dugout frantically leafing through pages of computer printouts. I'm too busy watching my pitchers for signs of fatigue or checking my base runners — all the little nuances and gut feelings that you get and no computer can pick up. However, I do study the printouts before each game." During the 1983 and 1984 seasons, Boros' use of the computer was also profiled in several other publications, including Psychology Today ("The Microchipped Diamond"), InfoWorld ("Playing Ball With Micros"), Digital Deli ("Computer Ball"), and Popular Mechanics ("Science Goes To Bat"). 1983 season Despite Boros' use of the computer, the 1983 A's finished in fourth place in the American League West with a record of 74–88. Boros had long been an advocate of stealing bases, and his 1983 team totaled 235 stolen bases—more than any team in the American League since the 1976 Athletics. The team was handicapped by a pitching staff on which no pitcher won more than 12 games, compiling a mediocre 4.34 earned run average, ranking 12th of 15 teams in the American League. In a game against the Minnesota Twins on May 18, 1983, Boros put infielder Wayne Gross into the game as a pitcher, after the A's fell behind by a 16–5 score. Gross had not pitched since he was age 13. Boros was critical of the Twins home field at the Metrodome, saying there was no point in using a "real pitcher", and adding, "I used a joke pitcher for a joke park." 1984 season Before the 1984 season got underway, Boros' notoriety from his use of a computer became a distraction in the eyes of team management and baseball traditionalists. Longtime friend Phil Regan recalled, "He received some criticism for using computers in the mid-1980s and now everyone in the game uses computers." In their book on baseball's fascination with statistics, Alan Schwartz and Peter Gammons wrote: Baseball's conservatives howled in horror. As 1984 neared, you'd think that George Orwell was in the press box: Almost every article on baseball and computers used a silly, futuristic lead, with machines replacing managers and robots turning double plays. . . . Steve Boros woke up one morning as the standard bearer of baseball's on-field information revolution. After one year on the job, having been profiled in dozens of publications and all but cast as a circus freak, he became unpopular enough in his own clubhouse that he