Watching the Oakland A’s ‘reverse boycott’ with its originator, Stu Clary

OAKLAND — Every one of the 27,759 fans at the A’s reverse boycott was on the same page. Literally.

A cheer card created by grassroots organizers and passed out to fans roaming the Oakland Coliseum gave directions for how the night’s protest would go. A “sell the team” chant when the first batter steps up to the plate in the top of an inning and a “stay in Oakland” one for the first batter of the bottom inning.

In the fifth inning, everyone was to stand up in silence to honor the 55 years the A’s have been in Oakland before erupting into another “sell the team” chorus. That’s when Stu Clary, standing up from his seat in the sixth row of Section 230, couldn’t help but smile.

Clary, after all, started all this.

“I am,” he said. “I am kind of proud.”

The idea of a reverse boycott came to him months ago. He and his fellow A’s fans online were incensed by the commissioner, team owner John Fisher and his lobbyists’ claims that the A’s must relocate to Las Vegas because Oakland fans just didn’t care about the team anymore. Not just a lie, but a manipulative one, fans will cry; more than anything A’s fans want it known that Fisher is the reason they stopped showing.

If they could dream a little, they’d want him to sell the team to an owner that will give a die-hard fanbase reason to return again.

So Clary came up with a plan: Let everyone know the powers that be are liars. And, boy, did they.

What better way to show A’s fans exist, and care, than to show up when the ballpark is typically desolate? In a Tweet on April 13, Clary suggested every fan show up for a mundane Tuesday night game against the Tampa Bay Rays. Two months later, thanks to independent fan groups, his Tweet turned to reality.

The near 28,000 that showed was the most at an A’s home game since they drew 33,654 against the Los Angeles Dodgers on Aug. 7, 2018.

“You did this, man, you did this,” another fan and fellow high school baseball coach said to Clary in passing. But Clary had to keep perspective.

“People are acting like I parted the Red Sea,” he said. “We just needed a day. People wanted this.”

Even before the reverse boycott began, Clary began to confront the scary part. When the party’s over, things get real.

Hours before Tuesday’s game, senators in the Nevada Legislature approved funding for the A’s to build a new ballpark there. It marked one step closer to Oakland losing their team.

And while Fisher might see the A’s relocation as a vehicle for his personal gain, fans see it as kidnapping the community they’ve hardly lived without. This protest isn’t just about calling out lies or changing minds. It’s one last cry from a fan base coming to grips with having a part of them unceremoniously ripped away.

Everyone at the Clary family tailgate stays connected through the A’s. His son is there, along with his college baseball teammate, who both love the A’s. As do his parents, who bonded with the Clary family over teaching and Oakland A’s baseball. Stu’s lifelong friend Randy Carson got into the A’s because of Stu — both went to the 1987 All-Star Game at the Coliseum. Another lifelong friend Brad Rupert, the baseball coach at Shasta College, drove down from Redding on Tuesday to support.

But the tone isn’t sad yet, the crew has already pre-mourned the loss. The constant threat of relocation, failed ballpark proposals and decades of cheap ownership hardened them. And maybe a little denial, too.

“It just hasn’t sunk in yet,” said Kim Clary, Stu’s wife. But, Tuesday, she allowed herself to reminisce.

The Coliseum is known as a sewage-filled, run-down dump. For fans, that’s all overblown; it’s a home away from home.For the Clary family’s two sons, Gordy and Tom, it was like a backyard miles away from home in Vacaville. They played catch in the parking lot before games. The boys idolized Jason Giambi and once talked for weeks about the time the hours spent waiting in line in the rain to meet him paid off with a fist pump.

A photo of Gordy standing next to Scott Hatteburg during a Little League national anthem appearance at the Coliseum hangs in their family home. For a moment, Stu starts to mourn.

“This is what I’ll miss most,” he said as he watched family and friends devour his homemade potato salad, pork and beans and chicken wings, ZZ Top’s “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers” blasting over their portable speaker. “My kids will have kids one day. And this is being ripped away from them.”

Some that pass by see and recognize Clary, sitting on the back of his truck, and come to say hi. Jeff Wagner is one of them — he drove from Sacramento on Tuesday just to attend the boycott. The Bay Area baseball fan can’t be categorized into one group, he says. The blue collar fan that identifies with A’s baseball can’t just switch over to the Giants.

“I can’t speak as a resident,” he said. “But there’s always a feeling in the shadow that we’re neglected. An afterthought.”

As Wagner talks, dozens of fans walk by the truck asking if the free green “SELL” shirts are available to pick up. As an organizer, Clary’s spot is one of a handful that gave away some of the 7,000 shirts the fan group Oakland 68s raised $30,000 in donations to produce.

The first three boxes were emptied in a matter of minutes. It took less than five minutes to empty the next five boxes. Nostalgia times is over and game time is near.

Blame traffic and low staffing, but it takes an inning for the Coliseum to fill. The crowd is 5,000 short of full capacity. This A’s team has played all year without home field support, and this crowd is dousing them with cheers. It fueled them to a 2-1 win capped with a fist pump from closer Trevor May. The A’s may have the worst record in baseball, but it was this team’s seventh straight win.

“Oh, man,” Kim said. “This is just like old times.”

After the game, the group meets back at the truck for some beers before going home. It’s dawned on them that this could be one of the last times they meet in this parking lot for an A’s game. Without the Raiders or Warriors here, they’re running out of teams to gather around. The teams they love ripped away.

“Sometimes,” Clary said. “It just feels personal.”