26 Mar A Last Look at the Coliseum: Memories of A’s Baseball in Oakland

The Oakland Coliseum hosted the A’s one final time on Sept. 26, 2024. (Joe Porrello / The CC Pulse)

Commentary, Joe Porrello

For the first time since 1967, on Thursday, the Athletics will not represent Oakland on Major League Baseball’s Opening Day. But before that, I’d like to show my appreciation for the team and give one last curtain call to the place A’s baseball called home for 56 years. With all of the memories I made at their cavernous dwelling, being at the final game, in particular, is something I will cherish forever.

To me, the Athletics and the Coliseum, despite their bad reputations, always seemed too good to be true. It turns out, they were.

Growing up in Connecticut as an avid Boston Red Sox fan and moving to the Bay Area in 2012 gives me a perspective different from the average Bay Area A’s fan. 

Just getting to Fenway Park could be difficult. Once you got there, you would likely end up packed in with other people, maybe even stuck behind a support beam. And that’s if you could afford the price of admission — the cheapest tickets could be over $100. Want some food or need to use the bathroom? You might end up missing half of the game because lines are longer than the Nile River. Or you might not see the game at all because of a rainout, or the weather could be so humid you can’t enjoy yourself.

But Fenway is regarded by many as the best ballpark in Major League Baseball, while the A’s old stadium was considered the worst.

Don’t get me wrong, Fenway is a special place, to say the least — but the Coliseum had its own charm that can’t be replicated. A lot of sporting events on the East Coast can get toxic pretty quickly because of unruly fans, but the vibe at ballgames in Oakland was usually positive and relaxed. It was, as many called it, “Baseball’s Last Dive Bar.” 

Seeing a game at the cement behemoth plopped in an industrial lot was a complete contrast to the experience I was used to. I could walk to BART and be dropped off directly at the stadium in about 20 minutes for roughly $4. I could get the cheapest ticket available for around $10 and sit pretty much anywhere I wanted, with some elbow room — or even a whole section to myself. The weather was prime, rarely too hot or cold, and I never experienced a rainout in hundreds of games throughout 12 seasons. I could get up and use the bathroom or buy food and be back in my seat without missing a pitch. It was pretty much baseball heaven; I fell in love.

As a kid, California seemed like another world. I never thought I’d even see one game at the Coliseum. Instead, I ended up learning where to go for the fastest security lines, the coldest water fountains, the cleanest bathrooms, the nicest ushers, and the seats in the shade or with a breeze.

The people I met going to A’s games remain my closest friends on the West Coast. My favorite memories in the Bay remain jumping up and down in celebration after too many walkoffs to count and meeting in the parking lot before games for the only tailgate in Major League Baseball.

The incredible 2012 and 2013 seasons got me hooked. The first included the A’s clinching a playoff berth on the last day possible; the latter, a walkoff hit in the postseason. Their roster including three former Red Sox players in Josh Reddick, Jed Lowrie and Coco Crisp (who gave me my first baseball autograph) made rooting for them that much more fun.

Nothing could keep me away. I made it to over 40 games some seasons, even on crutches and with a broken jaw. I was there for the first game fans were allowed back to after the COVID-19 stoppage.

Some of my fondest memories as an A’s fan were the Root Beer Float Days and Fan Fests, where supporters could meet past and present players, get autographs and take pictures. I remember doing so with legends like the late Rickey Henderson, Ray Fosse, and Vida Blue as well as Carney Lansford and Bob Melvin.

I’ll always remember sitting through an hourlong light delay in 2019 with about 1,500 other fans, all of us rewarded for our patience when Mike Fiers threw the 13th no-hitter in the franchise’s 118-year history up to that point. There hasn’t been one since. 

I’ll always remember the “Pizzaaaaaaa!” food vendor (if you know, you know), sitting on the pillow-like grass on the field while watching fireworks, jumbotron dot races, “Balfour rage,” sunburned knees, the Treehouse Pass, “Let’s Go Oakland” chants, peanut shells stacked so high between my feet that I get side eyes of concern from fellow fans, and the man playing his saxophone on the bridge back to BART postgame. 

I’ll always remember watching some of my favorite A’s players — Marcus Semien, Mark Canha, Eric Sogard, Stephen Vogt, Tony Kemp and Yoenis Cespedes.

In my home, I proudly display all the bobbleheads I collected by arriving hours early for promotions and waiting in line. Each one represents a special memory.

The last game was surreal. I cried before, during and after. When the final out was made, it didn’t feel real, and it still doesn’t. I think I’ll have to hold back tears in the future whenever I get a whiff of that familiar bacon-wrapped hot dog smell that is synonymous with the Coliseum.

I can’t help but look at my bottle of personally hand-scooped infield Coliseum dirt and wonder, what could have been? I daydreamed of perhaps taking my future children to see a game there, or being an old man at games with the same group as always. Unless the deal to move the team to Las Vegas falls through or the team is sold — both unlikely — then I’ll never get the chance to live out those dreams. But like the kid in “Angels in the Outfield” says — “Hey, it could happen.”

Through multiple jobs, homes, cities, colleges and countless ups and downs, the A’s have been the one constant during my time in the Bay Area — my home plate, if you will. It just doesn’t feel the same here anymore knowing the green and gold with white cleats won’t be back on the diamond in Oakland.

I don’t go to bars or to clubs. If not my home, my happy place at night was in Oakland watching the A’s play. It was comfortable. It was meditative. The no-frills atmosphere and lack of bells and whistles gave way to a pure baseball watching experience with no distractions. 

What really disheartens me is the fact that one man, born into wealth — John Fisher — can take away something cherished by so many without consequence. It’s a grim reminder that professional sports in America aren’t immune to the capitalism and greed plaguing our country.

I’m not sure I have it in me to attend an A’s game in Sacramento, where they’re set to play for the next three years while their Las Vegas stadium is being built. One thing I do know — the passionate baseball fans of the East Bay deserve a Major League team in Oakland.