In the end, what they wanted was dirt. Some fans smuggled in wrenches to try to remove the seats, while others joked they would leave with urinals, as 57 long years at the Oakland Coliseum came to an abrupt end. , they squeezed into the front row of seats. They stood green shoulder to green shoulder. And they begged for the scuff marks on A’s white shoes.
Members of the grounds staff filled dozens of shovels from home plate, bullpen mounds and warning trucks to collect plastic cups, sandwich bags and memorabilia from people who had been waiting nearly an hour for something after the final game. I moved the dirt onto my helmet. I could touch it when I couldn’t believe it was real, and I could take home something that I could worship later.
“It’s like ash,” tweeted a lifelong blood type A man in his 30s named Griffon.
Everyone wanted a piece of this place. Except for John Fisher.
It was the Dart they loved and the Dart they would now miss. In the end, they won 3-2 against the Texas Rangers, and at the end there was a “celebration” dance, and at the end there were cheers of “Let’s go, Oakland,” and the Oakland Athletics were gone. If A’s owner Fisher gets the Las Vegas ballpark he covets, both in the original sense of ownership and in a newer sense of embarrassment, it will be all glass and chrome and man-made. It will be one of the barren new stadiums built of damaged brick. , a satellite office rendered by artificial intelligence for mid-level executives to take a break from email work to discuss EBITDA. At the Coliseum, we calculated the ERA. Fans went straight from the night shift to the day game, sometimes showering, sometimes not, running their hands along the concrete walls stained by the 60-year celebration.
Dirt is proof of life. And what a life they lived here! Shannon Liddell, who works in education, and his wife, Meg, came here on their first date 11 years ago. On Thursday, they took their 9-month-old daughter, Clara, to their ninth game. Jorge Leon, who runs the nonprofit Oakland 68s fan group, met his wife in the bleachers here. Bobby Tzelentis, who works as a security guard at a casino, estimates he spent more of his childhood at the Coliseum than at home. He brought his 12-year-old daughter, Bailey, and 8-year-old son, Braden, here Thursday for a final reunion with the people he calls his fans. (Yes, the kids are named after Andrew and Dallas.) A tattoo of three elephants, the A’s mascot, covers his left arm. “I don’t know what our fan base did to deserve this,” he said.
Of course nothing. Perhaps no city deserves this more than Auckland. Oakland has watched first the Warriors, then the Raiders, and now the A’s abandon working-class, multiracial underdogs for a collection of other luxury suites. The Athletics could have had a new ballpark in Oakland, or they could have renovated this one. It’s no longer worth re-litigating how Fisher let these people down.
The 46,889 in attendance (the A’s final capacity crowd) showed their frustrations in creative ways typical of Oaklanders. Regular SELL THE TEAM chants and signs that read VEGAS BEWARE. It’s not us, it’s you. and DORIS GET UR KID (message to Fisher’s mother). Many of them struggled with the idea of supporting the team financially by purchasing tickets. Some were purchased only from the secondary market. And some decide not to pay at all. TJ Hamilton, a former Warriors ball boy and lifelong A’s fan who came straight here from working at the post office, said he planned to sneak in. He didn’t want to give Fisher the money. However, he intended to tip the concessionaires $20 each.
Some made lukewarm promises to follow the team to Sacramento and perhaps eventually Las Vegas. Some will turn their backs on the franchise that turned its back on them. “The Oakland A’s are like my father,” Leon said. “They never needed me,” he added, “It’s okay, I don’t want them. I’d rather have the Oakland Ballers (independent baseball team) and the Oakland Roots (Division II soccer team). I think it will go well.”
Probably a dozen or so knuckleheads threw trash onto the field after the game. But most people just watched and cheered. They loved this team and this place. It is dirt that gives fruits and vegetables, and ultimately the animals that consume them, their unique essence. You can drive through town and learn from the buildings what the local wines taste like. Because the rock that houses are built on is the same that gives grapes their flavor. A wasn’t just from Oakland, he was from Oakland.
Little Leaguers watched the game on the top deck for $2 each. The players served root beer floats to the fans. Rickey Henderson still owns a house in Oakland. “I still see him around Lake Merritt,” Hamilton said. “I’m like, ‘You know you’re Ricky, right?'” You’re just driving your car, but you’re buying beer at the store? ”
Ricky grew up here. So did high school student Ean Avila, who said she sold her clothes to pay for a $140 upper deck ticket to Thursday’s game. “My dad worked three jobs to get us to A’s games,” he said. “When he came home tired, he put on the same greasy clothes and took us to the game. He would never see his father again. He would never see his brother again. This is the last way I can connect them to me.”
He left with a plastic cup filled with soil. It was the only memento he wanted on his last day as a child. Many people came to the Coliseum today to take something with them. Shea Bonadies, who works for an environmental organization, wanted to leave something behind. Her father, Christopher, took her to hundreds of games here when she was a child. “This is where my dad taught me everything about life,” she said. “Show up in a suit. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’s how you play the game that matters. Lean on your teammates. It’s always a beautiful day when you’re at the ballpark.” He passed away in 2020 .
She cried when she watched the match today. “They won for you, Dad,” she whispered. When the game was over, she carried a small white pouch to the left field line, turned it over just past third base, and spread his ashes on the cordon. Their ashes will forever be intermixed with the soil of a very meaningful place. To all of them.
