Leadership Lessons From The Three-Time World Champion Swingin’ Oakland A’s
(this is the companion post to the Business Journal column about how the early 1970s Oakland A’s – winners of three consecutive World Series Championships – consistently achieved despite adversity and dysfunction, yet discovered timeless leadership lessons just the same)
Let’s not lose sight of what this post is about: Results. With precious few companies operating as “functional” these days, the A’s showed us how to win when things aren’t quite as rosy as what people saw on The Brady Bunch.
Yes, the bawdy, crazy A’s were loud, arrogant, and a little weird. OK, they were a lot weird. But above all, they were winners, proving once again that there are multiple ways to win. The late Steve Jobs once flew a pirate flag over Apple’s headquarters, for gosh sakes. Renegades win, especially when they behave carefully, intentionally, and by design. An oxymoron? I think not.
Charlie O. knew that his job was to put the organization in a position to win, and he did a masterful job of it. First and foremost, the man was not afraid of hard work. His mantra, inscribed on the 1972 World Series rings as S + S = S, was “Sweat plus sacrifice equals success.” He personally scoured the national landscape to find the most talented players he could afford. He traveled to the vast reaches of the deep south – visiting homes of graduating high-schoolers – to the college World Series where he scouted (and signed) Rick Monday, Sal Bando, and Mr. October – the slugging Reggie Jackson. His gift for customer insight was extraordinary, and by the mid-1970s his net worth was estimated at $30 million (or over $200 million in today’s economy). Not too shabby, right?
The A’s were profitable in spite of consistent fan apathy, making a $1.3 million profit in 1972 even though that year’s World Champs drew fewer than a million fans. And so the debate still rages: Was Finley a visionary or an ass (or both?). Here he’s pictured with his trophy hardware, and riding his ass – yet another Finley promotional effort.
Presented for your consideration, here are more of the details – and lessons – of how the A’s so thoroughly dominated their industry from 1971-1975.
Not Perfect. Owner Charlie Finley micromanaged. He hired outstanding people but wouldn’t let them do their thing. He distrusted his players so much that he had the younger brother of a batboy – a young African-American kid named Stanley Burrell who performed odd jobs like shining the ball-player’s shoes – eavesdrop on clubhouse conversations and report back to him. Oh, you might know young Stanley as the eventual MC Hammer (he’s the kid on the left, posing with a friend of his), but in the early ’70s he was known by the players as “That f’n snitch.” Finley even gave the kid a VP title, confirming the value of having eyes and ears behind enemy lines.
Even the place they played in was a dump. The Oakland bay-area coliseum was nicknamed “the Mausoleum” because it became dank at night, and – oddly so – because the champion A’s still never drew many fans, leaving the concrete and dark green seats exposed.
There were no new uniforms from one season to the next. Star outfielder Jackson recalled, “I remember starting 1975 with 1972 pants, and a jersey from 1974. And that was the season after we’d won our third consecutive World Series.” Finley paid his players 75 cents for every dollar that players of comparable talent were earning. He bullied them with his checkbook, and they had no recourse. Free agency was still a few years in the rear view mirror.
Consider that when Catfish Hunter signed with the New York Yankees in 1975, after almost a decade in Finley’s employ, he said, “I feel like I just got out of prison.” Ouch.
Innovation. Compare the three A’s uniforms you see below with the standard baseball garb of the day (that’s Hall of Fame players Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, and Joe Morgan of the “Big Red Machine” Cincinnati Reds on the right). At first glimpse of the A’s Technicolor duds, the great Mickey Mantle remarked, “They should have come out of the dugout on tippy-toes, holding hands and singing” Others thought the circus had come to town. Ah, the old guard. Finley, on the other hand, recognized that vibrant color could be a real competitive advantage, guessing correctly that the baseball establishment would stand pat, remaining prisoner to baseball’s past. While the Reds and Baltimore Orioles – with Brooks and Frank Robinson and their vaunted pitching staff – are remembered more favorably today than Finley’s A’s, it was the Oakland fun bunch who ruled the day. And isn’t it interesting that baseball’s next great innovation, a true game-changer – Moneyball! – was also brought to the mainstream by the Oakland A’s (Brad Pitt, er, A’s GM Billy Beane).
Speaking of innovation, how about Harvey, the mechanical machine that delivered baseballs to the home plate umpire? Or Herb Washington, the first exclusive pinch-runner in history?
Remember the following when checking out the photo below of “The Mustache Gang.” Prior to 1972, the last player to brandish facial hair was Wally Schang of of the 1914 Philadelphia Athletics. Yes, the A’s were bookend follicle champions, too, in baseball history. Finley knew that his players reflected the times more so than the clean cut, cookie cutter image of the rest of the league. Therefore, to build community – driving a new market segment to his beloved cowhide hippies – he needed to achieve positioning more aligned with the times. Man, did he ever hit that one out of the park!
“The team resembled protesters more than cowhide All-Stars, and that sat just fine with them,” wrote John Rosengren, author of Hammerin’ Hank, George Almighty, and the Say Hey Kid. It’s who they were (Step One in The Third Door transformative process). ”Finley encouraged their mustaches and long hair, influencing the look of major leaguers later in the decade.” Look at baseball cards from the late ’70s, and you’ll find creative whiskers sprouting from virtually every face. The image of a winner, it seemed, was now fashioned by the mustachioed look. And I find it interesting that their co-tennants – John Madden’s Oakland Raiders – were cut from similar maverick cloth, including the ownership component (the Raiders’ Al Davis).
Additionally, regarding those colorful player nicknames – which further created distinction for the A’s – Finley even offered 1971 Cy Young Award winner Vida Blue $2,000 (a lot of money then) to legally change his middle name to “True.” Only Charlie. Vida True Blue. Um … no.
I truly believe that inspiration drives innovation, so what are you doing to inspire others?
Team Unity. Because Finley signed players with a will to win as strong as his, they found a way to dominate without having a relationship with their cheap, arrogant owner. In fact, Finley’s stinginess was a binding influence for the A’s teammates, rallying for one another … winning for themselves.
While slugger Jackson, pictured above on the cover of Sports Illustrated, was labeled as self-centered by even his teammates, his drive to win was as great as anyone’s. Consider the 1972 American League playoffs vs. Billy Martin’s Detroit Tigers. Scoring the tying run in the deciding game Game Five of the series, Reggie’s dramatic slide into Tiger catcher Bill Freehan at home plate caused severe injury to his leg – so severe that he missed his first World Series. Now that’s sacrifice. Are you getting this, folks? The top player sacrificed himself for the sake of a team goal.
No one had ever heard of A’s catcher Gene Tenace up until then, but somebody had to step up in the World Series with “Superduperstar” Jackson mending his leg. This was 1972, and the Reds were viewed as the best team in baseball; heavily favored to win the title. That is, until Tenace hit two home runs in his two first-ever Series at bats. Game One went to the A’s, and eventually, the Series. Who on your team steps up when the chips are down – or the star player isn’t able to play? Leaders don’t have to be asked to come to the fore, they volunteer – sensing a higher calling.
And the beards and mustaches? Even after Finley issued the famed “mustache bounties” – paying players to wear them after they were initially put off by Jackson ignoring team rules – the players kept them as a show of mutiny. Of course, as luck and superstition would have it, the team immediately went on a winning spree. Finley thought the winning streak was of his doing, his brilliance; the players took full credit for themselves, giving Finley nothing.
And the winning bred confidence. It’s well-documented that these A’s intimidated opponents by their swagger. Sal Bando was the vocal, acknowledged leader of The Mustache Gang, and his (and others) constant jawing at one another often led to fisticuffs. In fact, not five minutes into the clubhouse after winning their first title in 1972, pitchers John “Blue Moon” Odom and Vida (don’t call me True) Blue tussled.
Caught in the middle was manager Dick Williams, a former player and military man (and also not a fan of Finley’s constant meddling in his business). While he instilled a strong work ethic, he also become a renegade, saying about relenting on the no-facial-hair rule, “The world had changed, and baseball had changed with it. If I could identify with my players more by sporting a mustache, why not?” Now that’s a smart leader. How do you create team unity with the troops? Is it all about you, or your employees?
Last, but certainly not least, the A’s were one of the first teams to work out through the winter months, displaying pride in themselves, and accountability to one another. They placed winning above all of the other crap they had to deal with – small market, apathetic fans, a cheap owner, horrible ball park, kaleidoscope uniforms, constant brawling – and were handsomely rewarded.
Epilogue. Because of Finley’s ego and arrogance – the twin killers of sustained greatness – and the onset of free agency, he broke up his champions in 1975 and 1976. Outfielder Bill North said at the time, “The core players were only 27-28 years old. We could have won for years to come, and would have definitely won our fourth title in a row in 1975 (see the above Sports Illustrated cover with Reggie).
It’s rare, but until real leadership is the norm vs. the exception, the vintage A’s example may just be the ticket. Success is a choice, often times requiring leadership from those not formally in charge. However, it does help to have a maverick with a vision (and a chip on his shoulder) at the top.
Outlaws with a plan often win. (R.I.P. Steve Jobs)
