OAKLAND, Calif. – Oakland Athletics fans braced themselves for this day since April, knowing the end was coming. But after spending all summer hoping for a miracle, or just a simple glitch that would save the team, they are now left with a raw and utterly helpless feeling.

They’ve been chanting “Sell the Team! Sell the Team!” louder with each game. They organized reverse boycotts and rallies. They’ve tried everything possible to break Athletics owner John Fisher’s spirit, even appealing to his morality, but nothing has worked.

They have been hanging signs over the railing in right field – “Rooted in Revenue Share” to “Goodbye MLB” to “Generational Robbery” – but have no idea whether Fisher actually sees them.

When they walk through the turnstiles Thursday morning for the final time in the 57-year history of Oakland Coliseum, this sold-out crowd of nearly 46,000 fans will have one final chance to vent their anger, show their affection, or simply wallow in sorrow with the franchise headed to Sacramento next season.

There will be 200 Oakland police officers on hand – about 180 more than normal – to make sure those sentiments are only verbalized, with security officials from the Athletics and Texas Rangers already having meetings with players to issue warnings, advising them to be cautious and leave the field as quickly as possible after the final out.

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There already have been recent incidents, officials say, in which fans have snuck wrenches and different tools into the facility to rip stadium seats out of the concrete to bring home for souvenirs.

“I don’t think there will be violence,” says East Bay native Jeff Lyon, who purchased tickets in Section 318 months ago and plans to take his seventh grade son out of school to see the historic finale. “We’ve been through the anger. The handwriting has been on the wall for a while. I think we’ll just enjoy it for what it is.”

The sentiments and feelings expressed by the fans really are no different for five longtime and instrumental former members of the A’s organization, who managed to suffocate their groundswell of emotions all season but no longer may be able to hold back.

Dave Stewart, the four-time 20-game winner who grew up just a few blocks from the Coliseum, will try to keep his eyes from watering while throwing out the ceremonial first pitch Thursday alongside Hall of Fame outfielder Rickey Henderson.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, what’s taken place with the team,” Stewart tells USA TODAY Sports. “I’ve had a ringside seat to all of this stuff going on. So, it’s not a surprise. I kind of resigned myself the last few years that the A’s were moving.

“But, up until now, it didn’t really hit me. That’s why I didn’t talk about it before.”

Steve Vucinich, a local East Bay kid who became the longest tenured employee in the A’s organization before retiring a year ago after 54 years as their equipment manager, began crying earlier this week and will unashamedly let the tears stream down his face Thursday.

“I knew I had to be here,” Vucinich said, sitting on the A’s bench, staring across the field. “I grew up watching this place being built. I could see the light standards going up from my house. Now, to think there won’t be any baseball played here again, that’s tough to accept.

“You see all of these people who work here who are going to lose their jobs.

“It’s going to turn into a cry-fest.”

Lew Wolff, the 88-year-old real estate developer who was the A’s managing partner for 10 years with Fisher, wasn’t invited to participate in any of the festivities. He instead will be in Las Vegas and won’t try to hide his contempt toward the San Francisco Giants.

“People can blame whoever they want,” Wolff says, “but the real reason the A’s are going to Vegas is because of the San Francisco Giants. It’s that simple. It’s not right.”

Reggie Jackson, the Hall of Fame slugger who led the A’s to three consecutive World Series championships and lives in Monterrey, will spend the day believing he was wronged by former Commissioner Bud Selig when he tried to purchase the A’s 20 years ago, before anyone heard of Fisher.

“I love the team,” Jackson said. “I love the town. I’ve got no remorse in Oakland. The only remorse is I didn’t get the chance to buy the team when they said I could.”

Mark McGwire, who broke onto the scene in 1987 hitting 47 homers, joining teammate Jose Canseco to form the Bash Brothers, says he refuses to let any of those beautiful memories fade but just wishes they could be preserved forever in the Coliseum.

“I feel sad for the Bay Area, I really do,” McGwire says. “It’s very unfortunate the owner and the city and the state couldn’t come up with something, or that MLB couldn’t help. I know that people there are very, very upset. They should be. It’s a sad, sad day.”

If anyone is to blame for the A’s departure, McGwire believes it’s the city of Oakland for bringing the Raiders back and building the monstrosity in the outfield that’s called Mount Davis, dramatically altering the stadium’s beauty.

“It’s amazing the city bent over backwards to ruin the stadium, building Mount Davis so that the Raiders could play eight games a year,” McGwire says. “But for a team that plays 81 games, with a very good backing of fans, they let it go. It doesn’t make any sense. That stadium was absolutely gorgeous, and they ruined it.”

The A’s (68-90) again have the lowest attendance in baseball, averaging less than 11,000 fans a game. It has been five years since the A’s have drawn 1 million fans, and 10 years since they drew 2 million. Only once since 2006 have the A’s finished among the top 10 teams in attendance in the American League.

The A’s fans blame Fisher for not showing up, believing he was trying to drive the team out of the city by maintaining one of the lowest payrolls in baseball. They’ve had a player payroll exceeding $100 million just once, averaging a paltry $52 million payroll the past three seasons.

Yet even after reaching the postseason three consecutive years from 2018 to 2020, and seven times since Fisher purchased the team in 2005, the A’s haven’t finished among the top five AL teams since 1992.

“I don’t agree with everything John has done,” Wolff says, “but I don’t blame him for this not working out. The people that did come out were loyal, but we just didn’t have enough fans.

“The joke was that if we raised ticket prices a dollar, the stadium would be empty.”

The A’s attempted to move to five different sites in the Bay Area, but nothing ever came close to materializing with the city and county. Their dream site was San Jose, heart of Silicon Valley, but the Giants refused to share their territorial rights, despite receiving Santa Clara County from the A’s when the Giants nearly moved to Tampa in the early 1990s.

“That was so unfair,” Wolff said. “Even if we didn’t go there, just having that little inducement would have gotten the attention of Oakland. They had three different mayors when I was there. They all loved baseball. None of them lifted a finger to help.”

Now, the fans feel like Fisher is the one who flipped them the finger, leaving for West Sacramento for at least three years to share a minor league complex with the Giants’ Triple-A facility, and then off to Las Vegas.

It leaves Oakland with a decaying stadium, no tenants outside of two soccer league teams, and an area that’s becoming so desolate and crime-ridden that even the local In-N-Out was closed down because of carjackings and break-ins. It was the first time in the franchise’s 75-year history they closed a facility.

“I remember growing up blocks from the Coliseum, and when they built it, it economically changed our whole area,” Stewart says. “Hotels went up. Restaurants. A Costco. Walmart. Everything was generated because of the Oakland A’s. Economically, it did so much for the area.

“Now look what’s happening; it’s just like it used to be. The crime rate has gone up. Businesses have shut down. The hotels closed. Now that the Raiders have left, the Warriors are gone, and now the A’s, the lack of business at the Coliseum is going to have a big effect.”

When Jackson played in Oakland, from 1968 to 1985, it was the golden era of A’s baseball. They won three consecutive World Series titles, reached the playoffs five consecutive years, averaging 95 victories.

The team was loaded with stars like Jackson, Catfish Hunter, Joe Rudi, Sal Bando, Blue Moon Odom, Vida Blue and Rollie Fingers.

Eventually, owner Charlie Finley couldn’t afford to keep them with the advent of free agency, but no team was more dominant, or colorful, or even innovative.

“I remember Charlie the Mule being paraded around the field in pregame,” Stewart said, sneaking into the gates. “There was a (mechanical) bunny rabbit with a basket of balls behind home plate for the umpire. There were ball girls who wore hot pants and having hot pants nights. There were the green-and-gold uniforms with white shoes. It was unreal what they did, man. And it worked.”

It was the place to be, Jackson says, making the community proud to call the A’s their team.

“I loved playing there,” Jackson said. “It was really a Black town, that’s how people would refer it, and everyone made you feel like family. It was a special, special place. The people there were so genuine, many who are still there.”

It was this love affair for the organization, Jackson says, when he and his financial partners tried to buy the team from Steve Schott and Ken Hofmann when it came up for sale in 2005. Jackson vowed that no matter how high the bid got, his group would top it.

“But Bud (Selig) kept me out for some reason,” Jackson said. “He kept saying, ‘Reggie, I’ll take care of it.’ I never got a chance to bid. I don’t know what happened.

“All I know is that I was under the impression that Fisher and his group wanted to do a service for the area, but that didn’t happen. Now look what’s happened.

“That place is old. It hasn’t been updated or freshened up. But it will always have a special place in my heart.”

It was the people, they’ll tell you, who made it a special place. There are folks still working at the stadium when Stewart was 11 years old selling Coca-Cola in the stadium. Wolff would visit the A’s manager before each game, sit in his seats for three innings, and then spend the rest of the game hanging out with the fans and stadium workers. Vucinich, even after retiring and moving full time to Phoenix, planned to keep his East Bay condo to regularly visit until the A’s announced their move to Sacramento.

“There were a lot of reasons this didn’t work,” Stewart says. “The fan base today doesn’t like ownership, saying they had no interest in winning, and there are no players they can identify with. But even when they were winning 97 games in back-to-back years (2018-2019), they were averaging less than 20,000 a game. That’s tough to do business.”

Stewart pauses, still keeping his emotions in check, and wonders like everyone else what Thursday will bring at the Coliseum one last time.

“Everyone wants to blame someone for this,” Stewart says, “but nobody wants to point the finger at themselves.

“Now, everyone’s paying the price.”