The Last Dance: Oakland A's Fans Mourn the Loss of a Beloved Team

In the arc of a lifetime, grief is inevitable. Such pain is usually ours to bear, alone, or amongst a small circle of friends and family.

Sports, however, delivers shared grief with regularity. Heartbreaking losses reverberate forever across generations of fans, people who may have little else in common otherwise. Or the pain of a crippling injury, or trade, often culminating in the haunting "what if" that never goes away. Sports brings people together for a common cause, but when the cause is lost, the people are bound in a common trauma. Losing four straight Super Bowls, like the Buffalo Bills, brought a disparate group of people together, for better or for worse. An instant kinship and wordless understanding developed amongst millions.

The typical sadness in sports can be heartbreaking, but all losses are softened by the hope that "there’s always next year." A heartbreaking loss by definition is precipitated with positive memories. You can’t have your heart broken if you had no expectations in the first place. Every heartbreaking loss is accompanied by exhilarating victories, the thick, tense moments of anticipation, the ride of a joyous season, memories created with family and friends. There’s sadness, but only because there was happiness. That arc is normal, natural, and part of the joy of being a die-hard fan of a team.

This feeling right now, is anything but normal. We share in our grief. But our grief as Oakland A’s fans is a lasting and permanent one. There is no next year, or any year after that.

There are only memories, and even thinking about the memories hurts, because there won’t be any new ones made. The Coliseum in September 2024, has been an overwhelming experience for those who made this place their second home every summer, a tidal wave of emotions, a flood of memories, polluted by a feeling of overwhelming loss and emptiness. "LET’S GO OAKLAND" chants are hopeless prayers for the Town, the game being secondary; belted out with desperation and urgency; this is our last chance to ever say it.

Walking through the Coliseum this past month is exchanging wan, knowing glances with the familiar ushers, vendors, and stadium workers, many of whom have been there for decades; concessionaires at the stands getting drunk off the beer and pouring you free ones. Who cares at this point? The powers that be certainly don’t.

I’m not sure if losing a team has ever been quite like this. Yes, sports franchises have moved, on occasion. However in this day and age, franchises rarely move, let alone after multiple titles, consistent division titles and playoff appearances, nearly six decades of history, and promise after promise to stay and build a new stadium. In today’s world, if a franchise moves out of market, it’s usually because they suck; often, it’s a newer franchise that never took hold in the market.

The Oakland A’s have always been unique, and generally have been a good to great team. From stringing together three straight titles in the 1970s on a shoestring budget, to the 1980’s when, for a brief moment, they were America’s team, with Eck, Stew, the Bash Brothers and the rest of the crew.

And of course the last 24 years in particular, were a shared experience unlike any other. The A’s became an anachronism in Major League Baseball, and all of American sports. Oakland was an island. The team was still sharing their field with a football team until recently, playing in a brutalist multipurpose stadium. And they somehow kept winning, despite year after year fielding one of the lowest payrolls in the league.

The fans coined the phrase, "The Last Dive Bar in Sports" and perhaps there was never a more apt description. AI tells me a "dive bar" is casual, old-school, inexpensive, has authentic vibes, a limited menu, and a cozy community; all adjectives that applied to the Coliseum. And of course, there was always that ragtag group of players, whose identity seemed to never change, even though the names on the back kept changing. The contrast became especially stark, when the Giants opened their shiny new ballpark mere miles away, with jacked up ticket prices, fancy food options and the like. The Oakland A's were an anachronism.

Nevertheless, even with the well-heeled competitors in the market, the A’s somehow kept winning, and fans somehow kept having fun. Despite the outdated football stadium, despite the location in a forgotten corner of East Oakland, despite the Giants being in the same market, despite the constant turnover of the best players to go on to lead other franchises to titles, despite being under perpetual (literal) existential crises, the A’s were damn fun.

The A’s sometimes felt like a secret; to certain people, I wouldn’t even bother explaining, because you’d never understand.

There was nothing in American sports that compared to this, and with the mega-billions in sports, there never will be. By the 2000s, a massive boom was underway in sports. Revenues exploded, salaries along with them, and franchise profits and valuations received the biggest boost of all. Ownership of sports franchises ceased to be the enterprise of eccentric gamblers and innovators; rather, as they quipped in the show Billions, sports franchises became how we knight people in this country. You not only had to be rich beyond measure, but you had be approved by the cabal of assholes in the "fraternity."

Ticket prices escalated tremendously, pricing out fans; the emphasis was removed from the live experience to ancillary revenues, TV contracts, streaming contracts, gambling, and everything else but the actual fans of the sport.

Being an A’s fan felt like a mission.

The Moneyball Era and Beyond

We all know the story, portrayed in Moneyball, the book and the movie. (Many of us were there at the Coliseum, watching the movie on the field after the game, with the showing hosted by Chris Pratt, all the more special watching that on the field where it happened). Somehow this team, with the bottom payrolls, dilapidated stadium, and shedding MVPs and All-Stars year after year kept winning. However, as much as they won in the regular season, year after year, they never climbed the mountaintop. Of course, shedding literal all-star teams worth of young talent was probably related to those playoff failures. Young players never got the chance to come back from their mistakes. They were shipped out, and their experience benefitted their new teams with titles. It was a meme, the former A’s scattered across MLB’s elites.

The underlying current of being an A’s fan, the other side of the coin, is being unwanted. Ownership made sure the experience was worse than bare bones, it was aggressively terrible. Even the team eventually let go of making most player jerseys, what was the point when the player was usually gone the next season? And the in-game experience, well, there was never an effort to cater to the fans. They barely would do any marketing or advertising. They didn’t care if fans came or not. For ownership, as long as their MLB-mandated revenue sharing came in, they knew they could reliably cash profits while spending as little as possible.

It's an unusual thing as a fan of anything to be actively unwanted. Usually businesses at least make a show of attracting customers. But not the A’s ownership. The team, the stadium, the experience, it all became our thing, not theirs. The die hard bleacher crew (both the celebrated RF and the underrated LF) deserves the utmost credit. I’ve never seen it anywhere else, a small section of fans creating the entire atmosphere of the venue. The drums, the flags, the banners, and, for the fans, the sense of belonging. Walking through the Coliseum was seeing old friends, all the time. The other side of this of course, is living with the disappointment, the heartbreak, the crappy ownership, and the constant threat of losing your team, which, unfortunately, has come to pass.

I’d venture to say that anyone who had a period of their life as a die-hard A’s fan made friends with other die-hard fans that went beyond sports, just because of the A’s. If you’re in on the secret, if you’re willing to deal with what we deal with, there’s an unspoken bond. And now we’ll be the people having the same conversation, whenever we spot an A’s hat in the wild, about what we had and what a shame it was that it was taken away. For me, this experience of making fast friends with A’s fans happened by coincidence, literally just running into the same people over and over. It also happened through writing and posting and commenting on this site. I had the privilege of organizing IRL Athletics Nation fan meetups at the game, and met so many of you fine folks through that.

The Coliseum: A Second Home

The Coliseum of course, is the only home the Oakland A’s have ever known, and, ever will know. No one will mistake it for an icon like Wrigley or Fenway, but it has its place as one of the oldest ballparks in the game. Old buildings carry memories.

Aging is a funny process, because things that happened 20 years ago feel fresh, but at the same time you’re reminded of your age constantly. I still forget, and then remember that "face of the franchise" Ray Fosse is no longer with us. In a bittersweet moment, I met Vince Cotroneo for the first time, in this final month of his role as an A’s broadcaster. I told him, "I want to hug you, but I won’t. Thank you." He understood, of course.

The 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s (well early 90s) all had incredible moments, but of course many of us were too young or not yet born to have experienced some of those prior thrills directly. However, it seems that all of us who will be missing the Coliseum have the shared memory of the thrilling Billy Beane era on the field, the double edged sword of the terrible ownership we’ve suffered.

A History of Neglect: The A's Ownership Saga

So many of the moments blur together at this point. The Big 3 of Hudson, Mulder and Zito with Chavez, Tejada, Giambi, etc. The 20-game win-streak. The sadness of elite talent being shipped away, but being replaced by random parts and still competing.

When Scutaro hit that bases-clearing double to finally get us out of the first round, I ran up to the (then tarped-over) 3rd deck and ran around the whole damn thing with my broom, clumsily dodging security, who, truth be told, probably were celebrating with me.

2012 brought the most improbable, joyous season that ever was.

The last competitive era, with supreme young talent in Marcus Semien, Matt Chapman, Matt Olsen, Sean Murphy, and many others, that was so rudely cut short.

Bob Melvin, the steady captain at the helm for years.

There are so many memories, of course.

Meanwhile, despite the on-field success, we were suffering with the narrative off the field. A’s fans would get constantly bashed for their attendance. I took it as a personal mission to introduce people to the A’s, as did most other fans that I know. We wanted to save the team. It almost felt like a gofundme or something. Most loved it. Laid back, fun, cheap, and thrilling. But every year attendance was improving, ownership would come in and chop down the team; avoiding investment in the team’s growth and choosing the safety of not trying and collecting revenue-sharing profits (while enjoying the rising tide lifts all boats franchise value appreciation that has accompanied this pro sports money grab). There would be another gut punch to the fans. And constant, relentless threats to move the team. Year after year, every city pining for an MLB team would be mentioned in connection with the A’s.

I don’t want to dwell on the stadium saga, but it’s important to set the record straight. This ownership never intended to pay for a stadium in the Bay Area, and this is a story of billionaires destroying a community asset.

Forget about investing in the product. Forget about growing the fanbase. Forget about making the experience great. Forget about marketing, promotion, advertising, or really trying in any way. Despite being in the wealthy and populous Bay Area, the A’s owners cried "small market" and maneuvered time and again to stay on MLB revenue sharing handouts. Lew Wolff (and his partner, John Fisher, back then just the hazy money behind the ownership) took over in 2005 and immediately made the experience worse. They raised prices and tarped over the 3rd deck, which in and of itself didn’t change the day-to-day experience, but it definitely chopped down significant attendance on big games. Moreover, it was a symbol – we won’t even try to bring more fans in.

The ownership group had some shady help in getting into their position. Wolff was literal fraternity brothers with then-MLB commissioner Bud Selig. There was an ownership group with supermarket mogul Bob Piccinini that included Reggie Jackson among others, that reportedly made a higher bid with an intention of keeping them in Oakland, but was denied approval. If that sale had happened, the A’s would likely have stayed.

Wolff and Fisher’s search for a new stadium started with a half-ass Coliseum North concept, that never went beyond a press release, was the only "attempt" to stay in Oakland before immediately turning south to San Jose.

The move to San Jose was never going to work, because the San Francisco Giants had that territory, and it was predictably blocked by the Giants and denied by Major League Baseball. Unfairly, maybe, but that encumbrance was part of the team when it was purchased, and it was no surprise.

The ill-fated "Cisco Field" in Fremont (which, again, not Oakland, but in the same county, wouldn’t have been the worst fate) died a sudden and mysterious death, which had the Fremont mayor totally perplexed that the A’s pulled out of the deal mysteriously on the date it was to be approved.

Meanwhile, Forbes kept publishing reports that our ownership was 4th-richest in MLB, and amongst the most profitable teams year after year.

The 2012-2014 A’s were again torn down prior to the 2015 season.

In 2016 I didn’t attend one game. For some reason, after getting punched over and over, I couldn’t take another punch. However, after 2016, ownership hired a new President, shiny new frontman Dave Kaval. Lew Wolff stepped to the background. And all the while, the vague money man, John Fisher, heir to the GAP fortune, had never once gave an interview or talked to the fans. It was nice to hear from the frontman, but it was odd – we still hadn’t heard anything from him. Not one interview. Not one appearance. Maybe, once or twice a year, he would be spotted on the broadcasts. It felt odd.

Kaval came with a new concept. Fort the first time in my memory, the team outwardly embraced Oakland. They rolled out the "Rooted In Oakland" slogan and pledged to build a new stadium in The Town. After years of being kicked down, any little bit of love felt like water in the desert. They started things like the A’s Hall of Fame, reaching out to bring former players back in the fold. It felt like a page was turning to a new chapter. The fans responded and attendance improved. They rolled out great new ticket packages, a few new bars and some basic surface level improvements to the Coliseum, and more and more people were jumping on board.

For sure, Kaval did get the buy-in, although not the trust of fans. He had our support as we all wanted a new, permanent home for the A's, but we couldn’t put blind faith in his sincerity after being kicked down for so long.

Ownership did not consider rebuilding at the Coliseum site (which would have been a done deal; no environmental approvals needed, site was already there). In hindsight, we all know why. Under the relevant MLB agreements, once the A’s built a new stadium in the Bay Area they would be off the revenue-sharing. The "small market" excuse would be up. They simply didn’t want to pay for a new stadium, get off the revenue sharing, then have to find a way to attract fans and…make a profit without handouts.

Kaval first had his sights set on a new field by Laney College. I personally loved that idea. However, apparently the Laney College Board didn’t. Somehow, Kaval announced the field without approval or even a negotiation with the community college district, whose land the stadium was to be built on. When that fell apart, it was suspect to say the least. Announcing a new stadium without having any deal to use the property where said stadium would be built?

Kaval then shifted to the Port, at Howard Terminal. That was worst one of all. It needed bills to be passed at the state level, multiple city, county, Port, and environmental approvals; it was a herculean task. However, improbably, all the approvals fell into place, over time. The support of A’s fans was critical. Fans took it upon themselves to attend meetings of every government agency and make their voices heard.

Eventually, the ballpark had approval of essentially everyone that needed to approve it. The deal was negotiated, hundreds of millions of infrastructure funding was acquired by the city. They even hired and paid for the mediator selected by John Fisher to help nail down the final points of the deal. Before that final stretch started, in which the deal was expected to be nailed down that week, the lying, miserly bastards pulled out. Why would they pull out of a deal they proposed the terms, and which was approved mostly without any real changes? Because they never intended to pay for it. They proposed a bold plan of taking over 55 acres of waterfront property, with the stadium as an anchor for a massive development they would handsomely profit from, which stadium would be privately financed but the city would pay for surrounding infrastructure. And then they walked away from the terms that they proposed. It turned out to be a total sham.

The beginning of the end was when, on the very day of the sold-out 2019 AL Wild Card game at the Coliseum, A’s ownership decided to push their Vegas move. The story wasn’t the playoff game, the story was "A’s are moving to Vegas." They couldn’t even let us enjoy that one freaking day.

The front office did try to compete on the field post-covid, but it was clear that after the last attempt to compete in 2021, the mandate was to get rid of all the talent, rip it down to the studs, raise ticket prices, get rid of all the "Rooted in Oakland" material, ruin the experience, and get the hell out of dodge. The past few years really are a frame-for-frame remake of Major League; but unlike the movies, the billionaires win in real life.

Dave Kaval lied to my face. Multiple times. He made himself readily approachable to A’s fans, so likely he lied to your face too.

He lauded the privately financed ballpark, this vision of grandeur and renderings, oh there were some damn great renderings. However, like his authenticity, the promise was illusory. John Fisher and Dave Kaval are vile, decrepit, scum of the Earth. The "Wolff Lied, He Never Tried" sign that hung in the bleachers for years, while being alternately mocked and lauded, ultimately was proven right, first for Wolff, and then for his partners.

The Last Game: A Farewell to Oakland

The key part of their deal on the Vegas move? It was pre-negotiated that they will stay on MLB’s revenue sharing dole, even though they ostensibly will have a brand new stadium in a flashy destination. It’s telling that the first time, since 2005 when Fisher bought the A’s, the very first time we heard him speak to us was when he announced the Vegas move. He steadfastly declined to be interviewed by any local sports press (he did talk about his damn art collection though).

And so it ends, not with a whimper, but a roar, and a cry. Today will be sold out, and it will be the weirdest experience I may ever experience, watching a death of a celebrated friend in real time, together with 50,000 other family members. Anger gives way to sadness, which will give way to memories, which will give way to other things that will occupy our lives as the sting fades away but never disappears.

The one thing I miss the most, is something I already lost the past couple of years as the final nails were being put in the coffin: The day-to-day rhythm of the summer, following the arc of an improbable, impossible run of a baseball season, daily chatter, constant scheming as armchair manager and GM, the butterflies, the intensity, the roller coaster of emotions. I’ve become a (gasp!) casual fan. And the "fan" part of that is taking its final breaths.

I know I can still follow the team, but as of this moment my heart isn’t in it. I know if I were to watch, and I saw this disgusting ownership group win a title for another city, after decimating the stellar teams in Oakland time and again, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. It would just make the wound deeper, in a way. The team has been so cruelly torn away and I am not interested in supporting the people that did this to us. We’ll all move on in our own ways and life will get busy and we’ll fill our days with something else. Some of us will continue to follow the team, and I don’t fault anyone who does. However, none of us will be there at the Coliseum next year, like we were every year, and that hurts in a way that I can’t really explain, but we all understand. Today adds another, final, crushing blow to us fans of the Oakland A’s, and there is no next year.

A Final Farewell: Remembering the Coliseum

P.S. I have way too many memories to share, with probably 100,000 comments and hundreds of posts on this site. But here’s some highlights from 2013-2021, when I was writing for the site, with a special focus to articles that talk about the Coliseum and our collective fan experience. Looking back I can’t believe I’ve written so much about this place. Unfortunately this site has changed its software so much that it’s sadly impossible for me to simply get a list of my old posts to link to you, but I guess many of them are still up on the site: