Anyone arriving to this West Sacramento neighborhood on Monday evening, both a regular Monday and unlike any other Monday here before, must have felt, among so many swirling emotions and opinions and debates, predominantly … ?
Sure, at least 14,000-some-odd souls were headed to Sutter Health Park. And not for a minor league baseball game—which, under more typical circumstances, is precisely what would have unfolded. Not Monday. Oh, no. Those fortunate enough to score seats were headed to a Major League Baseball game. In Sacramento. Make that West Sacramento. The A’s new home. Er, temporary home. Well, O.K., more like their layover stadium on a lengthy relocation trip with a very long connection between the city they have already departed (Oakland, duh) and the city where they will reside (Las Vegas).
And yet, in the neighborhood near the park, only 90 minutes before the first pitch of the A’s “home” opener, the streets nearby were not choked with, well, anything or anyone. No traffic, let alone anything resembling a “jam.” Most parking lots sat empty. The rainstorm expected earlier in the day had not materialized after a morning downpour.
My Uber driver compared this Monday to any other Monday in this neighborhood, after revealing he hadn’t followed any sports since the COVID-19 pandemic.
“A cakewalk right here,” he says. “You sure there’s a game?”
Oh, yeah. On the official MLB schedule. Promise. Sold out. Secondary ticket market going bonkers, relative to normal. Just no … fans. Nobody outside the new apartment buildings, many still under construction. Nobody on the path ahead, the one pointed toward a golden overpass, the Tower Bridge which connects this neighborhood to downtown.
This wasn’t exactly a tumbleweeds scenario. It wasn’t exactly not a tumbleweeds scenario, either.
Was that a scoreboard glimmering with images and statistics in the near distance? A faint hint of bass, not yet thumping, in the same general direction?
Then: Street art, sprayed on a slab of concrete, with green dots and a long, green swirl—not unlike A’s colors, amirite?—and an apt phrase painted in pink. It read: .
Now we’re getting somewhere.
All sorts of signs peppered the Cabaldon Parkway, announcing the neighborhood that would soon host a bona fide MLB game. Right? The Bridge District. For a “home” that resembled more of a ghost town, this wasn’t a clue so much as a metaphor. That will be the juxtaposition in the next three seasons for a proud baseball franchise replete with significant players and eras and moments throughout the vast majority of MLB’s history, now in its 154th season.
Winds whipped those Bridge District banners. Nobody lingered at the intersection where visitors turn and head toward the main entrance. One guy—one!—stood at some gated-off entry that didn’t look accessible to anyone at all. One stadium worker, passing by this one guy, yelled out, “Love the A’s hat, baby! He’s VIP! Look at that face! It’s not pretty but it’s his!”
The park’s fences soon rounded into view. Then the park itself. And there it was, the next era of Athletics baseball, among so, so many eras of Athletics baseball, neatly summarized in empty streets, district banners and an innocuous comment. This park may not be pretty, at least in the traditional MLB park sense, but it’s theirs. These seasons will not be like previous A’s seasons. They will be, wait for it, bridge years for a franchise that can stay put, for years and for decades and for more than half-a-century in Oakland, and yet, this same franchise never stays in one place, not permanently. Not yet.
, then, began in earnest on Monday night.
