Identity is a concept built solely on how one identifies and is identified within the parameters of the society that either claims him/her or that he/she claims.
In Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest, narrator Chief Bromden exists in a paralyzing state between reality and fear, accepted truth and illusion-based interpretation. The monster is always behind the door, because the monster owns the door, the house, the yard, the city..and so forth.
Bromden never truly exerts a distinct and solidified identity, because the environment that houses him denies him the pleasure and the pain of being him. Without a true claim to self, he has no self to claim. The monster, be it Nurse Ratchet or his own mental instability, changes the game to exclude him. He is left to sit and be a spectator of his own impending demise.
Examining the mess surrounding the Oakland Athletics, the Oakland Raiders, and the dilapidated O.Co Coliseum, there are clear parallels to the plight of Chief Bromden. Fans are in limbo, the teams are in limbo, and the machines of Major League Baseball and the NFL are making money despite themselves, leaving East Bay fans a crumbling, perhaps nonexistent shoulder to lean and cry on.
A sports stadium is a gathering place, a place for people to give of themselves to a collective cause. The reason we care about sports is because, in some small (or maybe huge) way, it cares for us.
We all should know the history of bedazzled and bespectacled Al Davis, and his fetish for using a map of the California coast as a giant game of zero-sum Risk. When the Raiders returned to Oakland in 1995, the Oakland Coliseum became his. Mount Davis--a testament to a powerful man with ever-changing plans.
Every seat was in prime position to gander at what happens when someone both fickle and powerful gets his way. A's fans were left to clench their jaw and stare at the giant concrete behemoth. What was once a perfectly passable place to enjoy both baseball and the spaces in between now sat as a symbol of profiteering and circumstance.
September is always a cluster(boink) of epic proportions down O.Co. way, with the grounds-crews working like speed-laced lab rats to keep the grass, the dirt, and the general artifice of the crumbling Coliseum at a passable level. While Clay Wood and his staff do an extraordinary job, the problems are still there. The grass in the outfield is as hard as concrete in places and the plumbing forces everyone from players to fans to plug their nose and/or their bowels.
The stadium can barely house one sports team during the dead of summer. Other than the Blue Jays sharing space turf with the Toronto Argonauts of the CFL, the Coliseum is the last vestige of the multi-sport stadium craze of the 60s and 70s. It has become a running joke in the national media, and has become a trump card for both Lew Wolff (A's) and Mark Davis (Raiders) to wield in attempting to move the teams out of Dodge. The coexistence is one of necessity, and the bond seems tenuous at best.
In short, the Coliseum is an outdated relic acting as a modern, two-sport stadium. And the fans are suffering.
The Raiders' home opener against the Jacksonville Jaguars drew 49,400 fans, just under 4,000 short of a sell-out for the opening game. The A's won a pivotal game against the Twins in front of a modest gathering of 11,461, 32.7% of capacity for baseball. While they will sell out for tonight's Star Wars Fireworks Extravaganza (!,) there is a sincere problem afoot.
Oakland fans have no clue what a year or two will bring. A city in extreme financial trouble is left holding the bag as suitors from both around the Bay and around the country attempt to strip their pride away from them. The owners of both teams aren't doing much to rub salve on the wounds, and the coexistence of two very different teams with two very different acting and past philosophies only adds to the dissonance.
Some A's fans see the Raiders as the reason why their team could be ripped from them. Without their meddling, fans posit that the Coliseum could have been renovated and spruced up for baseball and baseball only. Raider fans have their own thoughts about watching their beloved Silver and Black put themselves at an injury risk with the A's infield causing many a cleat to catch.
Ride by the Coliseum on BART, and you'll see it.
A giant concrete structure, sparsely
decorated with an A's and a Raiders banner here and there. It almost seems like the old, starter apartment that neither team is comfortable fully unpacking. There are prettier fields ahead, and the Coliseum sits as a symbol of inhibiting those dreams.
In the end, the fans get shafted like they have in so many cities, so many times. Trying to build an emotional and lasting bond to an organization (both team and overarching league) which is treating you, and the city you stake pride in, like a aesthetically-iffy rebound relationship is disheartening.
The collective identity that we build, cherish, and scream our insides out for as fans is under siege for the fans of Oakland. At times, there seems like there is no us to cheer for, regardless of team success on the field. Give us the love and the outlet we need, and maybe the Chief Bromden complex at the old Oakland Coliseum may be a thing of the past.
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