Watching the last game at the Oakland Coliseum yesterday brought back memories of the closing of Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium. In the big picture there was no real comparison, of course, but enough similarities and contrasts to stir the memory bank.
There was one big difference between Sept. 26, 2024, when the A’s closed out their old and rapidly aging park, and Oct. 6, 1991, when the Orioles played the last MLB game at their old and rapidly aging park. When the tears flowed 33 years ago they were coming from the old folks, many of them neighbors, who cherished memories of events that had taken place in the storied building famously dubbed “The Lady In Red” by former O’s catcher Rick Dempsey.
The tears that dampened my eyes as I watched yesterday were not of my personal memories of the Coliseum, but rather were coming from the young fans who were watching the only team they’d ever seen and grown to love for the last time. I think back to my teenage years, already in love with the game, and the excitement of welcoming the big leagues to Baltimore — and wonder how it would’ve felt if the team was leaving not arriving.
Watching those kids, some with gloves over their faces hiding those tears of endearment, was tough. Eventually their pain may be eased by the presence of the San Francisco Giants on the other side of the Bay Bridge, but that day was a long way away yesterday — not unlike fans in Washington when the Senators departed in 1971, or Baltimore when the Colts left in 1984.
In 1991 it hardly mattered that the Orioles lost a 7-1 game to the Tigers — the sellout crowd wasn’t there to see a game, they were there to celebrate their memories, and prepare to move into a new facility downtown that would become known as “The Park That Forever Changed Baseball.”
On Sept. 26, 2024, the sellout crowd was there to mourn the loss of a team and the demise of the Coliseum which, much like Memorial Stadium, had served its purpose but run out of time. It seemed almost appropriate, as Texas manager Bruce Bochy noted after the game, that the baseball gods rewarded the faithful with a win on a run scored when the opposing left fielder lost the ball in Oakland’s notoriously famous blazing sun.
The saga that has played out in Oakland for most of this century has been the eyesore that won’t go away for Major League Baseball. Unable (or unwilling?) to make a deal to stay in the East Bay area, the A’s announced a move to Las Vegas. But for the foreseeable future, while Vegas figures it all out, they have no place to go but Sacramento, which may be the capital of California but is still a minor league town with minor league facilities.
Much like Memorial Stadium, the only thing left for the Coliseum is the memories, of which there are more than a few. I was fortunate enough to cover five of the six World Series that were played there, along with the American League Championship Series and one NFL playoff game. In particular there are a lot of memories of great memories from ALCS battles in 1973 and 1974 with the Orioles and the A’s “three-peat” World Series run from ‘72-’74.
Over the years, again much like Baltimore, Oakland struggled with attendance issues with a fan base that might not have been large enough but was as passionate as any — in baseball, football and basketball. I will not be surprised if a significant portion of that base follows the A’s to Sacramento, as football fans have done with the Raiders, both in Los Angeles and Las Vegas.
At one time, when both the Giants at Candlestick Park and the A’s at the Coliseum were having trouble at the gate, I thought MLB might end up with one team in San Jose. Eventually the Giants moved from the airport area to downtown San Francisco, less than 30 miles across the bridge from Oakland. When they also retained territorial rights to San Jose, the Giants effectively eliminated any possibility of the A’s moving there.
Oakland has now suffered the loss of all three major league teams. It will take awhile to get over that stigma, again as Baltimore well knows. But those kids with tears in their eyes in Oakland yesterday don’t have a shiny new park to go to. That’s the difference between Oct. 6, 1991 and Sept. 26, 2024. It even makes me more grateful for my experience of seeing a team come into my neighborhood and wonder what the agony would be like to experience the opposite.
Maybe those kids I watched yesterday will get over it. Maybe not. Maybe they’ll adopt the Giants. Maybe not. Maybe they’ll grow up hating MLB. Maybe not. There’s no time for that right now. All they have are memories — and they are way too young for that.
Which makes me sad.
Jim Henneman can be reached at JimH@pressboxonline.com
Photo by Rick Rodriguez on Unsplash.com