Jordan Georgeson commentary: The Coliseum will always be home

It is said there's no crying in baseball, but those who believe that have never lost their team. Thursday afternoon, the Oakland Athletics played their final game in the iconic Oakland Coliseum, the franchise's home for the last 57 years. While the A's started in Philadelphia and had a 12-year stint in Kansas City, the East Bay has been their home longer than anywhere else. Five decades of history are forever etched into the concrete walls of the Coliseum. The stadium has been the site of World Series triumphs, perfect games and Super Bowl winners. It has been the home of legends bigger than their sports, such as John Madden, Rickey Henderson, Reggie Jackson, Catfish Hunter, Jim Otto, Ken Stabler, and even a possum that spent his time terrorizing opposing broadcasters. The Oakland Coliseum has always been a second home to me. It's where I attended my first Major League Baseball game with my dad. I will never forget the first time I saw it early one morning as we pulled off the freeway, and I still emphasize there was no bed more comfortable than the backseat of the car on the long drive back. Ever since the plans to move to Las Vegas were announced, I have been angry the A's were leaving Oakland. I would even say I was stubborn, turning down multiple offers from family and friends to attend one last game and say goodbye to the stadium I hold some of my fondest memories in because I didn't want to put one more cent in a greedy billionaire's pocket. But as this week approached, the anger toward the team for moving and disdain for owner John Fisher was overcome by a wave of grief and regret. As I sat on my couch Wednesday night watching the final night game conclude, I was hit with a wave of emotions. I had to fight back the tears welling in my eyes as I recalled some of my favorite memories from the iconic concrete monolith. The one that sticks out the most is my first Raider game with my dad, watching them defeat the Dallas Cowboys 19-13 thanks to a goal-line stand in the final minute. I remember being told I would hear some colorful language shortly before one fan in our vicinity gave Kerry Collins a profanity-laced verbal lashing for throwing an incompletion. I also remember hearing the roar from the crowd as the Raiders stopped the Cowboys to win, a memory that gives me chills to this day. I can still recall watching Stephen Vogt get a standing ovation during his final career at-bat in Oakland, and watching the A's give Shohei Ohtani the business during his major-league debut. I'll never forget growing up in the "Moneyball" era and getting to watch A's players like Barry Zito, Miguel Tejada and Eric Chavez. I remember the first time the smell from the hot dog vendors' carts reached my nostrils as I walked from the BART station to the stadium and I was introduced to the finest cuisine known to man. I remember the beating of the drums and the honking of the vuvuzelas as "Let's go Oakland" chants echoed off the empty seats. I remember the long, drawn-out chants of "Raiders" reverberating throughout the concourse whether they won or lost. And who can forget watching Marshawn Lynch dance on the sideline as the Raiders were blowing out the Jets? This stadium is where I've had therapy sessions with friends after breakups, celebrated achievements, milestones and birthdays with good friends and total strangers, caught up with family, and where I took my now wife to her first NFL game and showed her how there is nothing quite like a tailgate in Oakland. Then I started to remember my last time at the Coliseum on Opening Night of the 2023 season. There was still hope a long-term deal would be reached to keep the team in the Bay Area. I remember buying a onesie for my daughter, who was still four months from being born, in hopes of bringing her to a game one day. One thing that hits me the hardest is that I won't have a chance to make the same memories in Oakland with her as I did with my dad. The team moving to Sacramento for the next three years is a temporary bandage on a gaping wound. It's hard to get excited about a temporary move when you know the team is going to ultimately leave, and it will be abandoning Northern California forever. The A's leaving Oakland will forever be a stain on Major League Baseball, and committing to moving the team to a city that doesn't want them without any set financial plan to build a stadium will be a black cloud over this sport for years to come. There are so many A's fans like myself that have never been less interested in the game of baseball than they are now, and I am not sure if there is anything MLB can do to win us back. But this isn't a column bashing Fisher or MLB for its actions, I've already done that. This is a final farewell and a eulogy to one of the most historic buildings in sports. For me, the Oakland Coliseum will serve as a monument to two resilient fanbases who always gave their heart and soul to their teams despite the powers in charge never investing anything into them. Sure, it was a dump, but it was always our dump. So as the casket closes on my beloved Oakland A's and Oakland Coliseum, I just want to say one final goodbye and thank everyone for the lifelong memories we made there. To me, the Coliseum will always be home.