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IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO romanticize a building as ugly as the Oakland Coliseum. It's aesthetically cold, a mountain of weathered concrete surrounded by oceans of asphalt. But when it was full, and when the game mattered, nothing compared. The raw noise, the reckless energy, a party always on the verge of getting out of hand. In those moments, it has always been the kind of place -- lawless, reckless, all the volume cranked up inside every single body -- that demands you pay attention.