Saying hello and goodbye in one spontaneous and surprising White Sox trip
If paying my respects to the Oakland Coliseum wasn’t reason enough to hop on a shuttle to Oakland, The White Sox on a 21-game losing streak was. My wife and kids turned down their chance to be a part of history, so I checked the details— $100 Flight, $34 box seats, and $50 hotel, less than a series at Dodgers Stadium — and decided to go it alone. Am I crazy to fly to Oakland to see the 2024 White Sox? (At these prices, am I crazy not to?). “Kevin Bell’s Raggedy Ass Batting Glove (KBRABG)” reached out to say he was going — so hell yes I’m going to Oakland.
Concrete & Barbed Wire
The Coliseum sits in a de-industrialized part of Oakland. After a short walk-up, we’ll get to the game.
and now, on to the main event …
The 27–88 Chicago White Sox Take on the 47–67 Oakland A’s
I’ve never had more ambivalent feelings about the outcome of a baseball game. Did I want to see the White Sox break the losing streak record? Kind of. I want Jerry Reinsdorf to wear this season, for all the reasons: Not signing free agents, not doing a real GM search (the director of player development), covering up a sexual harassment charge. More recently, we learn of the plane. Do I like watching the Sox lose? Not at all. I’m a “live and die with every pitch” fan, who takes pleasure in the game within the game within the game. But this is far worse than it ever should have gotten — and I need to bear witness.
After consulting White Sox Twitter, I bought tickets behind the visiting bullpen. Moving to a seat next to KBRABG was easy, as the place was empty. Jacklyn Hilligoss & husband stopped by. We watched Ethan Katz work his pen up close. The arm of Jonny Cannon. The majesty of Garrett Crochet’s backside. Korey Lee, throwing dozens of balls to kids. Dominic Fletcher and Andrew Vaughn chatting up friends and family. This isn’t spring training, people — do they not know an all-time AL losing streak is on the line? Focus.
The section was maybe half Sox fans. We exchanged nods, waves, and glances — sharing in the futility of investing in a team owned by Jerry Reinsdorf. A’s fans — even ushers — wanted to discuss our shared miseries caused by detached owners.
“As bad as we know Jerry is, he’s no John Fisher,” I told them. This was the game that “Sell the Team” and “Fuck John Fisher” chants were clearly audible on the Sox broadcast, and Schriffen spoke some truth.
Whatever part of me wanted to see the Sox “win,” this streak was shot by Jonny “Love” Cannon, who was having none of it. Neither, apparently, was Andrew Benintendi, whose fourth-inning, two-run homer put the Sox up. They never looked back. Really not much else to say about that game. Sox win!
A Third Place
Baseball Stadium YouTube would lead you to believe that the Oakland Coliseum is a pit of decay and despair, filled with rats, opossums, and cracking concrete.
Maybe it’s because I grew up going to Comiskey Park, but I liked the Coliseum vibe. In “The Great Good Place,” Ray Oldenberg describes “third places” as social places that are neither work, nor home. Think bars, cafes, clubs, libraries, churches, and bowling alleys. Baseball parks like Oakland — and the fans who populate them — fit the description. Third places are social levelers (social status isn’t important), playful, built around conversation (e.g. shooting the shit), marked by regulars who set the tone and culture (Section 108), and low profile (anyone is welcome, not pretentious). In short, a home away from home. They are supposed to feel lived-in — like you can knock something over and it won’t matter. Sox fans old enough to remember Comiskey would feel at home, and for those who don’t, watch Mike Flesch’s 2023 film The Last Comiskey.
The theory goes that the lack of third places in American life has led to a lack of informal social interaction, which has caused the erosion of trust in America that has landed us where we are today. A world where we need to be reminded, “That family down the road, they may not think like you do, they may not pray like you do, they may not love like you do — but they’re your neighbors, and you look out for them, and they look out for you.” Thank you, Tim Walz.
And what better place to celebrate that idea, than in a ballpark on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
“You better get some A’s gear if you’re going to sit there,” my usher warned, as I found my spot behind home plate.
“I’ll get a hat on my way out,” I offered.
“Well, be careful. We don’t want no trouble.” My usher seemed to think a visiting fan doesn’t just show up behind home plate at the Oakland Coliseum in opposing colors. He was the thin green line keeping me safe.
“I’m a South Sider. I’ll be fine …”
“So you can take care of yourself, then,” he said, approvingly.
“Uh, not really? Guys like me learn to stay out of trouble on the South Side.”
“Comiskey Park, now that may be the truly last dive bar,” an Oakland fan explained to me on the way out. “That place really was rough.” As a kid, I’d go to Comiskey and hope to see a fight. This was a key reason you went to a baseball game. But on this beautiful Wednesday afternoon, whatever 1990s animosity existed between fan bases in the has metamorphosed into kinship, to be celebrated.
As far as baseball goes, not much to remember from that Wednesday game, although the Dart looked good. And the $75 million man hit another home run. And I was shown on camera to promote the Grateful Dead night (thanks mowthelawn), suggesting I need a haircut.
OH, Chuckie Robinson ROCKS. Chuckie is an all-time team energy guy who has made my list of favorite Sox players and must be seen in person to appreciate. The man not only runs to back up first base on infield ground balls, but runs back home, and then flips his mask down before the next batter is even to the plate to help the pitcher stay in rhythm. And after each inning, he doesn’t just greet the pitcher; he back-slaps, gestures, makes animated batting stances — each of which unfailingly lights up the pitchers face with a smile. He’s the guy on this roster I’d most want to hang with (rather than, say the last guy I wanted to help buy his plane ticket out of here). I was sitting near friends or family of his, who were recording his every move. I got big smiles from them when I yelled “Chuckie!!!,” but sadly didn’t get to talk to them.
These YouTubers will never capture the people of The Oakland Coliseum. Staff greeted me with warm smiles. Ladies at the concession stand call you honey. They shared warm memories of Frank Thomas, before revealing how many years they’d worked at the park and sadness for what might come next.
The Oakland Coliseum is a place where everyone is welcome. Everyone’s a familiar face. Strangers talk. My overwhelming memory from the week wasn’t concrete or barbed wire, but moments like this:
This is how I’ll remember the Oakland Coliseum.
Bill Veeck, late owner of the Chicago White Sox, describes how a baseball park doesn’t belong to an owner, but the community. An owner is a steward, responsible for coordinating that neighborhood’s entertainment.
Whatever comes next after the Oakland Coliseum, wherever this franchise ends up will probably be more profitable for its owners. Destination amenities for tourists, baseball fans, and the occasional local will replace all of this concrete and barbed wire. Maybe a community will embrace them. But if they do, it will be despite owners like John Fisher, certainly not because of them. Let’s just hope this doesn’t happen to us.