. 939 overall. (The home plate umpire: Durwood Merrill.)

Henderson hauled the base up and held it aloft, then, after thanking his family, Trebelhorn, Martin, and the A’s owners, he said, Lou Brock was the symbol of great base stealing. But today, I’m the greatest of all time.

A wave of criticism followed that speech, with Henderson branded arrogant and self absorbed. That still stings Henderson, who had no intention of causing a fuss.

I went through a week or something trying to steal that base, and Lou Brock was traveling with us, Henderson said. "I was a big, big fan of Lou Brock, and a big fan of Muhammad Ali and all the things he had been through. Lou and I were talking and I was trying to figure out what to say when I broke the record. I told Lou I wanted to say, ‘I’m the greatest,’ to honor Muhammad Ali, and Lou thought there was no problem with that.

"It didn’t get across very well. I think everyone thought I meant I was the greatest player, but I said the greatest basestealer. And I was. I had achieved the biggest thing—and I added on 500 after that.

It ended up getting so blown out of proportion, and I just wanted to do the right thing. I took a lot of grief, but I wouldn’t change it. I did it because Lou Brock was with me and he knows why I said it. But it did hurt me when people took it negatively. I felt bad, like what am I out here busting my butt for? To be the greatest! And if someone breaks my record, they can say they’re the greatest—and if they don’t, I’ll say it for them even if I have to take the microphone away from them.

Rene Lachemann was coaching third when Henderson broke the mark, and he said, with a laugh, When Rickey held up the base and claimed he was the greatest—well, he was right. That record will never be broken.

Oakland general manager Sandy Alderson traded Henderson to the Yankees in 1984 and then reacquired him in 1989. He dealt him away again in the middle of 1993 and he re-signed Henderson that off-season as a free agent. Henderson had four different stints with Oakland in all.

I went to a 25-year college reunion and they asked us to list our hobbies in a questionnaire and I put ‘Trading Rickey Henderson,’ Alderson said with a laugh. "I kind of liked Rickey. You had to take into account his background and experiences. He was frustrating at times because he might have more than one agent speaking on his behalf and he changed his mind a lot.

He mellowed some, that’s why we brought him back—combined with his ability and his relationship with Oakland. This is the entertainment business, you’re always looking for that hook. Sometimes he was a challenge, but that’s what made it fun.

I love Rickey. How could you not? He’s so great with kids and with people, said Wally Haas, son of former A’s owner Walter Haas. "Our last Sunday of owning the team in 1995 was a very emotional day. Instead of Fan Appreciation day, they made it ‘Haas Appreciation.’ My dad was too ill to attend and he died three days later.

And Rickey did a Rickey game. He single-handedly won the game. I went down to the clubhouse and I said, ‘Hey, Rickey, thank you for a great game,’ and he said, ‘Well, I wanted to win one for the old guy.’ I was very touched. But I do remember thinking, ‘What about all those other games you played in for him?’

Henderson finished his 25-year career, which included an MVP award in 1990, with 1,406 steals and 2,295 runs, all-time records that still stand. He was elected to the Hall of Fame in 2009 in his first year of eligibility, and he works with the A’s as a special instructor.

In my opinion, Rickey is the best player ever to play the game, former teammate Carney Lansford said. I hit behind him for a number of years, played with him for a number of years, saw how he affected the game in so many ways, whether it was putting a run on the board to start the game or stealing a couple of bases, making a great play in the outfield. My all-time idol was Willie Mays, and I’m not sure he affected the game as much as Rickey did.

2. Charlie Finley

Charles Oscar Finley was born in Ensley, Alabama, on February 22, 1918, and as a youngster, he exhibited the same interests that would make him famous: baseball and salesmanship. He was a batboy for the Birmingham Barons minor-league team while also winning awards for selling The Saturday Evening Post door-to-door, and he later played semi-pro baseball in Indiana while working at a steel mill in Gary, Indiana, where his father and grandfather were steelworkers.

During World War II, he worked in an ordinance plant. At the same time, Finley began selling insurance on the side and set a company record for policies sold. He didn’t have health insurance of his own, however, when he came down with a severe case of tuberculosis and pneumonia that nearly killed him and reduced his weight to 96 pounds. So during his 27 months of convalescence, he devised a group insurance plan for professionals, including doctors. He sold the coverage to the American College of Surgeons, among other high-profile medical associations.

That made Finley a multi-millionaire. He decided to spend his newly minted fortune on a baseball team…. and became one of the most flamboyant and controversial owners in major-league history.

First, Finley attempted to buy the Philadelphia A’s in 1954, then he failed to purchase the Tigers, the White Sox, and the expansion Angels.

When Kansas City owner Arnold Johnson had a stroke and died after watching a spring game in March 1960, Finley targeted the A’s. On December 19, 1960, he went to probate court and made a high bid of $1.975 million for a 52 percent controlling interest in the team, and he shelled out an additional $200,000 to pay debts owed by the Johnson estate. He also began to buy up the local shares of the franchise, spending $4 million to gain the A’s outright.

I’m here to stay, Finley announced on a local radio station. This team is not moving out of Kansas City, regardless of attendance.

That, like many of Finley’s statements, turned out to be far from the truth. First, he reneged on a promise to strike a clause that he could move the team if attendance dropped—a ceremony in which he lit a match to burn that clause turned out to have been faked.

Almost immediately, Finley began flirting with other municipalities. By August 1961, he was exploring Dallas as a possibility, even while calling rumblings about a move disgusting. The list of potential targets eventually expanded to include Louisville, Seattle, Milwaukee, New Orleans, San Diego, Toronto, Montreal, Atlanta, and Denver.

He’d been threatening to move basically since he’d been there, longtime A’s broadcaster Monte Moore said. Once when he visited Kansas City, he had a press conference and told all the people, ‘Hey, all these rumors about moving, it’s not going to happen, we’re here to stay.’ That Saturday morning, I had him on my talk show there in Kansas City and he said the same things. Then he went to the airport, flew to Louisville, and offered to move the team there.

Nevertheless, the A’s remained in Kansas City for seven more seasons while Finley was running the show—emphasis on show. He was innovative, perhaps to an extreme. He was energetic. He was impatient. He was demanding. He was combative and at times downright unpleasant. And he was contradictory, known for sudden bursts of generosity as well as for extreme stinginess, candor one moment, lies the next.

The first sign that Finley had some different ideas came in 1963, when he introduced new uniforms. Out went the Athletics’ red, white, and navy blue, and in came some decidedly nontraditional colors, which Finley gave official names, as if they were paint swatches. The Kelly green, Fort Knox gold, and wedding-gown white uniforms were considered garish at the time, particularly with their green belts, but the ensemble inspired other teams to adopt a brighter approach in the next decade, culminating in the Astros’ rainbow-striped tops in 1975.

Finley became known for a range of novelties, some of which caught on—like the DH and night games—and many that didn’t, such as orange baseballs and mechanical rabbits to deliver baseballs to umpires.

A lot of people called Charlie O. crazy, said pitcher Blue Moon Odom, who has remained one of Finley’s staunchest supporters. They’d ask, ‘How do you like your crazy owner?’ But he was just creative. He put ideas out there, and some of them stuck.

I’m not trying to be popular, Finley told author Bill Libby. I’m trying to make my team and my game popular.

He might be best remembered for wacky stunts, but Finley had another trademark. He ticked off all of his managers and most of his players at one time or other—and some of his run-ins changed the team and baseball.

Managers and front-office personnel didn’t have much job security with Finley around. He fired two general managers in his first nine months as owner, and he’d given the second of those, Frank Lane, an eight-year contract. Halfway through the 1961 season, he promoted Hank Bauer to replace