By Sophia Doan
Walking into the colosseum for the final time, countless memories flashed through my head. My first game at 8 years old, cheering for a game I didn’t understand, green and yellow ribbons tied into my hair. Walking out to the garage to find my dad pacing, the radio blasting an announcer screaming. The time I went with my cousins and ran around the colosseum trying to catch a baseball in my tiny hands. The daily “let’s go Oakland” chants that my family would cheer as we drove to Costco for no reason at all. My first baseball hat. The team I would defend as a 9 year old who lived halfway across the country and who couldn’t name one player on the team. Where I got my competitive nature.
The Oakland Athletics have always been so much more than a baseball team to my family. They were what my uncle and my dad would talk about whenever they got the chance, what my family would unite around. They were what made my brother want to play baseball, and the most exciting trips my family would ever take were to go watch a game.
My family isn’t alone in the personal heartstrings connected to the team. As we watched the “final series” (the last three games in Oakland) I would glance to a section and see people holding up signs declaring that they met at a game and now have been married for years, or that they were there for the first pitch ever and they will be there for the last. At the last game, nearly 50,000 people filled the sold out stadium to say their goodbyes, not a dry eye in the sold out stadium.
As we eagerly watched the game, the attention to the players would be often interrupted by the chants of the crowd. Several “sell the team” cries filled the air, more of a plea than an angry yell from the faithful fans. As we walked out for the final time, I looked up at my dad and took one last look at the colosseum he had been coming to for as long as he could remember. Tear stricken, we walked to our car.
The most depressing part of the game was seeing the staff cry. Staff that had been there for years, greeting regular fans that they had come to love. Staff that worked at the colosseum because they were passionate about the team. Staff hugging each other and trying to savor the last moments. Staff that are now all being laid off due to management’s selfish actions.
These final games were not unexpected. John Fischer, the owner of the team, has been planning to move the team to Las Vegas for about 18 months due to a perceived larger market in the area. Although calls for action, protests, and begging have occurred, the owner is not seeming to budge on his decision. First the team will move to Sacramento for 3 years, in an attempt to gain approval for a finalized move to Las Vegas. Fans have called him “cheap” for not investing more of his money to make the team a success, and say that moving the team is only beneficial for him financially, hurting the city of Oakland as well as the fan base.
Due to a letter sent out by Fischer “apologizing” for the move, many former players and other personalities have spoken out in anger towards the owner. In the letter, he throws out statements such as “we tried [to keep the team in Oakland]” in which A’s fans cannot seem to agree, seeing as Fischer and his team did virtually nothing but encourage the move. ABC reporter Larry Beil has been a loud voice in the disappointment with the ownership. On ABC he said “[Fischer] you destroyed your family’s great name and legacy because of your cheapness… I would love to see another massive failure by this ownership group and then maybe MLB will force a sale.” He also responds to Fischer’s statement that he wishes he could talk to every fan by stating that, although he has personally reached out for an interview, Fischer has denied all requests to explain his actions. Ending his televised rant by ripping up the letter, Beil makes his position very clear. Former A’s player Trevor May posted on social media in response to the letter, “be an adult. Get in front of a camera and say it with your chest. Releasing a letter, clearly written by someone else, and including a bunch of names you DEFINITELY do not know, is just disrespectful to those that love the team.”
Over the last few months, fans have participated in events such as the “reverse boycott game” in which anyone who could, would fill the colosseum or the parking lot to try to make a statement. “Sell the team” t-shirts and flags have been passed out, although the chants and signs were blocked from any broadcast. Last Dive Bar, an outspoken bar local in Oakland, remains the main organizer for the protests . Despite players and workers being banned from speaking out, controversy has arisen over players repping the merch of the bar in protest against the move. Estuery Ruiz, an outfielder who had an incredible start to the season this year, was sent down to the minor leagues after wearing a wristband that read “LDR” during a game, standing for Last Dive Bar. Brent Rooker was also benched after wearing the same wristband. The bar’s social media account posted pictures of the players’ wrists circled, captioned “Rooker benched, Ruiz sent down… one has to wonder why.”
Overall, the Oakland A’s were the team that raised me and my family, as well as many others. This is the team that makes me stop at random stores to talk to strangers decked out in A’s gear. This is the team that gave me my autographs, my bonding with my cousins. This is the team that, no matter where they go, will always have me cheering for them.
