In the right-field stands, an Oakland A's die-hard faces an empty future (2024)

OAKLAND, Calif. — As outfielder Lawrence Butler took his perch in right field for the Oakland A’s, he turned towards the stands, his eyes scanning the seats behind him, looking for one man in particular.

This is a daily ritual between Butler and the fan he was seeking. A fan who is heartbroken about the rapidly decreasing number of days until his world is upended. A fan who has taken the same seat in right field for two decades — supporting this club literally every single night.

A’s fans who come to games are few and far between. Many have dealt with the anger by refusing to support owner John Fisher in any way, staying away from the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum.

Others have dealt with the chaos by keeping their routine. They soak in every single second they can in their beloved ballpark before the chance is gone forever.

There used to be 50 die-hards who sat in those right-field seats each game. That number has dwindled to about 15. Perhaps the most committed of those is Will MacNeil, an Oakland staple who goes by “RF Will” and brandishes a flag bearing that moniker. “Athletics Fan For Life” is plastered in large lettering above the nickname.

In the outfield, Butler did what he always does when he spots MacNeil. He stuck his glove out and smiled at his friend. MacNeil slapped his chest, above his heart, and pointed back.

“He’s been amazing, man. A die-hard Oakland A’s fan. Always supporting us, no matter what,” Butler said. “They still come and support us, even though a lot of them don’t want to. Not because of us, but because of all the other things going on. He still comes to every game. He’s always there.”

It’s easy to watch A’s games in person and on television and chide the fanbase for not showing up. A’s management and Major League Baseball have sold a story that Oakland is not a viable big league market.

Fans of the team have spent the last two years revolting against this narrative. Showing how much they care about their team through fanfests, protests, boycotts, and even reverse boycotts. Some of those fans, MacNeil said, are mad at him for continuing to go.

But MacNeil, 40, has much in common with that group. He hates Fisher and team president Dave Kaval. He hates what they’re taking from him. But so long as there is baseball to be played in his hometown, he won’t let them take away the center of his life.

MacNeil sat with The Athletic to watch a game earlier this month. In the same right field section that he’s long called home. His sunglasses shielded his eyes from the blinding setting sun that shines directly at him each game. They also masked the emotion of the conversation.

“I’m trying to enjoy every last moment I have here. This is my life,” MacNeil said. “I won’t trade this for the world. I’m so glad I still get to do this. But it really hurts.

“You are ripping away a part of my life, that has been a part of my life, since I was a little kid. And I’m supposed to be just like, ‘OK that’s cool’? Nah, man. That’s the most disrespectful stuff I could ever imagine.”

For the last few years, MacNeil has worked as a fill-in public address announcer for the Stockton Ports — Oakland’s Low-A affiliate located just an hour’s drive away. He uses the position to engage with fans from behind the microphone, regardless of the score.

He’s formed relationships with players over time, and watched prospects grow into big leaguers. That’s how he became friends with Butler, Zack Gelof and others. Those players will leave him tickets when he travels to watch the A’s on the road.

His appreciation for this franchise can’t and won’t be defined by who owns it. It’s the players and their growth that keep him coming back.

“He’s one of my favorite people I’ve ever met,” said Ports general manager Jordan Fenneck. “The energy he brings to the ballpark and the people around him is unmatched. I think Will’s been to more baseball games than anyone in their entire lives. You can tell he truly loves the game.”

A’s fans argue that the front office and ownership have made the team bad by design. For decades, Oakland was able to field a highly competitive roster on a lower budget. In recent years, players with any semblance of talent have been shipped off long before free agency.

That modus operandi, combined with the franchise’s impending departure, makes it difficult to be invested in the players, the team and the actual on-field results. MacNeil has found a way to compartmentalize it all. Caring about their performance is reflexive, if not pragmatic. It’s all he knows.

“When I see a win, it gives me something. When they lose, I still wear it for a little bit too. I can’t turn the switch off. I still love this team more than you could ever imagine.”

The team, though, hasn’t always loved him back. It was MacNeil who found the infamous discarded memo on the floor of the Coliseum, telling employees to avoid any mention of “Oakland” or “Rooted in Oakland signage.”

Sooooo this was found at the Coliseum tonight…UNREAL #Athletics pic.twitter.com/5BCOq1NMVg

— Will MacNeil (@RFWill149) April 3, 2024

Known for taking selfies, he was recently rejected by GM David Forst, and believed it was related to his outspoken criticism.

The A’s declined to explain Forst’s perspective on the interaction but did provide a general statement on their relationship with the fanbase.

“The A’s will always deeply appreciate the unwavering support of their fans,” a team spokeswoman said. “We understand how difficult this last season at the Coliseum is, and we support fans in finding their own ways to celebrate their love for this team.”

To MacNeil, those words ring hollow. Yet he still goes to the seat he first purchased decades ago, and brings a modernized version of the flag he originally purchased in August 2005.

Every time an A’s batter comes up, he’ll stand up and wave it. Every game he goes to this year, he makes sure that “Oakland” is printed across whatever shirt or jersey he’s wearing. Before this season started, he purchased another flag, and it remains unopened, still in its original plastic wrap. He’s saving that one, he says, because he wants to pass it down. Should he ever have a child, it will be theirs.

He wants the people he’s closest with to understand what defines him.

“This is a very proud part of who I am,” he said. “I am going to miss flying something that says ‘Oakland’ on it. This is my team.”

MacNeil works as a sales manager at a hotel. They let him work his schedule around the A’s. That’s his job, but his baseball team is his life.

The Dublin, Calif., resident comes from a family of San Francisco Giants fans, but he picked the A’s as a child because of the green and gold colors, which he says give the best look in baseball.

He’ll still travel to A’s games on the road next year, as he’ll do for their final three games representing Oakland in late September of this year against the Seattle Mariners. He won’t root for the Giants, but plans to attend games whenever the A’s are in town.

He has to talk himself into getting excited about what his baseball fandom will look like after this season. He does plan to make weekend trips to see the A’s play at Sutter Health Park, a minor league stadium, in Sacramento next season. But beyond that it’ll mostly be the Ports, plus the independent-league Oakland Ballers and Dublin Leprechauns. Every time he brings it up, he reverts to the same realization: “It’s not the big leagues.”

“I can’t imagine coming here next March or April, on Opening Day, and I’m not coming here to watch my team,” he said. “I’m not seeing my friends every day. It’s an emotional kick to the nuts.”

MacNeil’s eyes started to well up. Every game, he’s well aware, is one game closer to the last one, the last time he’ll walk into a venue that is more of a home to him than anywhere else in the world.

The Oakland Roots, a USL pro soccer team, will play in the Coliseum next year. He’s wrestled with the idea of going just for the sake of being back. This stadium is considered a dump by the standards of modern baseball venues. Yet for MacNeil, the Coliseum transcends its aesthetic. It’s about the feeling he gets when he takes his seat; when he sees the people around him that know him and appreciate him. He started to cry, because he knows what that feeling means. And he’s long dreaded that rapidly-approaching final game.

“It’s going to be one of the worst days of my life,” he said. “It’s going to hurt. It’s really going to hurt.

“I would sell my soul to keep the A’s here.”

Less than one minute later, Max Scheumann came to the plate, another player MacNeil watched for years. Another player he feels close to.

The inescapable heartbreak is months away. He knows it. He dreads it.

But then Scheumann drove a ball to left field. MacNeil rose from his chair, his entire train of thought lost.

“Get up, get up, get up,” he shouted over and over again. As it went over the wall, he screamed out an extended “Yeah!”

For one moment, MacNeil was able to forget about everything else. He was able to do what he does best.

(Top photo of MacNeil: Sam Blum / The Athletic)

Sam Blum is a staff writer for The Athletic covering the Los Angeles Angels and Major League Baseball. Before joining The Athletic, he was a sports reporter for the Dallas Morning News. Previously, he covered Auburn for AL.com and the University of Virginia for The Daily Progress in Charlottesville.