They had a chance at another decade of dominance if not for Finley’s crappy business practices.

Talk about ripping the heart out of a team’s fan base.

According to Bill James, the ’29 team had the 2nd greatest first baseman of all time (Foxx), the 2nd greatest pitcher of all time (Grove), the 4th greatest catcher of all time (Cochrane), the 2nd greatest second baseman of all time (Collins), and the 7th greatest left fielder of all time (Simmons).

I’ll give you Rickey as the 4th greatest LF. But Foxx still rates higher than Mac, albeit by the slimmest of margins (2nd to 3rd greatest). After that all you’ve got is Jose at 36th for RF and Eck at 32nd.

Now we can debate about the rankings, I took them from the New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract 2001, since the rankings consist of a career rather than just the WS years. But I don’t think anyone can argue that the ’29 team, as well as the ’30 team, had a much better collection of talent.

I was there in ’89. Loved those teams. Those were the teams I grew up with. But there is only a small chance that the ’89 team would win a series against the ’29 team.

Let alone “absolutely demolish” them.

It pains me to no end that those teams didn’t go deeper into the playoffs.

The other day when we were arguing about the velocity of Barry Zito’s seven year-old fastball, I said to myself:

“Fricking PT. Thinks he knows everything. Dammit, I remember what I remember, and PT was probably still peeing the bed and playing with toy firetrucks in 2001. Zito threw 90. I know this. I will obtain indisputable confirmation! I must!”

So I scoured the Internet for streamable A’s games from that season. Possibly “scoured” is a bit hyperbolic – more precisely, I spent 8-10 minutes Googling various combinations of “a’s”, “stream”, “download”, “broadcast”, and “2001”.

In any event, I wound up at the mlb.com’s “Baseball’s Best” page, where, you guessed it, one of the darkest days in Oakland Athletics history can be re-lived for a mere $2.95.

I was torn.

On one hand, how could I justify bringing such blasphemous filth into my home? Watching Spankenstein 6 on your iPod in church on Easter is probably more cosmically acceptable than paying for the privilege of watching Derek Jeter execute that ninny-flip to home plate. Just thinking about it produces a stabbing pain in my abdomen.

On the other hand, faith in the integrity of my memory was at stake. I mean, if I was wrong about this, what else was I misremembering? Have I subconsciously burnished boatloads of past mediocrities such that they appear more palatable to my present self?

Did I really encounter Joe Don Baker on an escalator at Harrah’s? Did I really hitch hike to Chicago just to hear Muddy Waters play? (wait, that’s a Chuck Berry song … shit)

Whatever. The Rashoman thicket is endless and bewildering. I really did not want to go down that path. And anyway, I just needed to watch a few innings of Zito, grab a screen a screen shot or three, and wash my hands of the whole experience (that is, after I penned an epic, mocking post belittling your foolish assertions).

So I choked down the vomit welling in my throat, bought the 24 hour pass, and queued up the game.

Except it wasn’t the normal television feed. It was King, Korach, and Fosse on audio, with no graphics. No radar readings. Dead end.

I considered flinging my laptop out the window and/or bellowing obscenities at some hapless mlb.com customer service representative, but ultimately I settled on a single primal scream and a semi-cathartic session of on-line Scrabble.

Now I’m left with no choice but to accept the cartoonish unreliability of my recollections. I may or may not have eaten buttered hamburger buns for lunch yesterday. Maybe I talked to a co-worker about George Jones this morning, but then again who knows, maybe it was really George Will. Uncertainty pervades. Everything is in disarray. And that $2.95 check card transaction is a permanent stain on my record; if there is a God, and heaven exists, that’s definitely going to come up when I reach the end of the line.

This is all your fault.

If you reject my premise, fine (because there is no such thing as time travel). I find flaws with your premise too. Certainly, no one will ever out-homer entire teams again; it doesn’t automatically follow that Ruth is the best slugger there will ever be/has ever been. He was just the first (which, of course, is worth something).