By Jacob Greene
There is crying in baseball.
For some, it may only seem like a dump. But for me, it is my second home. A place of comfort. Heartbreak. A place with a buzz. It is a building with a soul. Despite its cavernous characteristics, it was perfect for what it provided. A place for all types of fans to come enjoy a game of baseball.
The Coliseum, home of the Oakland Athletics.
The sun acts differently there—so does the wind—sometimes swirling, other times blowing out. The fog acting as a canopy during those late season games—especially during October baseball. The bowl shape that amplified the voices of the “Fanily.” It was all part of Oakland A’s baseball—endearingly referred to as “Green Collar Baseball.”
I have way too many memories at the Coliseum to retell them all. But I will always relive them.
All the different people I have gone and cheered with, met, talked smack to, or seen—were right there within those concrete walls. Countless times I have chanted “Let’s go, Oakland!” The best part was it was always with someone.
I grew up at the Coliseum. Family trips, Papa’s off-days, night games, finally being able to drive myself—as I have now done so many times. But I went for the final time. Throughout that day, I experienced a lot of lasts. It hit me after the last out was recorded.
Memories flood my mind when I walk into that place. As a little kid. As a teenager. As a grandkid. As a son. As an adult. Never as a dad or ever as a grandpa—not even as an uncle.
My only hope is one day walking into that place to do radio for another team in what forever will be—to me at least—the Bill King Broadcast Booth.
When manager Mark Kotsay said, “And I ask you for one more time to start the greatest cheer in baseball,” it hit me. There will be no more Oakland A’s baseball. As I stood in awe the tears came—my childhood officially coming to an end.
I sat down in my seat as 46,889 fans chanted what I have heard throughout my childhood. From at the Coliseum, to over the airwaves, or in the backyard as my brother and I dueled out at a late-evening game—that chant will always echo in my head.
As I sat, my head in my hands, reality set in as I lost the first thing I ever loved beside a person. I will never get to take my family here. No full circle moments for me. They will never play another game inside of the Coliseum. Green and gold will no longer flood the stadium. No more cheers. No more “Celebration” by Kool and The Gang.
It is a goodbye to not only the Coliseum. It is a goodbye to the memories. A goodbye to the place that held them. A farewell to concrete walls that echo history, culture, radio calls, TV calls, conversations, chants, and a certain type of buzz that you could feel upon entering.
It is farewell to the Oakland Coliseum, home of the Oakland Athletics—a place with a soul and a heartbeat that you could sense whenever you entered.
“As the curtain comes down on 57 incredible years of A’s baseball at the Coliseum. It’s over. It is over after 57 years of thrills, of heartbreak, but always a sense of community. The fans belong to something bigger—something special. It was baseball, it was Oakland A’s baseball that brought so many people together. There is of course a profound sense of loss, of hurt, and yet the memories hopefully will last forever,” Ken Korach said during his call on Sept. 26.
It would take years to walk through all the different ways in which A’s baseball has been a part of my life. When I said goodbye, it was one of the biggest heartbreaks I have ever been through.
I have been a part of an A’s group chat that has been active every day for around 8 years. I finally got to meet some of them in person today. That is a small example of how special this fanbase is.
There are not exactly words to capture it all. When you love a team you experience losses—wins too. You expect to lose games. You know you will experience playoff losses in a “win-or-go-home-game.” But nothing prepares you for this type of loss. The loss of a team, a building, a culture, a community—a “Fanily.”
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