2 Oakland Athletics

Back in 1989, when the Yankees' clubhouse was run by Don Mattingly, Dave Winfield and several other All-Star-caliber, no-nonsense veterans, Randy Velarde—a timid rookie infielder from Midland, Texas—would hide in his locker, afraid to say the wrong thing. This early experience explains a lot about Velarde: His stoicism. His dedication to physical fitness. His arrive-early, leave-late work ethic. His respect for authority. His sheer disgust upon meeting the A's.

Oakland acquired Velarde, along with righthanded starter Omar Olivares, from the Angels last July 29. The next day, when Velarde made his first appearance in the Athletics' clubhouse, he found players sprawled across the floor, laughing loudly. Some others played poker. A group of his new teammates watched Jerry Springer. Nary a one was hidden in a locker, afraid to speak. "It's too relaxed for me around here," says Velarde, 37. "I walk in that first day, and guys are having fun." What's wrong with having fun? "That's not the way it's supposed to be. In my first five years, in New York, I was a church mouse. Don't talk, listen."

Although Velarde still isn't 100% comfortable with what Oakland third baseman Eric Chavez calls "a room of goofiness," he does—sheepishly—admit that winning and fart jokes can go hand and hand. That was proved last season when the upstart A's, last-place finishers three of the previous four years, battled for the wild-card spot until the final week, winning 87 games with a $25 million roster dependent on unwanted retreads (DH John Jaha), obscure rookies (righty starter Tim Hudson) and supposed has-beens (reliever Doug Jones), and with all the stoicism and anxiety of a Cocoa Puffs taste-athon.

Billy Beane, the wunderkind 38-year-old general manager, owns a suit but prefers to walk the Coliseum halls in shorts and sandals. His assistant, Paul DePodesta, is 27. Every other player seems to have long hair or blond-streaked hair or, in the case of Chavez, long, blond-streaked hair. The emotional leader, first baseman Jason Giambi, speaks not in English but in yells and giggles and grunts. "There's something of an us-against-the-world attitude here," says Beane. "We're a small-market budget competing with the big spenders, and we do it with a casual professionalism. There's a communal feeling from top to bottom, and it works."

Mainly it works because for the past seven years the A's have spent their limited funds as well as anyone. Between 1992 (the last time Oakland reached the playoffs) and last season, the A's dedicated themselves to building from within, avoiding the risky trade that smells of short-term gain. As a result, six of Oakland's eight starting position players ( Chavez, Giambi, leftfielder Ben Grieve, catcher Ramon Hernandez, rightfielder Matt Stairs and shortstop Miguel Tejada) as well as Hudson, the ace of the A's rotation, were developed in the organization.

Oakland made very few changes in the off-season, which was unusual for a club accustomed to watching stars walk in pursuit of big bucks. Free agents Olivares and Velarde agreed to below-market contracts to stay with the A's, as did Jaha, who never even spoke to another club before signing a paltry two-year, $6 million deal. Partly he signed out of loyalty, says Jaha, who was invited to spring training by Oakland last year when other teams didn't return his calls. "Mostly," he says, "I wanted to have fun again."

He will, especially if the Athletics' obscure-yet-talented sluggers can repeat their McGwire-esque showing of last season, when they ranked second in the majors with 235 home runs. Oakland needs the long ball. The A's are terrible on the base paths (70 steals, 13th in the league last season), they don't hit for average (.259, also 13th), and they fan more often than John Popper on a 100� day (a league-high 1,129 times). Heck, they aren't even decent in the field, where Grieve and Stairs are below average, Giambi isn't mobile, and Chavez is still learning the nuances. But the middle of the lineup, Giambi-Jaha-Stairs-Grieve, combined for 134 homers, 422 RBIs and, ahem, 467 strikeouts.

Manager Art Howe's Opening Day staff will be infinitely better than last year's, when now-departed Jimmy Haynes—routinely ripped by teammates for his softness—shared ace status with Gil Heredia, a nomadic righthander who never had more than six wins in a year. Olivares and former Royals All-Star Kevin Appier joined the A's in late July, and each won seven games. Heredia, a junkballer and ideal No. 4 starter, won a career-high 13 games. The surprise was Hudson. Tiny (listed at 6 feet, actually 5'10"), unknown (a sixth-round pick who never attended a big league camp) and, beginning with his June 7 call-up from the Triple A Vancouver Canadians, dominant, Hudson throws hard, but it's his changeup and slider that produced 132 strikeouts in 136 innings. Batters chased his off-speed pitches out of the zone, a trend Hudson fears may not continue. "Major League hitters are awfully smart," he says. "Eventually I'll have to find new ways, 'cause they might stop chasing."

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