When I picked up my dad on the morning of the A’s final game in the Oakland Coliseum, I asked how he was feeling. In what has become his typical way, he shrugged, looked away and didn’t really say anything. My dad is an A’s fan. He’s just one of those A’s fans that has largely said his goodbyes. He feels the team left long ago based on the way they’ve treated the roster, the stadium and the fans. 

For me, it was a much more raw feeling. There’s no right or wrong way to be a fan or to express emotion. I tend to be a more emotive person, generally, than my dad. That’s just a combination of how we’re wired and what we experienced growing up. The final game, to me, felt like a long overdue funeral – and I was open to all the feelings. I had the great experience of interviewing several fans in the days leading up to the final game. It was so good to hear the different perspectives, from anger, to sadness, to relief – all different perspectives. Above it all, there was acceptance. After all the rumors, over two decades of talks and threats about a new ballpark, the A’s were finally leaving their home of 57 years.

Baseball is deep for my dad and me. I became a fan as a pre-teen in the early 80’s with Billy Martin’s version of Billy Ball. I pursued my love of baseball into studying broadcast journalism at San Diego State and writing sports for The Daily Aztec. My dad saw this passion and asked if I’d like to go to all 30 MLB parks with him. We started that journey with two short trips in 1990 (Old Milwaukee, Comiskey, Wrigley and Tiger – only one of those is still standing) and 1991 (Old Yankee, Veteran and Fenway – again, only one of those remains). We didn’t complete the tour until 2004, three years after my dad had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. I took my dad on a two month, 20,000 mile road trip that ended up being the foundation of the award-winning documentary series, Boys of Summer. We traveled as A’s fans, wearing our green and gold everywhere, even though we only saw the A’s one time in all those games, when we were at the Coliseum. When teams we visited kindly offered us gifts of their own gear, we respectfully donned their colors and cheered for the home team. There’s a lot more on all of this ongoing story, that now encompasses three films, with a fourth planned for release on Father’s Day, 2025 at www.bosmovie.com. 

Back to the day the game left Oakland – Sept. 26, 2024.

When I showed my prepaid parking pass on my phone to the attendant at the gate,  he barely gave it a glance, instead nodding as if to say, “hey, man – just come on in.” We did. We were 2.5 hours early and still felt like we were almost late. The parking lot was nearing capacity. We followed a line of cars making a makeshift middle of the row parking spot for ourselves. I asked my dad if he thought this was a good idea – we were close to double parking cars on either end. He said, “I don’t think it matters.” He was right. The goal was to be here. To get in the stadium. Let it rip. 

Wheeling my dad through the lot, the familiar sites and sounds were all there. A lot of hip hop. A lot of food, drink and smoke. Some balls being tossed around. And even with all of that familiarity, there was sadness. I nodded at each fan I passed. They nodded back. No words needed. We knew what we were here for.

We got into the stadium and began the hunt for ADA seating. It’s not assigned – first come, first served. We asked a few ushers and made our way to section 126, not far from the Dennis Eckersley entrance we came in through. We found our spots along the third base line – behind the A’s bullpen. Our view was partially obstructed by the overhang of the second deck – certainly couldn’t see the scoreboard, but it was a decent look at the field. We had our place. Now it was time to be there – observe and feel everything that went on. Chants of “Let’s go Oakland” and “Sell the Team” were frequent. There were smiles. There were heads shaking in disbelief. A woman with her service dog, Snow Angel, sat next to us. We shared stories of the bleachers – back when they had actual bleachers in center field – in the 1980's. We might have crossed paths back then.

There were tons of great shirts and signs, from the silly, to the profane, to the sublime. People were wearing their hearts on their sleeves, faces and chests. A green beard, a championship belt, a crying emoji, a black ribbon, and my friend, Karen, handing out heart stickers to everyone she could. She, like so many, just wanted to share her heart on this day As I heard over and over again, when it finally hits you…it’s overwhelming. 

The game went by in a blur. It was a really great game. When Mason Miller pitched the final outs in the ninth, he absolutely dominated. There’s something about having a hammer in the bullpen like that to close out a win. It’s beyond exhilarating. He hit 104 miles per hour on the gun. 104 miles per hour! 

And that was it. But this wasn't just for us long-time fans. There was a young fan sitting right in front of us proudly wearing his Rickey Henderson A's jersey. He loudly called out “Let's go Oakland” and “Sell the Team” at all the right times – even starting the cheer himself a few times. When it was over, he started to cry. My heart breaks for that kid. He won't get what I and so many others are blessed to have: the gift of growing up in that awesome stadium with those awesome fans.

A’s manager took the field and said some beautiful, heartfelt words. Fans cheered, hugged and said goodbye. We got our little Coliseum replicas as we left. We went to our car. We got out of the lot surprisingly quickly – probably because so many were choosing to hang out. It wasn’t that we wanted to go, but it had been a long day for my 80 year old father with advanced Parkinson’s disease. That he made it through as much as he did is a testament to his love of the game and me.

I thanked him and asked him what was next. Would we follow the team in it’s allegedly interim home of Sacramento? What if they did make it to Las Vegas? I lived there for 20 years – surely I’d have some ins that could help us experience that. He did just as he did earlier that day, shrugged and didn’t really give me an answer. At 80 years old, my dad says he doesn’t buy green bananas anymore. In other words, today’s the day. We’ll let the future come to us. For this day, we were lucky enough to experience the A’s final home game. 

The A’s, once “Rooted in Oakland,” have finally left the building. Let’s go, Oklnd.

To learn more about the Cochranes decades-long journey with Parkinson's and baseball, please visit www.bosmovie.com.

Originally Published on https://www.yesandexercise.org/

Robert Cochrane, PhD Yes, And...eXercise!

Dr. Robert Cochrane is a graduate of UNLV's Integrated Health Sciences department. He's researching the effect of improvisation and storytelling on Parkinson’s disease. He received grants from the Parkinson's Foundation and support from the Davis Phinney Foundation along the way. He is a popular, unique and high energy Keynote speaker, bringing joy, optimism and practical tools for people in the PD community to thrive today.

He has a background in filmmaking, with the Artisan Entertainment release, The Playaz Court, and two Stephen King-based short films among his credits. His father, Dan, was diagnosed with PD in 2001, which shifted Robert’s artistic lens to health. He made his first documentary, the award-winning Boys of Summer in 2004. There are two follow up films in the series with the fourth film coming in 2023.

He moved his family back to Walnut Creek, CA, where he grew up. He lives there with his beautiful wife, two teenagers who are, indeed, "all that" and is a proud care partner for his amazing parents.