OAKLAND, Calif. — They started arriving at the Oakland Coliseum at 6 a.m. Thursday and were hitting shots of Jagermeister by 6:30. Almost 11 hours later, with burning throats and tears in their eyes, they slowly trudged out of the Coliseum for the last time.
“It’s like going to see a body,” Athletics pitching legend Dave Stewart said. “Then go to the funeral, and after the funeral you will have a meltdown.
“I just had a meltdown.”
And at exactly 3:06 p.m. Pacific time, baseball was officially declared dead in Oakland.
The franchise brought four World Series championships, six pennants, and 17 division titles to the Bay Area, so it made sense to leave Oakland as the winner.
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After the final out was recorded in the Oakland Athletics’ 3-2 victory over the Texas Rangers, the largest sold-out crowd in five years, 46,889, stood up and chanted, “Come on, let’s go to Oakland.” Let’s go!” they cheered enthusiastically.
The players congratulated each other and then gathered on the pitcher’s mound. They stood together and listened as coach Mark Coetzee, who played for the organization 20 years ago, thanked the crowd for their love for the team.
“There’s no greater fan than you guys,” Koetzei said. “Thank you everyone for your love of baseball. Thank you for your lifelong support of the Oakland A’s. And finally, to everyone who came today to share this moment with a club that I am so proud of. I would like to thank you for playing with all your might this year.
“I think we should all pay our respects to this great stadium that we’ve enjoyed for 57 years. And once again, let’s start the biggest cheer in baseball, ‘Let’s Go Oakland!'”
The crowd roared again, and third baseman Max Schumann grabbed the Oakland Athletics flag, ran around the outfield, stopped behind home plate, planted the flag firmly in the ground, and shouted,
“Let’s go to Oakland!”
“It was a spontaneous event. I saw the flag and ran,” Schumann said. “Being a homegrown player, being drafted by the Oakland Athletics, and just being able to represent the Oakland Athletics was special.”
A packed crowd, the first for the Athletics since the 2019 Wild Card Game, arrived at the Coliseum to come together one last time and show their love and admiration. They came wearing the jerseys of their favorite players, from Reggie Jackson to Rickey Henderson to Stewart to Jose Canseco to Coco Crisp to Stephen Vogt, and the 1972 World Series championship reflected on the stadium’s scoreboard. I was watching the replay.
120 Oakland police and 500 security personnel were on standby to prevent violence or unruly behavior (stadium seats were stolen and the team’s store was vandalized earlier this week).
The game was mostly peaceful, occasionally interrupted by chants of “Sell the team.” Two fans seated behind home plate wore “Sell Me” shirts, and some profanity and derogatory chants mixed in with the cheers. However, there was no violence.
In fact, two fans ran onto the field in the bottom of the seventh inning and were loudly booed. In the ninth inning, several smoke bombs and perhaps a dozen objects were thrown onto the field, leaving A’s closer Mason Miller wondering if he would be able to be on the field for 45 minutes. But he was never worried about his safety.
“There were some distractions,” Coetzee said. “It wasn’t a perfect Raiders game.”
Above all, it was a stadium filled with love. In addition to cheering “Let’s Go, Oakland!” during the game, fans waved at the bottom of the seventh inning. They then said goodbye, their eyes clouded with tears.
The Athletics last played at the Coliseum on Thursday before playing their final three games of the season in Seattle. He will then relocate to Sacramento and play at a minor league facility for at least three years before making the permanent move to Las Vegas.
This final moment was excruciating for many fans and longtime A’s employees.
Clay Wood, who gained attention as the Coliseum’s head groundskeeper, went to the pitcher’s mound after the game and burst into tears.
One of the A’s officials stood just outside the A’s clubhouse, his head buried in the wall, his knees shaking, as a security guard rubbed his shoulder and comforted him.
As he sat on the Athletics’ bench before the game, listening to Coetzee talk about the most emotional day of his career, the publicist continued to remove his glasses and dabbed at his eyes.
Similar sentiments were expressed in the parking lot and in the stands by fans like Matthew Crouch, 51, who was among the first to arrive at 6 a.m. He stood outside Gate MM, drinking a Modelo, still trying to understand that this was the end.
“I’ve been coming here for 48 years,” Crouch said. I’m missing a big part of my life because I have so many memories of this ballpark. I was coming here for little league.
“And now it’s gone. Lots of tears.”
Ron Yokeley, 57, slept on the sidewalk outside the Coliseum Wednesday night after spending $37 on a bus ticket from Sacramento. He wandered around the stadium aimlessly, hoping someone would give him tickets to the game.
“That’s not true. I grew up just a few blocks from here,” Yokeley said. I hope I keep walking and meet (A’s owner) John Fisher. ”
Unfortunately, Fisher hasn’t attended a home game in two years.
Rich Gomez, 63, who has been coming to the Coliseum since the A’s inception in 1968, hangs his A’s jersey over the railing next to his seat (Section 119, Row 6, Nos. 13-14). I stood there and cried as I watched the players and staff stand still. Please sign.
“It’s depressing, very depressing,” he said. “I wanted to go to the game earlier this week, but I wasn’t able to. It’s very difficult. I hated that this day would come.”
Athletics visiting clubhouse manager Mikey Talblum, 57, has been with the organization for 44 years. He still has his original $5 paycheck given to him by former A’s owner Charlie Finley. He pointed to the West Side Club on the upper deck of the Coliseum, where he married his wife, Janine, with Jason Giambi, Tony La Russa and Art Howe in attendance.
He stood on the pitcher’s mound for a photo before the game with David Linetti, the club’s vice president of stadium operations, and groundskeeper Wood. The shot was made, but Talbrum couldn’t get away. He buried his head in Linetti’s chest and cried.
“This is the first time I’ve cried,” Talbrum said. “Our hug captivated me. The only thing I can compare it to is leaving the home where you grew up with all the good memories. There was always family here, the Oakland A’s culture. ”
Gus Dobbins, 93, who worked as a security guard near the press elevator, tearfully said goodbye, worrying about what would happen to the young employees who needed their jobs.
American League catcher Shea Langeliers, who was aiming for a commemorative home run, left the clubhouse before the game and handed an autographed bat to the security guard, who thanked him profusely.
“This is the least I can do for all of these people,” Langelier said. “They’re family to us. We’re all in this together. That’s why you feel harder for them than anyone else. For them to lose their jobs. You don’t want to see it.”
Kozzei received a heartfelt text message this morning from former World Series champion manager Terry Francona, who told him it was perfectly okay to show emotion. Koetzei did the same in the morning and after the game.
“This has been an emotional day from the time I drove in until now,” Coetzee said. “I’m still a little shaken up. So this speech is from the heart. This is where home begins and hopefully also where home ends.”
The night before, Coetzee walked out to center field with his wife, Jamie, and stood in the middle of a message carved into the field that read, “Thank you, Oakland.”
“This city makes me feel comfortable. Even though the fans have been angry over the last few years due to the fact that we are leaving, there is a certain sense of security in playing here and up front. It’s even understood to play,” Coetzee said. 3,000 fans show up and love the game, which makes it special. ”
To be sure, this 58-year-old joint has its problems. When the city built Mount Davis, a giant upper deck in center field for the NFL’s Raiders, and ruined the stadium’s beauty, it became an eyesore. There were raw sewage leaks, feral cats, even possums, and lots of rats.
Still, it was home.
“Just driving through the gate today and seeing the parking lot full and feeling that energy and emotion is something I will always treasure,” Coetzee said.
The same goes for anyone who was in uniform or had a ticket for Thursday.
Grounds staff stood by the dugout with shovels filled with stadium dirt, just as they did Wednesday night, allowing fans to take home the cup. American infielder Tyler Nevin scooped up his own cup of dirt and placed it in his locker, while outfielder Lawrence Butler held a cardboard cutout of the American team’s 2024 schedule signed by his teammates. I had it. Dustin Hughes, a bullpen catcher from Sacramento, played catch in the outfield with his father, John, then hiked up Mount Davis and explored the inside of the scoreboard.
“It was hard to share a moment with them today,” Koetzei said. “There are so many people here who put their lives and souls into this organization, this stadium, and the game of baseball. Of course their love for baseball, but more than that, their love for the people and this… It’s the love of the relationships that have been built over 57 years at the ballpark.”
That’s all.
Henderson, a Hall of Fame outfielder, took to the field after the game. He asked for a baseball to use for the final out and was granted it.
He also made clear the inevitable fact that Major League Baseball would disappear from Oakland.
And it won’t come back.
“Baseball will never be played here again,” said Henderson, who had his old scoreboard jersey number autographed by a player before the game. “We tried. We really tried. We’re done.”
All they have now are memories.
Debbie and Andrew Rodriguez, who have been going to the Coliseum since 1985, spent $250 for season tickets in Section 332. They arrived at 7 a.m. for the final tailgate party.
“And I’m going to scream one last time,” Debbie Rodriguez said.
San Jose firefighter Sean Robens, who has been coming to games for the past 20 years, grilled hot dogs in Parking Lot B, knowing that Oakland’s last major sports team was gone for good.
“This was a long, slow farewell, and the optimism slowly faded,” Robens said. “At least, thankfully the narrative has changed. People aren’t blaming us. They know this didn’t have to happen. If (Fisher) wanted to stay here. , could have been here.
“Yes, we have our problems, but I think it’s important to know that this guy hurt us by (expletive) us. He hurt us very badly.
“Hopefully, one day that pain will go away for all of us.”
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