Swinging from the heels, and often at each other, Charlie Finley's club became baseball's most entertaining spectacle -- and its most forward-looking

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	Now a Giants staffer, Blue held out early in the '72 season -- one of the first players to try to cash in on his fan appeal. Michael Zagaris/SI
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By Phil Taylor

This Where Are They Now feature and others like it can be found in the July 2nd issue of Sports Illustrated.

Unlike many symbols of the 1970s -- mushroom-cloud Afros, platform shoes and the feathered, Farrah Fawcett 'do -- the '72 World Series champs have retained an unmistakable currency. That's because the Swingin' A's, nicknamed both for their flamboyance and for their willingness to flail at just about anything, including each other, were ahead of their time. "I guess that's true," says lefty Vida Blue, who pitched four shutouts that season. "We were considered wild and crazy back in the day, but a lot of the stuff we did is pretty common these days."

Oakland wasn't just a minidynasty, winning three straight titles from 1972 to '74. As baseball changed from an uncomplicated pastime into a full-fledged entertainment industry, the freewheeling, media-savvy A's led the transformation. They had a charismatic slugger in outfielder Reggie Jackson, whose mouth kept him in the headlines almost as much as his bat did. ("He'd give you the shirt off his back," A's ace Catfish Hunter would say in 1977, when the two were reunited as members of the Yankees. "Of course, he'd hold a press conference to announce it.") Blue, who held out in a contract dispute for the first month of the season, was one of the first athletes to seek compensation for his value as a drawing card. Charles O. Finley, the A's maverick owner, made his already colorful players even more so by outfitting them in multiple uniform combinations, a radical idea that nearly every pro team has since adopted.

Most of all, the A's are remembered for fracturing the fairy tale that successful teams are happy, harmonious units. Scuffles were as common as card games in the clubhouse, with no effort to keep the fights out of public view. "If we had a problem with each other, the whole world knew about it," says Jackson, now a special adviser to the Yankees. The A's could be contentious even in victory. In the sixth inning of Game 5 of the AL Championship Series against the Tigers, Blue relieved starter John (Blue Moon) Odom, who had been dry-heaving in the dugout. After the 13-10 A's victory, Blue walked past Odom's locker and made a choking sign, and the two nearly came to blows in front of the press. "What," says Blue, who now works in community relations for the Giants, "you mean every team doesn't do that?"

From the beginning of '72 it was clear the A's were a different breed. Jackson showed up for spring training with a full beard, a look so rare in the majors at the time that it caused a stir. Finley then ordered some of the other A's to grow mustaches, figuring Jackson was such an iconoclast that once he saw his teammates' facial hair, he'd get rid of his.

But Jackson wouldn't budge. Meanwhile Hunter (a Hall of Fame righthander who died of ALS in 1999) grew a mustache, along with closer Rollie Fingers, who became famous for his handlebar. More players followed suit, and before long the A's were drawing media attention for their hirsute look. Sensing an opportunity for more publicity, Finley offered a $300 incentive to any player who grew a mustache by Father's Day -- in time for a Mustache Day promotion at Oakland Coliseum. By the time the A's reached the World Series against the strictly clean-shaven Reds, so many Oakland players had mustaches or beards that the Series was dubbed the Hairs versus the Squares.

Finley wasn't nearly as flexible in his handling of Blue's holdout. After going 24-8 in 1971 to win the Cy Young and AL MVP awards, Blue wanted a $100,250 raise from his $14,750 salary. He irritated Finley by hiring an agent, Bob Gerst, a fairly new practice. Gerst calculated that more than 40% of the attendance at the Coliseum in '71 had come in games started by Blue and argued that his client's impact on the bottom line should be reflected in his salary. Finley wasn't persuaded. "You have as much chance of getting $115,000 from me," he told Blue, "as I do of jumping out of my office window." Blue settled for $63,000, and though he did win 20 games two more times for the A's, he never came close to matching his '71 dominance.

But Blue did help Oakland win its first championship, which it did in typically hotheaded, unpredictable style. Shortstop Bert Campaneris was suspended during the ALCS against Detroit for flinging his bat at pitcher Lerrin LaGrow, who Campaneris thought had thrown at him. (Campy's heave helicoptered over LaGrow's head -- barely.) The A's still prevailed in five games, setting up a showdown with the fearsome Big Red Machine of Johnny Bench, Tony Perez and Pete Rose. In the seven-game Series, little-known catcher Gene Tenace, who had been 1 for 17 in the league Championship Series, became the first player to hit home runs in his first two at bats in the Fall Classic. Tenace won the Series MVP award and was part of one of the more memorable pieces of deception in World Series history in Game 3.

Leading 1-0 in the eighth, Cincinnati had runners on second and third with two outs and cleanup hitter Bench at the plate. With the count full, Tenace stood up and extended his right arm as if the A's were going to issue an intentional walk. But at the last second he dropped back down into a crouch, and Fingers shocked Bench by throwing a slider on the outside corner for strike three.

The Reds still won the game, but the play perfectly symbolized the A's, a team always willing to ignore convention. "We were fun, we were different, and we were good," says Blue. "When you're willing to shake things up and take some chances, you can really make your mark. If we set any kind of example, I hope that's it."