For most of the past 30 years, the Athletics have acknowledged their past with what amounts to a wink and a half-handshake, almost as if they’re perfectly comfortable hiding their storied history under an empty seat.
They’ve been less neglectful of late, though, with the latest example being the retirement of Dave Stewart’s No. 34 on Sunday.
It’s ill-timed and overdue but absolutely the right move for perhaps the most respected player to wear the Oakland uniform.
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For it is exceedingly rare that a baseball is led, in every way, by a pitcher. The Oakland A’s of the late 1980s and early ’90s were the exception. They had Stewart.
Those clubs, which made three consecutive World Series appearances, were built on audacious talent and big personalities, beginning with Rickey Henderson, Dave Parker, Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire – who over their careers combined for 35 trips to the All-Star Game.
But Stew, as he was called by nearly everybody in the organization, was team’s judge and jury. He was fair and unflinching. It didn’t matter that for 77 percent of the games, he merely sat and watched.
His voice, utterly bereft of baritone, couldn’t carry through the clubhouse, much less the dugout and the bullpen. The level of respect he earned, through deeds and relationship, provided his thunder.
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The remaking of Stewart began in earnest in 1987. The A’s signed him as a free agent early the previous season, and pitching coach Dave Duncan, along with manager Tony La Russa, liked his makeup and thought they could salvage the kid who grew up in Oakland and graduated from St. Elizabeth High in the Fruitvale district.
Duncan leaned on Stew to hone his split-finger fastball and make it his go-to pitch. This was his last best chance to stay in MLB. At 30 years old, with a career record of 30-35 prior to coming to Oakland, the student listened. He implemented the pitch, in the process becoming one of the unlikeliest All-Stars in baseball history.
Though the A’s posted a record of 81-81 in 1987, Stewart posted a 20-13 record. and finished third in the voting for the American League Cy Young award. Glimpsing his potential, the 6-foot-2, 200-pound right-hander was a remade pitcher, with confidence practically pumping through his veins.
That’s how one earns his way. Rather than quit and become a baseball afterthought, Stew came out of the mud, cleaned it off and developed into a force with which to be reckoned.
How does any observer, teammate or opponent, not admire such fierce determination?
Stewart didn’t walk to the mound. He stalked and swaggered his way, as if he owned that elevated space. Pitching with the mentality of a pit bull trained for war, his death state reduced some hitters to skeletal bones rattling in the breeze. The dive-bombing split-finger pitch that saved his career tended to devour those daring to lock in and face the challenge.
Stewart won 21 games in 1988, 21 more the next season and 22 in 1990. As the A’s were averaging 102 wins during that three-season span, and he was averaging 21.3 wins – and along with 267 inning and 11.0 complete games.
“If we have a losing streak – and we don’t have many – we have no doubt it ends when Stew gets the ball,” catcher Terry Steinbach told me in 1989.
No pitcher in the last 32 years, in either league, has rung up four consecutive seasons with at least 20 wins.
Roger Clemens, widely considered the best pitcher in the game from the mid-1980s and deep into the 2000s, never beat the remade Stewart. During the four-years spanning 1987 through 1990, Stew was 9-0 against the Rocket.
In describing Stew’s pitching, his toughness and his embrace of battle, La Russa overused a four-word phrase: “Heart of a lion.”
Ownership loved Stew. Management loved him. His teammates revered him, as did trainers, clubhouse attendants, batboys and grounds crew members. Visiting clubhouse manager Mike Thalblum named his first son Stewart because Dave Stewart is one of his favorite people.
RELATED: How Stewart's intimidating stare was influenced by Koufax
In honoring Stew on Sunday – which coincides with the first weekend of the NFL season – the A’s are righting a wrong. There was never a question that he was the heart and conscience of their most celebrated era, when the Coliseum was a hot ticket, and the roster was studded with celebrities.
Somebody capable of using a hammer or a hug had to be the thread through it all. Never was there a question it was Stew.