So Long, Oakland.
I attended my first Oakland A’s game at the Coliseum when I was just one month old. This week, I attended my last.
I grew up in the stands of one of the most passionate fanbases in all of the major league, and over the years of countless day game tailgates, firework nights, and holiday weekends spent along the first base line, I have still found reasons to love the green and gold.
Talk of relocating the team started as early as 2012, however, I was always so focused on our guys that I ignored the rumors, even though they persisted. So when the news broke back in April 2023 that the team would be officially moving to Las Vegas, my fears of losing them were not just a probability; they were imminent.
The plans for the Howard Terminal Park had been so close to being approved, the hope we, the fans, had held onto was swept right from under us. Oakland had already lost the Raiders and the Warriors, but to lose the A’s? It is a loss that will be too hard to recover from.
As I sit here on the brink of tears and write this during the final home series, I find myself contemplating what more we could have done to save our team. However, I remind myself that this scenario was never within our control from the start, and I take comfort in knowing that this last home stand will preserve the end of something so beautiful.
Having been able to witness an era of players making their mark on not only this team but the culture of the Coliseum itself is something I am now coming to cherish; knowing it will never be replicated outside of this stadium.
You just had to be there.
To experience what it was like chanting, “I believe in Stephen Vogt” with thousands of fans, or to watch Cespedes' breakthrough at bat and hear the sweet, unexpected sound of “Careless Whisper” play when Reddick stepped up to the plate. From head-banging in the outfield as Balfour closed in the 9th to Coco Crisp taking us to one more playoff game. All of these moments scratch the surface of what makes the A’s and this city so special.
The Coliseum may not be the fanciest or the best-looking ballpark in the nation, but it represented the heart of the game. Cheap tickets, some good ol’ Coliseum dogs or nachos, and a BART ride were enough for us to come back and watch our favorite pastime on any given day. Because when you walked over the bridge, or through Gate C, you were transported back to the day you first fell in love with the game. It is just a shame the owner is too blind to see that is what he is taking away from the Bay.
In an email titled “A Letter from John Fisher” sent out Monday afternoon, he cowardly speaks for the first time since the announcement. Filled with misspellings and manipulation, he talks about games and the fans as if he were there to witness them in their full glory himself. I sat in disbelief and rage, reading the utter neglect of an entire fandom. Which is what led me to write this piece in the first place.
To John Fisher, God only knows the number of pennants and post-season series we could have seen if you actually cared for this franchise. The fans know it, the players feel it. But the greed speaks for itself. For a team that was said to be “Rooted in Oakland”, you sure made it easy it easy to tear it right out of the ground, and no one will ever forgive you for what you did.
I will not waste my breath on you anymore because plenty of other fans will gladly do it for me. So instead, I will end this with what remains to be true.
I love this team, the fans, and the Coliseum so much. To see it treated as an afterthought breaks my heart. I wish I could say that these emotions will pass eventually, but knowing I will never see the A’s play in Oakland again only proves that on this day there is, in fact, crying in baseball.
