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On the evidence of his past, Martin will, in the end, develop a love-hate relationship with the Oakland players who nearly worship him now. Says Texas Catcher Jim Sundberg: "He could chew you out one minute and build you up the next. He got so mad at me one game that he was going to send me to the minors. The next night he was telling me I was as good as Bill Dickey. He made losing absolutely miserable." New York's Graig Nettles, whom Martin managed in the minor leagues and at Minnesota: "Guys can go their whole career and not know what it takes to win. You learn that from Billy right off the bat." Kansas City's Larry Gura, an ex-Yankee, has another view: "I saw many players with ability sent down to the minors because Billy didn't like them."
Al Kaline perhaps comes closest to the truth: "One thing he does better than anybody is handle the little guys, the litlle second baseman or shortstop who doesn't hit much. He makes little guys feel better. He makes them play better. All the little guys get recognition playing for him."
Guys like Billy Martin. One of the paradoxes he took away from those Oakland streets was the conviction that he is a little guy, schemed against by owners and general managers, unjustly treated by umpires and fans. He is a vulnerable fall guy for every barroom bully. The smooth charmer who can be dangerous when he drinks. The profane martinet who always wears a gold cross on his cap ("I want kids to know I'm a Christian. Not a born-again Christian. I was baptized a Catholic"). Says Veteran Manager Bill Rigney: "He's always had to prove something to himself. He can snap like that. But that's the man. You get all of him when you get him."
He once explained his brutal beating of Dave Boswell: "I didn't want to hurt him, but when you're fighting a bigger man, the most important thing is to make sure he doesn't hurt you." Boswell is 6 ft. 3 in., but Martin stands a good 5 ft. 1 ½ in. himself. His genius as a manager may lie in a basic misperception of himself. He thinks he's 5 ft. 6 in., and he wants to be a big guy, a winner. So he will drive himself and his teams to any length to prove that they are not little guys.
That is what he has taken back to his home town. He has convinced an Oakland team without much of a bullpen and an infield so unimpressive that Martin must platoon eight players to fill four positions that they are world-beaters. He has taught his young players, some of whom have to wrap bubble gum around their chaw of tobacco, a few oldfashioned, spit-in-your-eye baseball tricks and set them to thinking of a championship. The A's victories have come at the expense of relatively weak opponents, though by week's end they had defeated the mighty Yankees twice and raised their record to 20-3.