Opening Day is supposed to be special.
In many ways, this year’s Opening Day in Oakland had plenty of the elements, on paper, to make for a special occasion.
There were cars lined up at the gate that created such a traffic hazard along Hegenberger that security opted to let people through early. There was a mass of the fans that congregated in the parking lot with pop-up tents and flags and banners and barbecues and instruments and cheers. There was the return of Oakland A’s fan-favorite Stephen Vogt as he’d make his managerial debut with the opposing Cleveland Guardians. There was the historic debut of Jenny Cavnar, the first female commentator serving for a major league franchise in a full-time capacity. And despite the threat of a third 100-loss season looming, there was the excitement of guys like Zack Gelof, Lawrence Butler, Darell Hernaiz, and others getting a full season in Oakland.
Yet for so many Oakland A’s fans, last night’s game came with complete and frankly foreign apathy.
In April, the Oakland A’s surviving fanbase will tally a full year of unrelenting abuse since the sudden announcement of John Fisher’s plan to relocate the A’s to Las Vegas. Fisher–or his much-more financially apt family or his bumbling, bobbling minions–have gripped this historic franchise by the throat and made sure to squeeze out almost any semblance of enjoyment for a fanbase that has largely made its name on showing up in spite of suffering.
Opening Day 2024 has become a culmination of that endurance of suffering and what it has morphed into.
There were more people in the parking lot calling for John Fisher to get lost than there were people inside cheering on the latest cast of characters trotting out for the Green and Gold.
You can’t blame any one of the people that chose to spend the night out in the lot. In fact, the people out in the lot should be commended for the creation latest chapter in a slew of successful demonstrations that have smeared the proverbial egg that John Fisher foolishly wears across his face.
Last Dive Bar and the Oakland 68’s, two groups born out of their love of the Oakland A’s that have morphed into becoming beacons in the fight to stand up for the community and culture of Oakland, were yet again able to put together an event that functionally outdrew a Major League Baseball team.
At the same venue. At the same time. In a city that MLB continues to pretend is not a viable sports town.
We saw it last year at the “Reverse Boycott” that created one of the greatest Bay Area sports atmospheres since Covid began. We saw it at the Fans Fest that brought together former legends, current and committed sports teams rooted in the East Bay, and all kinds of donors that were willing to underline the fact that the people of Oakland are not the problem.
Last night’s “Block Party”-aptly named after Oakland A’s President Dave Kaval went on a blocking spree on social media just a few weeks ago–was the latest success for the fans of Oakland. It’s what made what very well could be the final Opening Day at the Coliseum historic and memorable.
This latest boycott, at the very least, impacted Opening Day attendance at the Coliseum so harshly that it was the lowest attended Opening Day for the Oakland A’s in a non-Covid-effected year since 1996 when the A’s, ironically, played their home opener at Cashman Field in Las Vegas while the Coliseum was being renovated.
Even if you were to believe the number that made up the announced, paid attendance, it would be 30,000 less than MLB’s average across the league on Opening Day. It’d be nearly 12,000 fans less than the next smallest 2024 Opening Day crowd in St. Petersburg.
Those numbers matter.
And if lack of numbers aren’t your cup of tea, consider the at least $80,000 in donations made in a twenty-four-hour window to Schools Over Stadiums, an initiative to stop the use of public funds to subsidize John Fisher’s ever-changing “Spherical Armadillo” pipe dream.
Oakland’s ability to rally together for boycotts, for celebrations, for funding, for one last Opening Day can’t be denied.
But for every fan that rallied together in the parking lot and celebrated each other, and for every phantom tally that made up the “official” announced, paid attendance of 13,522 inside of the stadium, I can’t help but to think of all the former die-hards that were met with complete and utter apathy this year.
Much of this can be attributed to Rob Manfred’s complete inability to market what is objectively a stumbling sports league.
Other than MLB’s insistence on doing everything they can to bet on Shohei Ohtani and what his move to the Los Angeles Dodgers does for ratings, they have done nothing else to capture the imagination of fans for Opening Day. That’s how you wind up with a 7:07 first pitch between Cleveland and Oakland on a Thursday night.
One of the many harsh realities of this situation is that fans are tired. After a year of fighting against an organization that is actively trying to thwart any engagement or even joy, many people have simply become disinterested.
Some have already begun looking for new teams to cheer for. Many have abandoned ship altogether when it comes to supporting any team housed within Major League Baseball.
But for those that remain, each fan seems to be at a different stage of grief–some still in some form of denial, others firmly in bargaining, some actively working through. As reports indicate growing traction for a temporary deal between the Athletics and a temporary home in Sacramento, infighting has begun.
Fans in Oakland are calling fans in Sacramento hypocrites. Fans in Sacramento have suddenly changed their tone from that of hope and understanding to the same tone that we’ve heard from Vegas. Regardless of who is right and who is wrong, it’s the turn in attention and reprieve that Fisher and Manfred have quietly begged for.
There are strong feelings that exist about this relocation, even with the throngs of former diehards coming to terms with their apathy this Opening Day.
There have been accusations toward fans that entered the Coliseum last night of being selfish and spineless. There have been tensions between those that refuse to give John Fisher another dime and those who simply want to pay their respects before the time comes where the Oakland A’s are no more. The hostility will exist so long as John Fisher holds the reins.
For those who feel the growing vitriol toward your fellow A’s brothers and sisters who opted to enter the Coliseum, for those of you who are beginning to question whether or not you want to be associated with fellow fans who shame you for walking into the concrete corridor, I leave you with this image:
Fifth inning. Things are not going well for the Oakland A’s on the field, being mowed down by an opposing Shane Bieber and having their own starter pulled after giving up a five-run inning.
The scattered crowd of what could only be a couple thousand fans in their seats muster together a quiet chant that comes and goes quickly. Just beyond the back side of the nosebleeds, fans in the parking lot honk their horns, wave their flags, and chant those same three words. They’re the same words that even the most apathetic former diehard can get behind, the war cry that will not go away whether last night was the last Opening Day in Oakland or the last game at the Coliseum altogether.
No matter where they were, they chanted “Sell the Team” together.
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