A reunion and a funeral -- the final A's games at the Oakland Coliseum
Hella sad. This is what it was like attending a 3-day funeral with 50,000 people
What was it like for the final three A’s games at the Oakland Coliseum?
It was a reunion and a funeral.
We hugged old friends, made new friends, and took oh so many photos. We swapped stories and memories, firsts and lasts, important games and irrelevant games, the moments we’ll never forget and the decisions we wish we could forget.
The drinks flowed, and flowed even more, and the reunion was a party.
We kept running into people we knew from somewhere in our collective lives. More hugs and photos and “how are you?” questions, which invariably start with “I’m good” (because it’s habit) and then become, “actually, really shitty.”
The final games were filled with profound sadness and disbelief.
With anger and rage.
With suspended disbelief that somebody will come to their senses and right this wrong.
With pride for the spirit of Oakland, for one last day of perfect weather, a packed house for a midweek day game, a raucous environment where the baseball game still mattered the most, a reminder of all that Oakland once was and what still could be.
With gratitude for the memories made, where players thrived because they could be themselves, where total strangers with nothing else in common bonded, for the wins and the heartbreak, the bond between fans and players, all the goofy stuff that just makes sense when you’re there, and for the genuine emotion those in uniforms felt for the now unemployed stadium workers and heartbroken fans.
When it was over, nobody wanted to leave.
But eventually, it was time to go home, and reality set in. It’s over. It’s really over. There are no more memories to be made there. The party was over.
It was still a funeral.
Something died. It wasn’t a person. It was a building, an outdated, smelly, charming, wonderful, concrete monstrosity with walkways too narrow, troughs in the bathrooms, sewage problems, rusty seats, yet a vibrant spirit completely organic where everyone was welcome and felt at home.
For new subscribers: Hi, I’m Josh, a former newspaper reporter who is now the play-by-play announcer for the Albuquerque Isotopes (the Rockies Triple-A affiliate). I write essays on baseball, life, and promote my other side projects on this Substack Newsletter. Subscriptions are free and tips are appreciated.
I walked to every corner of the Coliseum multiple times over three days, from the top of Mt. Davis to the press box to the field, foul pole to foul pole, all levels, and every corner of the parking lot. Memories came roaring back to life.
This is when and where I smiled the most:
Walking on the BART Bridge, even when it was packed shoulder to shoulder, buying a bootleg shirt and bacon wrapped hot dog.
Playing catch in the parking lot with Jay Didion. As a teenager in the 80s, Jay was one of the regulars getting autographs and balls during BP. We found each other a few years ago and rekindled our friendship from three decades ago. I got to sit with his family and daughters in the left field bleachers. Awesome family.
Meeting Steve Scott in person. He’s the one who invented the “he’s a bum” chant at visiting outfielders in the bleachers. Follow him on Instagram at @foulweatherfan.
Reading that A’s players specifically chose to wear the Kelly Green uniforms for all games in the final homestand because they said “Oakland” across the chest.
A’s reliever Tyler Ferguson changed his walkout music to Grant Balfour’s famous song, Metallica’s “One" so fans could “rage” one more time.
Hearing “Celebration” over and over, especially after a victory. No other team in sports has a song that began in 1981 and still perfectly fits the atmosphere of a ballpark.
There's a party going on right here
A celebration to last throughout the years
So bring your good times and your laughter too
We gon' celebrate your party with you, come on nowCelebration
Let's all celebrate and have a good time
Celebration
We gon' celebrate and have a good time
Emotions hit me the hardest at the following times and locations:
Watching the “Thank You, Oakland Coliseum” video, narrated by Ken Korach, before all three games. If you missed it, grab a Kleenex, and click here.
Sitting in the primary seats where I watched games with my Dad: Section 123, Row 2, Seats 12-13. During batting practice on Wednesday, I just sat down to soak it up and remember the good times. The song that came on the sound system was a funny sad country song called “Drunk on a Plane” by Dierks Bentley that I actually really like. I don’t know why. The song has nothing to do with baseball. I just lost it. I put my face in my glove. The nearby usher just gave me a knowing nod and supportive smile.
Climbing the steps to the top of Mt. Davis. Built to lure the Raiders back to Oakland, it ruined the Coliseum, blocking the views of the Oakland hills and the ice plant, the culture of the bleachers was changed, the ballpark lost its charm, and the debt incurred by the city of Oakland became an albatross on future stadium plans.
The singing of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” each night. Families and friends, arms wrapped around each other, singing this silly song that was written in 1908 by two guys who had never attended a baseball game, knowing it’ll never be done again here.
Manager Mark Kotsay’s postgame speech to the crowd and one last “Let’s Go Oakland” chant.
The final call of Ken Korach on A’s radio, ending with the following: “the memories, hopefully, will last forever. May those memories be a blessing.”
Honestly, I’m still emotionally exhausted. I’m not sure what to else to say that somebody hasn’t already said or what I haven’t already written.
Here are a few from my archives about the Oakland Coliseum:
F John Fisher forever.....