By Buster Olney

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Once upon a time, the A's ran the ultimate baseball frat house. Jason Giambi set the tone, and those Oakland teams were big and hairy and powerful. They clubbed homers, partied into legend and assaulted eardrums with their clubhouse music. Every September, they showed up fashionably late and banged on the door of the pennant race. But every October, the baseball gods cruelly revealed their weaknesses—pulled down their pants, in a sense, and exposed their shortcomings for everybody to see ...

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