There are no winners here

The A's end an era in Oakland and the fans are left behind.

As it stands now, the Athletics will never be in Oakland again. And another part of my faith in professional sports has been eaten away by the pursuit of money.

Yesterday, I watched the final game at the Coliseum on television. The game was secondary. It was a celebration of baseball in Oakland. It was texting my buddies and reliving the tailgates in the parking lot, the times in the stands, and the moments in the field. And yes, those memories are in the past. But now, the where has also been taken away.

Look, I’m not one to wax poetically that sports owners were ever altruistic. They’ve underpaid athletes, signed them to unworkable contracts, moved teams, and have made decisions to maximize value while undercutting fans. Sports is a business. It must pencil or else it has no purpose.

The Athletics professional baseball franchise leaving Oakland for West Sacramento (for three years?) before heading to Las Vegas makes my heart fall and my gut a little bit sick. And there is plenty of blame to go around.

First off, full disclosure. I have a personal relationship with an executive in the organization. He’s a friend and helped me with research on my novel Lose Yourself that takes place at an Oakland A’s game and celebrates the Coliseum and its culture. The A’s staff was fantastic in allowing me full access to the Coliseum, vendors, ushers, security personnel, etc. Everyone was kind and gracious. Also, I tend to assume positive intent and give the benefit of the doubt.

But from the city to the organization, the losers in this entire transaction have been the fans. Watching the tears and testimonials of fans was heartbreaking. They deserve better.

As a Dodger fan, I attended my first A’s game at the Coliseum in 1995with my college girlfriend (now wife) and her brother. There was a mulleted Mark McGuire but there were only about 15,000 fans in the stands. It was no Dodger game, but what was?

It wasn’t until a few years later, I understood the bond and link between the A’s and Oakland. In 1998, I moved to Hayward, 15 minutes up Highway 880 from the Coliseum. It was there that I had my bachelor party (and the only time I have ever been on a jumbotron). It was there that a crew of 20-something newlyweds and other friends went to at least one game a homestand to tailgate and watch a game. It was there that, after the double whammy of being laid off and 9/11, I went to day games to get away from reality. It was there in 2001 I had my first heartbreak when Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter flipped the ball to home plate to tag out Jeremy Giambi and turn the series toward the Yankees. By the time we moved to Sacramento in 2002, the Dodgers were still my team, but the A’s were certainly Team 1A.

Even during that time, ownership was looking to move - but at least still in the Bay Area. Owner Lew Wolf looked at options in Fremont and San Jose, but Commissioner Bud Selig and the Giants blocked that move. (Don’t get me started on the Giants) And Moneyball wasn’t just a book and a movie starring Brad Pitt. The reality was that the A’s were the Ross Dress 4 Less while the rest of the league was Macy’s or Nordstrom. And they still were able to do the Amazing!

I can only shake my head. A few years ago, there were plans for a new stadium. There was hope. There was an idea that maybe the A’s could compete in Oakland. But last year those hopes were dashed as the team announced a move to Vegas. Then earlier this year, further announcement that they’d play at the minor league park (less than seven miles from my house). Oakland fans, understandably upset. Sacramento residents, understandably conflicted. The NBA Kings had managed to avoid relocation and moved downtown. How can we be happy when a team “Rooted in Oakland” was being transplanted temporarily?

As I’ve talked to several fans this year promoting Lose Yourself, I don’t know how to feel. They are betrayed by politicians looking for one-time fixes for a municipal budget hole. They are betrayed by the ownership for building up hopes only to watch the third of three teams located at the same complex leave in the space of five years.

The A’s move is another reminder that sports is an entertainment business whose primary customers are not individual fans. Their product is not the games on the field. Their product is content. Their customers are purveyors of content (television, radio, internet). And that separation from the fans is all that’s needed to understand why we’re here. The fans are just a cog in a machine, not an end user.

As a fan, where does that leave us? We like the games. Sports gives us a shared identity that creates our own community. But do we have to give into everything else? Do we have to purchase seven different streaming packages to watch all of the games? Do we have to buy a new jersey every year because this one is different? Do we have to decorate our house or listen incessantly to sports talk radio, or watch ESPN’s endless in-studio debate programming?

When the Raiders left Oakland, I gave up on the NFL. I don’t play fantasy football. I know a little about the superstars, but that’s it. I haven’t watched a play all year. For baseball, the Dodgers remain my team, but I’m not going to drop everything to watch every playoff game. I’ll probably go to a Kings game this year. When the A’s are in Sacramento next year, I may attend for the novelty, but it won’t be like Oakland.

The sports industry doesn’t care about me. So why should I care about it? My time is valuable and precious, so now all I want is to watch the games in peace, then get on with the rest of my life.

A bit about Lose Yourself

I was in the midst of editing Lose Yourself when the team announced it was leaving Oakland. Then, a month into the release, the organization announced its temporary move to West Sacramento.

In the end, the benefit of a novel is that I can write the reality in which the story lives. Therefore, Lose Yourself bares no reference to Las Vegas, West Sacramento or any impending move. Instead, the novel celebrates the Coliseum, its culture, the fans, and what it is like to take in a game at the “Last Dive Bar” in Baseball. The characters include a stadium usher down the left field line and a lemonade vendor roaming the aisles. The action takes you to the press box, the elevators, the clubhouse, Section 104, and the crowded concourse. It’s all there and I am so glad I captured it.

Available on Bookshop.org, Amazon, Apple Books, and more.

Six People Struggling With Expectations.

One Baseball Game to Find Their Moment.

It's The Final Game of the Season...

All Star Brett Austen has a chance to secure the first .400 batting average for a season in more than 80 years. But increasing pressure and his own hubris threaten the apex of his career.

Meanwhile...

• A sideline reporter wrestles with a choice between career and her mom in crisis.

• A retiring usher takes in his final game before moving in with his son's family.

• A lanky 15 year old can't understand his future stepdad while pining for a girl from school.

• A lemonade vendor agonizes over a big score to settle gambling debts and fulfill his daughter's dreams.

• An adult daughter navigates uncomfortable family dynamics at home while her father lies in hospice.

Will Their Choices Meet the Moment?