From Tom Hanks to Dame Lillard, mourning the Oakland Aā€™s: ā€˜Itā€™s pretty heartbreakingā€™

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From Tom Hanks to Dame Lillard, mourning the Oakland Aā€™s: ā€˜Itā€™s pretty heartbreakingā€™

By Cody Stavenhagen, Sam Blum and Stephen J. Nesbitt

Before he was one of the most famed actors of a generation, Tom Hanks was a boy in the Bay Area. He could see the lights of the Oakland Coliseum from his familyā€™s home in the Lower Hills.

The Aā€™s moved to Oakland when Hanks was 12. When he looks back now on 56 years of fandom, Hanksā€™ mind goes to Game 3 of the 1972 World Series, Oaklandā€™s first time hosting a World Series game.

ā€œWhen the Aā€™s were in the World Series, the world came to Oakland,ā€ Hanks wrote in an email to The Athletic. ā€œNot San Francisco. Oakland.ā€

Hanks watched the TV broadcast and peered out the window as storm clouds rolled in. ā€œA freak storm that featured the stub of a funnel cloud, like a tornado forming,ā€ he recalled. First pitch was delayed as the Coliseum and the Hanks house were soaked with rain and pelted with sleet. That the game was postponed only extended Oaklandā€™s moment at the center of the baseball universe.

ā€‹ā€‹The Aā€™s won three World Series while Hanks was in high school. He went to ā€œHot Pants Day.ā€ He witnessed Willie Maysā€™ final at-bat. He served as a Coliseum vendor, selling popcorn in the stands and sweating profusely on Opening Day when Vida Blue dazzled (ā€œphee-nomā€). Those Aā€™s and the memories they gave him remain imprinted in Hanksā€™ memory. ā€œVida Blue. Joe Rudi. Mudcat Grant,ā€ he wrote. ā€œCampy Campaneris. Sal Bando. Ray Fosse. The original Reggie Jackson. Thank you, boys!ā€

Now the team Hanks loves is leaving Oakland. Theyā€™ll play their final game at the Coliseum on Thursday afternoon, then head to Sacramento and, sometime down the road, Las Vegas. The sense of finality has hit the same for so many Aā€™s fans, from the diehards in the right-field bleachers to Hanks himself.

In the last days of the Oakland Aā€™s, The Athletic contacted former Aā€™s and notable fans ā€” athletes, actors, musicians and politicians ā€” to hear their favorite Aā€™s memories and what itā€™s like saying goodbye.

Those short on time sent short missives. Milwaukee Bucks star Damian Lillard, who wears No. 0 in part to represent Oakland, replied, ā€œItā€™s devastating for Oakland. Another sports team gone, another loss for the entire Oakland/Alameda (East Bay) communities. Itā€™s sad to see the entire Coliseum complex empty.ā€

Los Angeles Chargers coach Jim Harbaugh lived his boyhood baseball dream coaching first base for the Aā€™s in spring training. ā€œThatā€™s one of my most cherished memories, no doubt,ā€ he said.

Others elaborated in conversations that went down memory lane and often alternated between therapy session and anger management. For so long, Oakland at least had the Aā€™s. Now there will be nothing left.


Hanks throwing out the first pitch before a Yomiuri Giants game in Tokyo in 2009. (AP Photo / Koji Sasahara)

ā€œHow in the world,ā€ Hanks wrote, ā€œdoes Major League Baseball turn inside-out one of the most storied franchises in the history of the game? The Oakland Aā€™s ā€” not the East Bay Athletics or the California Golden Aā€™s ā€” the Oakland Aā€™s could have/should have been the Northern California version of the the Cubs in Wrigley, the BoSox in Fenway, Pittsburghā€™s Buccos on the Allegheny, Clevelandā€™s Guardians on the shores of Erie ā€” beloved ball-teams with eternal hope every Opening Day until the millennium comes.

ā€œI donā€™t blame that loss on the city managers of Oakland, nor the taxpayers of Alameda County. The owners and baseball blew the lead.ā€


Before Tony La Russa was a Hall of Fame manager, he was a light-hitting 23-year-old infielder who made the Aā€™s Opening Day roster in 1968. He appeared in the first major league game at the Coliseum, with 50,164 filling the stadium, and roped a pinch-hit single to left field in the ninth inning.

ā€œComing to Oakland,ā€ La Russa recalled, ā€œthey came in with a lot of (hope for the) future. And youā€™d put their history against anybodyā€™s during that period. I think everyone thatā€™s been a part of this is a combination of sad and angry.ā€

Thatā€™s a common refrain from former Aā€™s.

Dennis Eckersley, the Hall of Fame closer who had 320 saves and won a World Series win with the Aā€™s, moved back to the Bay Area a few years ago. If he hadnā€™t, Eckersley said, ā€œit wouldnā€™t hurt so much. But the closer we get, where weā€™re (living), itā€™s gotten uglier inside. Iā€™ve taken it on. Like, you canā€™t throw it all away. Whatever happened happened, memories and that sort of thing.

ā€œBut still, it hurts. I used to think, ā€˜Oh, no big deal. Theyā€™re leaving.ā€™ But, oh my God, itā€™s the end! It sure does feel ugly inside.ā€

Rickey Henderson grew up in Oakland and became one of the most celebrated players in franchise history. Dave Stewart was a dominant postseason presence, winning World Series MVP in 1989. Both lamented the departure to the San Francisco Chronicle in March, though they placed more emphasis on the cityā€™s role rather than on Aā€™s owner John Fisher.

ā€œItā€™s disappointing to see the Aā€™s leaving,ā€ Henderson, a special assistant to the Aā€™s president, said. ā€œBut weā€™ve gone through so much with all the teams. The city, thereā€™s something theyā€™re not seeing. When you have a city that had three big-name professional sports teams, and you canā€™t keep any of them, somethingā€™s wrong.ā€

Eckersley took his 5-year-old twin grandchildren to the Coliseum last weekend. They got a kick out of the big-head mascot race between innings. It dawned on Eckersley that they, and so many young fans like them, will never have a chance to build their own memories at the old ballpark where he spent so many great seasons. Heā€™ll tell the twins, ā€œRemember when we went that one night?ā€ And heā€™ll hope they do.

ā€œSometimes it helps people to be mad,ā€ added Eckersley, who said heā€™s especially sad for the stadium workers heā€™s seen there for decades. ā€œIā€™ve got that tendency where I get pissed off and just donā€™t want to deal. But it is what it is, and itā€™s sad. And Iā€™m going to feel it. And I do.ā€

For La Russa, Thursdayā€™s finale will bring him back to standing there for the home opener in 1968. He was there when it all began. Now heā€™s forced to watch it end.

ā€œItā€™s hard to get through,ā€ La Russa said. ā€œThe franchise had a great history and deserved a better fate.ā€


Last week at Oracle Park ā€” home of the San Francisco Giants ā€” Green Day stepped onto the stage. Lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong paced up and down holding a microphone close to his face. He touted the bandā€™s East Bay roots, its eternal connection to the Bay Area. And then ā€¦

ā€œWe donā€™t take no sā€” from people like John fā€”ā€” Fisher, who sold out the Oakland Aā€™s to Las fā€”ā€” Vegas,ā€ Armstrong said. ā€œI fā€”ā€” hate Las Vegas. Itā€™s the worst sā€”hole in America.ā€

Armstrong was born in Oakland and raised in Rodeo. He attended last seasonā€™s ā€œreverse boycottā€ at the Oakland Coliseum. He is an investor in the independent Oakland Ballers, and earlier this year during a show at Torontoā€™s Rogers Centre, he posted a video of himself spray-painting over the Aā€™s logo inside a stadium tunnel. He painted a ā€œBā€ over the ā€œAā€ and crossed out the word ā€œAthletics.ā€

Armstrong declined an interview request. ā€œNothing more to add,ā€ his publicist wrote in an email. (A few days later, at Oracle Park, Armstrong evidently had more to add.)

A long list of musicians with Oakland roots have stayed loyal to the teamā€™s last remaining major pro sports franchise. MC Hammer (real name: Stanley Burrell) grew up dancing, singing and performing outside the Coliseum. He caught the eye of then-owner Charlie Finley, who hired the young Burrell to work as a bat boy. Legend has it Jackson first gave Burrell his ā€œHammerā€ nickname because he resembled Hammerinā€™ Henry Aaron. Years later, per a Rolling Stone cover story at the peak of Hammerā€™s fame, Aā€™s players Dwayne Murphy and Mike Davis gave Burrell a loan as he worked toward releasing his first album.

The Bay Area rapper Too $hort (real name: Todd Shaw) often posts photos of himself in Aā€™s gear on X, and recently posted on the site that he grew up selling sodas at the Coliseum. ā€œDay one fan over here,ā€ he wrote, ā€œno bandwagon!

Adam Duritz, lead singer of Counting Crows, moved to California as a child. His father had been a fan of the Philadelphia Aā€™s. The franchise was in the midst of its 1970s golden era, and Duritz was hooked. He cut school, took BART to the Coliseum and sat in the bleachers with a $2.50 ticket. (He learned recently that Counting Crows drummer Jim Bogios did the same.) By the late 1980s, Duritz was going to 50 games a year. He saw Henderson break the stolen base record and watched Nolan Ryan twirl his sixth no-hitter. Duritz identified with the underdog Aā€™s in the Moneyball era and cherished every minute.

Now living a much different life, Duritz still gets nostalgic any time he walks out of a tunnel and into an open stadium. Green grass. Green seats. The sense of awe. ā€œIt reminds me of the Coliseum when I was a kid,ā€ he told The Athletic last week, ā€œand you could look up before they built Mount Davis, you could see the hills behind it.ā€

A few weeks ago, Counting Crows was on tour with Santana. Karl Perazzo, Santanaā€™s percussionist, walked into Duritzā€™s dressing room one day and said, ā€œHey, Iā€™ve got someone for you to talk to.ā€ La Russa was on the phone. ā€œIt was just very cool for me as a huge fan,ā€ Duritz said, ā€œto talk to him for a little while about those days.ā€

Duritz, who followed the teamā€™s elongated stadium saga, briefly hoped the Aā€™s could complete their plan to build a ballpark at Howard Terminal. More than anything, he felt as powerless as any other Aā€™s fan.

ā€œItā€™s completely outside your purview as a fan,ā€ he said. ā€œYou do feel that distance too, because, like, one day itā€™s gonna be fine, and then itā€™s not, and then they have a plan, and they donā€™t, and Iā€™m kind of used to that with sports in the Bay Area.ā€

Duritz says he will still love the Aā€™s even when they are gone. But there are parts of him that loathe Las Vegas, and parts that miss the Aā€™s colorful characters from bygone years, and parts that wish time could be frozen when he was a kid sitting in the bleachers at the Coliseum.

ā€œWell,ā€ he said, ā€œitā€™s pretty heartbreaking.ā€


Over the past five decades, Aā€™s fandom has reached far and wide, even to the highest level of public office in the United States. President Barack Obama is an outspoken Chicago White Sox fan, for which Theo Epstein offered a ā€œmidnight pardonā€ when the World Series champion Chicago Cubs visited the White House in 2017, but long before he ever supported the South Siders Obama had another favorite team.

ā€œI didnā€™t become a Sox fan until I moved to Chicago,ā€ Obama once said on a Washington Nationals broadcast. ā€œI was growing up in Hawaii, so I ended up actually being an Oakland Aā€™s fan.ā€

Obama was 11 when the Aā€™s won Oaklandā€™s first World Series in 1972.

Two thousand miles away from Obama in Honolulu, and not far from Hanks in the Lower Hills, two girl friends from Mills College were in the back of a convertible as it cruised along Grove Street in Oakland that night.

ā€œWe just rolled down the streets honking horns,ā€ Representative Barbara Lee, from Oakland, recalled. ā€œYelling, screaming, applauding and congratulating the Aā€™s.ā€

The celebration continued as the Aā€™s captured back-to-back-to-back World Series titles. The Aā€™s became a source of booming public pride. As Oakland emerged as a center of Black culture, its baseball team was led by Black stars such as Jackson, Henderson, Stewart, Blue Moon Odom, Bill North, Claudell Washington and Blue, who Lee came to know through activism work.

ā€œIn many ways, Oakland is a city that has always exemplified Black excellence,ā€ Lee said. ā€œBlack culture. Black power. Leadership. The Aā€™s were a part of that milieu. It was our team. There were so many African-Americans who saw these players like I did ā€” as icons and heroes ā€” and were proud.ā€


U.S. Rep Barbara Lee represents Oakland, and is a longtime fan of the Aā€™s. (Courtesy of Barbara Lee)

Last year, as Lee ran against former 10-time MLB All-Star Steve Garvey in a U.S. Senate special election primary, she was endorsed by Henderson, Stewart, Dusty Baker, Shooty Babitt and Tye Waller, all of whom played or coached for the Aā€™s.

As the Aā€™s and the City of Oakland haggled over stadium deals for years, Lee occasionally welcomed Aā€™s executives to her office in Washington D.C. for conversations about how to keep the Aā€™s in Oakland. ā€œIt was a long process,ā€ she said. ā€œIt was a grueling process.ā€ And, in the end, a hopeless one.

After the Aā€™s announced their intentions to relocate to Las Vegas, Lee introduced a bill, the ā€œMoneyball Act,ā€ requiring that the owners of a relocating club compensate the city they left. But the Oakland Aā€™s could not be saved.

ā€œIt still hasnā€™t settled in,ā€ Lee said. ā€œThatā€™s just how difficult itā€™s been for me and for a lot of people in Oakland. The Oakland Aā€™s are us, and we are them. You feel in many respects abandoned.ā€

Lee recited the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression ā€¦

ā€œI donā€™t know if Iā€™ll ever get to the fifth,ā€ she said.

Acceptance.


When Hanks was in Los Angeles last year to promote his novel, a former Aā€™s employee in the audience at the Wilshire Ebell Theatre asked Hanks if he would buy the Aā€™s to keep them in Oakland.

ā€œI havenā€™t done that well, guys,ā€ Hanks joked.

That didnā€™t stop him from airing his frustration.

ā€œWeā€™ve lost the Raiders. The Warriors moved to San Francisco. Now theyā€™re going to take the Aā€™s out of Oakland,ā€ Hanks said. ā€œDamn them all to hell.ā€

That sentiment is shared by fellow actor Blake Anderson, star of the show ā€œWorkaholics.ā€ Anderson grew up in Concord, in the East Bay. He shrugged off so many rumors of the Aā€™s relocating that he eventually became numb to them. Aā€™s fans were ā€œstrung along and teasedā€ for so many years, Anderson said, and all that false hope led to a feeling that theyā€™d lost the Aā€™s long before they left.

ā€œWith Oakland fandom,ā€ he said, ā€œyou just know what itā€™s like for teams to evacuate.ā€

There are two reasons Anderson became an Aā€™s fan.

The first is Henderson. As a kid, warring factions within Andersonā€™s family would try to sway him toward the Giants or the Aā€™s. Then Henderson came back and won MVP.

ā€œNobody was cooler than Rickey Henderson, man,ā€ Anderson said. ā€œThat sold it for me. I was such a young, impressionable kid, and there was so much more swagger on that side of the bay.ā€

The second reason was Will Clark. But not that Will Clark. Anderson had a youth baseball teammate with the same name as the Giants first baseman. Anderson was not a strong hitter, and he remembers stepping to the plate and hearing his teammate say, ā€œHere comes another strikeout.ā€

ā€œIt was fā€”ing Will Clark, dude,ā€ Anderson said.

Needless to say, he was all in on the Aā€™s. In high school, he and his friends waited at the exit of the players parking lot at the Coliseum. His favorite player, Terrence Long, autographed the bill of Andersonā€™s black Aā€™s cap. Then came Jason Giambi, whose walk-up music was the nWo Wolfpac theme song.

ā€œWeā€™re like, if we yell, ā€˜nWo for life,ā€™ heā€™s going to stop the car,ā€ Anderson recalled. Giambi hit the brakes and signed.

Anderson was 5 when the Aā€™s won the 1989 World Series. He doesnā€™t claim that one.

ā€œI donā€™t feel like as an Aā€™s fan I got my championship,ā€ Anderson said. ā€œThat was going to be my crowning achievement as a fan, living through one of those. Thatā€™s where I get super bummed out. I was always imagining being like those Cubs fans who waited 100 years and were like, finally, we can hoist the trophy.ā€

Only one emotion has surprised Anderson throughout this Aā€™s saga: He still cares. He told himself heā€™d stop following, but he couldnā€™t. Heā€™s grown to love the newest cast of Aā€™s ā€” Brent Rooker, J.P. Sears, Lawrence Butler, Mason Miller. He likes that they didnā€™t throw this season away. ā€œI felt pride for the team again,ā€ he said. As the team heads to Sacramento, heā€™s sworn to invest in the Aā€™s at least until these guys disperse.

Anderson drove from Los Angeles to Oakland to watch Wednesdayā€™s game with his mother, step-father, brother and a high-school buddy.

ā€œIā€™ve got to go before itā€™s gone,ā€ he said beforehand.

Anderson didnā€™t get tickets for the final game Thursday, but since heā€™d already be in town, he said, ā€œmaybe Iā€™ll just BART in and kick it in the parking lot.ā€ Those lots were where he made some of his best memories, where he met friends, where they shotgunned beers, where they reveled and toasted the green and gold.

Anderson wondered how heā€™d feel on the Aā€™s last day in Oakland. Heā€™d felt almost every emotion at the Coliseum before. He was there when Jason Isringhausen clinched the AL West in 2000. (ā€œNothing matched that kind of joy.ā€) He was there when Derek Jeterā€™s flip turned the 2001 ALDS. (ā€œThat was our year.ā€) But this would be different. Not euphoria or anguish. Just emptiness. Anderson figured heā€™d take a few laps around the old place, remember the good times, then give the filthy cement floor a kiss goodbye.

ā€” The Athleticā€™s Evan Drellich, Chad Jennings and Eric Nehm contributed to this report.

(Illustration by Meech Robinson, The Athletic; Photos: Michael Zagaris / Oakland Athletics / Getty Images; Andrew D. Bernstein / NBAE via Getty Images; Lachlan Cunningham / Getty Images)




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