We Believe?

Oakland has proposed a plan for what it calls “Coliseum City,” a development effort around the stadium modeled after Los Angeles’s L.A. Live. It would include new venues — one for the Raiders (definitely), one for the Warriors (ideally), and one for the A’s (perhaps, but we’ll get to that soon). It would also include shopping and entertainment, as well as a business park and housing developments.

The Raiders, Davis has said, would like to build the NFL’s smallest stadium, with 58,000 seats, on this land. Quan insists that minimal (if any) public financing would be needed to get it done. The Raiders declined to make anyone available to be interviewed for this story, but team spokesman Mike Taylor issued a statement: “Both sides are conducting studies to determine the financial viability of the project. There is a real sense of urgency for both parties.”

The hope among fans is that the same crowds will come out for games, with their same eccentricities and same derelict charms. Inside the Coliseum, just minutes before kickoff against the Jags, a man stood in the front row, leaning over the divider that separates fan from field, smacking its surface and screaming at Jags third-year lineman Cameron Bradfield. “Seventy-eight!” he yelled. “Get the fuck over here! Come here so I can fuck you up!”

His name was Frank. He was sitting with a friend, who explained that Frank had just been released from prison. And no matter what comes of Coliseum City, for the Raiders to be the Raiders, home games will need to remain hospitable to ex-cons.

Let’s go back to the A’s game. Same venue, different day, different crowd. As in: The Raiders actually had a crowd. The A’s had a smattering of people who happened to be wearing green and sitting inside a baseball stadium. Any resemblance to a crowd seemed coincidental.

Wolff, the owner, noticed. “There is something wrong here,” he told USA Today. “You would think that with our lead, people would want to come out, count down the magic numbers, and all that stuff. Even if you’re not a loyal fan, you would think this time of year, where the teams are in the standings, and where every game means something, people would come out.”

They would, explained Dobbins — if it wasn’t for Wolff. “You’re not going to commit to a team unless that team commits to you,” he said. “There’s still passion and energy — just look at the playoff games last year — but to come out on a Monday night, to commit like that, a lot of people don’t want to do it when the ownership doesn’t want the team to be here.”

In 1990, under previous ownership, the A’s drew nearly 36,000 fans a game. This year, despite the team’s success, they’ve averaged a little more than 22,000, which ranks 23rd in Major League Baseball. But in the right-field bleachers, the diehards remained, chanting and clapping and beating drums, even in the middle of a blowout.

“Lew Wolff wants us to stay home,” says Jorge Leon, 28, a season-ticket holder and lifelong fan. “He wants to be able to say, ‘Look how empty this place is.’ He wants that excuse.”

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