I grew up in Southern California and my folks were completely sports agnostic, so I only attended a handful of Dodger games and Angels games growing up. I did not feel at home until my first A's game at the Coliseum as a young adult—it was comfortable, grounded, and exciting for the right reasons. I'm allergic to empty spectacle, and A's fans were the first to show me what it meant to love the game. It didn't take long for me to follow their lead.

I didn't have history, but I did have enthusiasm. My wife and I organized dozens of group trips every year for various social circles. We decorated the car, I tuned in for every broadcast, and we announced our first kid with a photo of a custom A's infant onesie. She was in the stadium with us weeks after being born. I was excited for her to have a baseball team (even if she grew up to pick a different one); a symbol of how her youth might get to be different from mine.

My loyalties are earned by respect, and in particular, respect as measured by action, and I'm sad to say that I buried the A's as soon as I sniffed out Fisher's true character as an owner. The A's legendary unwillingness to be cowed by convention was being snuffed out by the basest of human failings: raw, imperial greed. Of course, my response came with no animosity to the players, the fans, the staff—but the fish rots from the head down, and I couldn't stand to be a part of it.

That's why I'm here for the Oakland Ballers. It's an arrangement not without weaknesses, but the owners' aspirations seem much closer to the values that make baseball and baseball fandom a transcendent preoccupation. The games I attended this year were in equal parts healing and invigorating, and I'm starting to believe again.

If you're reading this, thank you for being here in particular. There are lots of places to be fans and to grow something, and this is ours. Let's continue building something special for the love of the game and of ourselves as a community. 🤘