SAN FRANCISCO — On Wednesday night I attended a Major League Baseball game for the first time since the final game the Athletics played in the Oakland Coliseum. I have all but stopped paying attention to the sport, less in active protest than as a casualty of no longer being able to pay like nine dollars to be inside of a major-league ballpark (OK, fine, "major-league" "ballpark") within 30 minutes, though the existence of the geographically unmoored Athletics is omnidirectionally repulsive. It was an existence I was confronted with, as my friend Adam wanted to go to a Giants game, and it just so happened that the one game that fit both of our schedules was Giants–A's. Fine.
Of the many ways the Athletics are currently giving me low-grade psychic damage, the primary one is that they did not disappear when they left Oakland. They remain a pitching, hitting symbol of team owner John Fisher's blithe cruelty toward the Town and the malignant indifference of commissioner Rob Manfred and MLB. When I see the team's logo, I think of the people who loved the Oakland Athletics, the dozens of crying fans I saw at that last game, the guy who brought a photo of his dead cousin to the game because baseball was something they always shared.
On Wednesday night, the stadium was packed with tons of A's fans, as well as plenty of split-logo hats and 1989 World Series gear. It was a strange experience, seeing the masses animated by a sense of denial and nostalgia, proudly wearing their green and gold as if the Oakland Athletics still existed. It's like wearing a dead guy's clothes to watch him be reanimated, Frankenstein-style. It was sad. The loudest cheer of the night was for the displayed final score of Mexico's 3-0 World Cup win over Czechia.
I understand that many have made the choice to continue supporting the soon-to-be Las Vegas A's despite all the stuff that makes them worth loathing, and I am lucky to have a relationship to baseball that allowed me to walk away without too much damage. But it's a poisoned chalice. There is no cheering for the Oakland Athletics anymore, and no way to support the team without pissing on Oakland's grave. I'm not going to go so far as to say those people need to accept reality, because this is something as fluffy and unserious as sports fandom, but my proximity to their denial felt bad. In this experience, I got to microdose what Seattle basketball fans must have felt watching the Thunder lift the championship trophy. Maybe you move on, but there's no justice in it.
Another big reason why the A's are an object of scorn is the Sacramento element. Like many Sacramento natives, I would love to be able to cheer for an MLB team based in California's capital city, but that very desire has been twisted to help facilitate the team's unceremonious backstabbing of its fanbase. Sacramento eagerly debasing itself to cosplay having an MLB team is embarrassing, because said MLB team is not real and the word "Sacramento" is not remotely near any of the team's branding or merchandise. Watch a game, and all you'll see is advertisements for various hotels and businesses in Las Vegas, the city for which the A's will ditch Sacramento in two years. Have some self-respect! Also, I love the Sacramento AAA ballpark but it's not a major-league park, and seeing the whole world laugh at something cool because the city's inferiority complex motivated it to help MLB stab Oakland in the heart is a further humiliation.
What am I supposed to do? Cheer for the Giants? Come on. I have too much dignity for that, in part because of that team's disgusting owner and homophobic relief-pitching corps but in larger part because the Giants have always been the enemy. Still, on Wednesday night it felt great to watch them sock two solo dingers in the bottom of the ninth to pants the A's and win, 2-1. I felt mildly evil, cheering only for pain, but I can accept that.
The game started under a haze of fog, fans wrapped in thick jackets and blankets. While wandering to our seats, I looked out east across the Bay, where it was still sunny. Seems like a great place for a baseball team.
