I didn’t even realize how much of an Oakland A fan I was until Wednesday night.
Scrolling through Twitter before bed, I was shocked and angry to see that the Las Vegas baseball team had secretly signed a land use agreement that suggested the A’s were breaking out of years of negotiations with Oakland to build a new stadium had all but withdrawn by the water in the city where they’ve been playing since 1968.
I immediately texted my brother and parents a link with a bunch of angry emojis and surprised myself that I cared so much.
Sure, I’d attended countless A games growing up — a result of being part of a family of die-hard A fans — taking BART to the Colosseum weekend after weekend and even traveling to Phoenix to see them play spring training . My family and I used to pull into the parking lot, cook hot dogs, eat french fries, and listen to music. We bet on who would hit a home run and whoever correctly predicted would get a slushy.
We sang the Who’s “Real Good Looking Boy” which was always played before a game started and which I will always associate with the Coliseum. We took photos with Stomper and got up to sing during the seventh inning, passionately playing the games projected onto the arena marquee between innings: trivia, dot racing, chasing a baseball in the hat shuffle.
We watched Moneyball over and over and marveled that a movie had been made about our hometown baseball team and starred none other than Brad Pitt.
And yes, I still signed the hats and balls of players I once had crushes on, like Eric Byrnes and Huston Street.
Still, I’d always thought I’d done most of those things reluctantly. My family has an infamous photo of me and my brother in the Coliseum as young children: my brother watching the game and I reading a book about the Baby-Sitters Club. That summed up my take on hours of baseball: they were something to be endured, not enjoyed.
Still, I was deeply and personally affected by the A’s callous decision to leave Oakland, showing so little respect for the thousands of fans they have lovingly supported over the years despite their underperforming and incompetent management and ugly stadium with no amenities have.
We loved the A’s unconditionally, but they thought they were too good for us.
The whole episode reminded me of something Barry Zito, A’s former pitcher, said after accepting a $126 million contract with the San Francisco Giants in 2006: “The green and gold… it faded faster than I thought .”
My mother was so angry with Zito’s comment that she sent a reply to the local newspaper, which published it. I didn’t understand then why she was so upset, but now I understand. What the A’s did effectively spat in the face of the city and the people who loved them, who gave them a chance, who were willing to spend hundreds of millions of dollars of their own money to keep them, who valued them even more than usual nobody did.
Her impending departure made me realize that I loved the A’s too.
But not anymore. Now my sweet memories have turned bitter.
Oakland Mayor Sheng Thao said Thursday she was ready to resume negotiations with the A’s if they come forward. But I don’t want her giving the A’s another chance. You do not deserve it. Not after such a betrayal.
The A’s better hope a new fanbase awaits them in Vegas. Because they left behind a city of despised lovers, including me, who will now forever be dying to lose.
Reach Emily Hoeven: emily.hoeven@sfchronicle.com; Twitter: @emily_hoeven
