Amidst the revelry of celebrating past glories, a stark reality casts a shadow over the hallowed grounds of the Oakland Coliseum. The titan of the diamond, Reggie Jackson, a name synonymous with athletic prowess and the sweet victory of the 1973 World Series, stood as a forlorn figure of his former team’s impending exodus. With an earnest candor borne from a love of the game, the five-time World Series champion and venerable two-time MVP took to the airwaves, sharing a mix of dismay and disbelief on the New York Post’s “The Show” podcast.
The man fondly christened as “Mr. October” conveyed a palpable sense of betrayal as he reflected on the Oakland Athletics, a franchise once entwined with the city’s very soul, now plotting a course for the glitzy deserts of Las Vegas. It was a bitter pill, encapsulated in his own words, “I’m embarrassed for baseball.” His lamentation was not just for the loss of a team but for the community it would leave barren in its wake. “I feel terrible for the city,” he confessed to hosts Joel Sherman and Jon Heyman.
Despite never having broken bread with John Fisher, the current steward of the Athletics with his wealth anchored to the GAP dynasty, Jackson harbored earlier hopes that Fisher aimed to be the savior keeping the team steeped in Oakland lore. Alas, those hopes eroded as Jackson decried the demise of the franchise’s relationship with its home city: “They’ve become a 4-A team. They’re not a Major League team. They’ve abandoned the city.”
In a bittersweet homage to the past, Jackson’s presence at the Coliseum for the 50th-anniversary celebration of their World Series triumph against the New York Mets was marred by the knowledge that the team’s future lay in the clutches of fate, far from its roots. The slugger himself couldn’t stay aloof from the tumult, disclosing a personal attempt to secure 20%-25% of the franchise with a $300 million bid—an offer that held the promise of affiliation but not influence, and one ultimately cast aside by Fisher.
The sting of rejection paled only in comparison to the revelation that the rug had been pulled from under Oakland’s feet; Fisher was privy to the Vegas-bound fate of the Athletics even as discussions with Jackson unfolded. The billionaire now seeks to lure investors, dangling a half-billion-dollar carrot for a stake of the team, the proceeds destined towards the opulent $1.5 billion ballpark project on the Tropicana’s last gamble on the Las Vegas Strip.
As the Athletics’ past and future stand starkly juxtaposed, Fisher’s contingency plan remains tucked away—the possibility of shouldering the financial heft with family funds. And amidst this tale of baseball’s roaming allegiances, Reggie Jackson stands as a sentinel of an era fast fading, the embodiment of Oakland’s storied and tumultuous liaison with America’s pastime.
