There's crying in baseball: We spent the Oakland A's last home game with fans who are losing everything

It was a perfect day for baseball: sunny and warm, with a light breeze in the air, as Oakland A's fans wrapped up their tailgating and filed into the Coliseum gates the way they have since 1968.

A's icon and hall of famer Rickey Henderson threw out the ceremonial first pitch, and former A's and Giants pitcher Barry Zito sang the national anthem to a sold-out crowd of nearly 47,000. The Coliseum was awash in green and gold, with the trappings and energy of a playoff game. But this was something entirely different.

"It's a combination of a playoff game and a funeral," said one fan who's been part of the drumming section in the right field bleachers since it started in the early 2000s. "It's hard to know how we're supposed to behave. Are we supposed to be grieving, are we supposed to be celebrating?"

The history being made at the Coliseum had little to do with what was happening on the field. A year and a half after A's leadership announced they planned to move the team to Las Vegas, the day no one wanted to arrive was finally here: The A's were playing their final game in Oakland.

"This'll be the last time I ever tailgate in this parking lot," said a man who said he also tailgated at the Coliseum for Raiders games, before that team also moved to Las Vegas. "That's kind of crazy to think about, actually."

The A's have suffered low attendance over the past few seasons, which fans blame on the team's owner, notoriously reclusive billionaire John Fisher. Under his leadership, fans say ticket prices have skyrocketed while their favorite players are consistently traded away, leaving the A's with MLB's lowest payroll for the two straight years.

"Fisher sucks!" chanted the right field bleachers, as a fan emerged carrying custom-made puppets representing Fisher and A's general manager Dave Kaval.

"I try and bring levity to a situation that actually sucks," said the puppeteer. "You know, it's a heavy day for a lot of people."

Indeed, the tears and anger started long before the game was over.

"He tore our heart out," one fan said of Fisher, while holding up a cardboard tombstone for the Oakland A's. "He took my childhood away. He took my daughter's childhood away."

"You are not just moving a team," said a fan wearing a bedazzled SELL T-shirt — part of the ongoing protest for Fisher to sell the team to owners who'll keep it in the Bay Area. "This is not just a business, it's a community. It's family. ... I've seen these people meet and marry, have babies, get divorced. My season tickets lasted longer than my first marriage."

The energy at the Coliseum was so palpable that even fans of the visiting Texas Rangers had to take note.

"It's crazy to see how passionate these fans are," said a man in head-to-toe Rangers gear. "I kind of find myself rooting for the A's a little bit."

Though the Rangers scored two runs late in the game, the A's held onto their lead and secured the win — which fans celebrated with high fives and dancing to the tune of Kool & The Gang's "Celebration." But this celebration was short lived. Once the applause died down, the water works began.

"It's the hardest thing in my life," one man said tearfully. "I love my A's, I love Oakland. I'm hurt! What else am I supposed to feel?"

"It's hitting like a truck, that's for sure," another fan observed. "The whole last inning was just pure excitement, and then all of a sudden, it's just all over."

Some fans stood stunned as they looked out at the field — faced with the utter finality of a moment they never thought would come.

"Six months of my life every year was baseball, and it was Oakland A's baseball," said one season ticket holder. "I don't know how to move on from this. Honestly, I don't know what comes next."

As lifelong fans lined up to get scoops of dirt from the field as souvenirs, A's manager Mark Kotsay led the crowd in one last cheer of "Let's go, Oakland!" But some fans believe they might chant those words again someday.

"We still have a slight bit of hope that everything falls apart in Vegas," said a fan taking pictures with his dad in front of the ballpark's 1989 World Series display.

The longtime drummer from right field added, "This is not the end of the story for baseball in Oakland."