Watching major league baseball in Sacramento should’ve felt like a dream. Instead, it’s felt like an obligation — for everyone involved.
I’m from Sacramento, born and raised. And I’ll admit, there’s not a whole lot to do. Yes, we’re the capital of California. We have the Kings, who have recently flirted with being fun to watch. The food scene is solid. But back in high school, our after-school adventures involved waiting in the drive-thru line at Dutch Bros and then finding a Sac State parking garage to loiter in like we were in an indie coming-of-age film.
That’s Sacramento: charming in its own low-key way.
But one place has always stood out, at least to me. Sutter Health Park, formerly Raley Field, has been a constant in my life. As a kid, I’d watch the River Cats on warm summer nights. I was sometimes more invested in the mascot Dinger than the actual score, but I always loved the feel of minor league baseball: close, scrappy and somehow personal.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was ours. Now, it’ll be home to the Athletics for three years before they pack their bags for Las Vegas.
To no one’s surprise, this entire transition has been a mess.
From a baseball operations perspective, the A’s are still struggling. They’re at the bottom of the AL West. The offense ranks near last in almost every major category, the bullpen is shaky despite flashes of potential from arms like Mason Miller and the entire vibe around the club is more resigned than rebuilding.
But what’s been most frustrating from a Sacramento perspective is how little effort the Athletics have made to even pretend that they are part of this city. Everyone knows this is a temporary stop, but they’ve doubled down on detachment. There’s no local branding, no meaningful acknowledgment of Sacramento beyond a mere dugout label.
The team name hasn’t changed, not even for a limited run of “Sacramento A’s” merchandise. Instead, fans are greeted by conflicting imagery: a Sacramento Tower Bridge patch on one jersey sleeve and a Las Vegas logo on the other. It’s hard to feel embraced when you’re being treated like a placeholder.
And that’s the real issue. Sacramento is a city that would have shown up — if the A’s had given them a reason to. This is a town with loyal, passionate fans who sell out Kings games and pack River Cats stands.
But why embrace a team that won’t embrace you back?
The Athletics made it clear from day one that their heart is elsewhere, and that has consequences. A stadium that was once buzzing with local pride now feels like a neutral zone, hosting a team that doesn’t want to be there, in front of fans unsure if they should care.
If this stopover had been handled differently, it could’ve been something special. Instead, it seems like a wasted opportunity. The A’s are playing in Sacramento, but they’ve refused to be in Sacramento. And that, more than their 34-52 record, is why so many locals are staying home.
My dad is from Oakland, so naturally, I grew up with A’s merch in my closet. Even though I hadn’t been to a game since I was a kid, I rooted for the team from afar. When I moved to Berkeley at the start of college, I finally went back to the Oakland Coliseum — and I left feeling uneasy.
The stadium felt empty, like the team had already given up. The crowd was sparse. The atmosphere came less from excitement and more from habit. It was a fanbase hanging on because of loyalty, not belief.
The A’s didn’t feel like a team in transition. They felt like a team trying to quietly slip away. And now, Sacramento fans are being asked to go through the same slow, disheartening goodbye that Oakland already endured.
It’s strange watching this unfold from the same ballpark I grew up loving. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. Sacramento was ready to show up. The A’s just never gave them a reason to.