One of Oakland's less vocal stars, Joe Rudi now makes his voice heard as a ham radio buff

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	Rudi, a defensive hero in '72, plays Mr. Fix-it on his Oregon radio compound. Robbie McClaran/SI
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By Gene Menez

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

A quarter century after retiring from baseball, Joe Rudi is still obsessed with making contact. Only now his objective isn't hitting a Don Gullett fastball in the World Series -- it's zeroing in on fellow amateur radio operators in farflung locales. Up to a dozen times a year, Rudi, known by the call sign NK7U, and at least seven other hams (as they're known) gather on his 20-acre spread in Baker City, Ore. Competing against teams worldwide, they scan their radio dials for 48 hours, attempting to contact as many operators in as many countries as possible. "It's a competitive thing," says the 60-year-old Rudi, who still sports his signature mustache. "Just like in baseball, there's a team aspect in these contests. And you have to be prepared to play."

In his 16 big league seasons no one ever accused Rudi, a three-time All-Star and three-time Gold Glove winner, of being unprepared. Overshadowed by larger-than-life A's like Reggie Jackson and Catfish Hunter, he nonetheless finished second in the AL MVP voting in 1972 and '74 and was a key contributor for the three-time champs. It was Rudi's leaping, ninth-inning catch of a Denis Menke drive against the wall at Riverfront Stadium that saved Game 2 of the '72 Series against the Reds. Underdog Oakland would win the Series in seven for the first of its three straight titles.

During his days with the A's and later with the Angels and Red Sox, Rudi often took his radio on the road with him. "When we got to the hotel, I'd ask for the highest room I could get, on the north side," he says, "and then I'd set up a portable antenna against the window and talk to whomever I could."

Now, on his plateau in eastern Oregon, Rudi -- who like his wife, Sharon, works full time selling real estate -- has erected seven radio towers between 100 and 180 feet high, with 45 total antennas. He has also converted a small building adjacent to his four-bedroom house into a control center. "It's a NASCAR-style setup," he says. "Not one of those small operations."

His teammates joke that Rudi loves scaling the towers to put up new antennas or feed lines -- which requires a little dexterity and a lot of courage -- more than he does sitting in a chair to search for frequencies. But they're wrong. "When you turn the radio on, you never know who you're going to hear," he says. "It could be someone in the Midwest or someone in the Middle East." Or a memorable ballplayer from Baker City, Ore.