I’m dressed for a funeral today. Or perhaps a wake. Either way, it didn’t have to be this way. After 57 years, Major League Baseball in Oakland is over, and today marks the end of an era for the Oakland Athletics and their devoted fan base.

I donned my vintage 2014 Josh Donaldson green alternate jersey, a symbol of the legacy that once defined third base at the Oakland Coliseum. Donaldson’s power, leadership, and the way he carried on the tradition of legends like Sal Bando and Eric Chavez made him a key figure in A’s lore. But today, that history seems distant as the A’s play their final game at the Coliseum, closing the door on nearly six decades of baseball in Oakland.

I reached out to friends, former co-workers, lifelong A’s fans, and even a former high-profile sponsor to gauge the collective mood. The responses were heartbreaking:

• “I’m on the boycott train.”
• “Sad is the right word all around.”
• “I’m doing my best to just not care.”
• “Sad that very few current employees will have positions in Sacramento.”
• “Betrayed, insulted, abandoned, ANGRY and hurt…”
• “Heartbroken.”

This is the end for A’s baseball in Oakland, and the feelings of sadness and anger run deep. As someone who became an A’s fan later in life, it was an 18-inning game on a warm June afternoon in 2013 that solidified my love for this team. That day, the Coliseum honored Yankees’ Hall of Famer Mariano Rivera before his final game in Oakland. Seven hours later, a Nate Freiman bloop single in the 18th inning walked it off. It was a game my dad would have loved, even though we were a family of San Francisco Giants fans.

For many, Oakland became their second-favorite team, thanks to the larger-than-life figures like Reggie Jackson, Vida Blue, and Rickey Henderson. My family’s connection to Oakland began in the 1960s, when my aunt attended Cal-Berkeley and the A’s arrived in 1968. The Giants-A’s rivalry during the Bay Bridge Series only deepened that connection, with the A’s claiming lifelong bragging rights in our household after the earthquake-interrupted 1989 World Series.

But history won’t repeat itself.

Six months after that 18-inning game, I joined the A’s front office, drawn to the team’s green-and-gold tradition and the chance to be closer to my mom. The A’s, known for their family-friendly atmosphere, were incredibly supportive during that time. The friendships and success I shared with the team and its fans will long outlast my tenure with the franchise.

I only attended about 300 games at the Coliseum, a small number compared to the diehard fans who faithfully filled the bleachers. But it was enough to appreciate how much a stadium—cracked concrete, leaking pipes, bad acoustics, and all—could come to mean to so many.

When John Fisher took control of the franchise in 2017, everything changed for the worse. Despite promises and millions spent on plans to keep the team in Oakland, the leadership failed to appreciate the essence of the city. Oakland’s rich baseball heritage, embodied by legends like Rickey Henderson, Joe Morgan, and Frank Robinson, was dismissed. The Howard Terminal project could have transformed not just the A’s, but Oakland itself. Yet, in the end, it was easier for Fisher to move the team than to pump life back into it.

None of that matters now. The moving trucks are ready. Today’s sold-out game will be the last at the Coliseum. Fans will cheer one final throw across the diamond, and as for me, I’ll miss watching from Las Vegas, where A’s games are ironically blacked out.

For many, the pain of losing the A’s has already shifted to resignation. One lifelong fan summed it up: “Sad. Mad. Resigned. I have been practicing rooting for the Giants.”

For the last time… “Let’s go, Oakland!”