The face of the A’s is a septuagenarian with olive skin, a
genial smile and a mop of white hair. It looks nothing like Billy
Beane, because it’s not Billy Beane. It’s Lew Wolff, which means
baseball in Oakland isn’t as significant as it used to be. The
profile of Beane, the general manager who once stood tall astride
this sports enterprise, has been eclipsed by that of the managing
partner. Wolff, perhaps deliberately, has evolved into the symbol
of this foundering operation.
The face of the A’s is a septuagenarian with olive skin, a genial smile and a mop of white hair. It looks nothing like Billy Beane, because it’s not Billy Beane.
It’s Lew Wolff, which means baseball in Oakland isn’t as significant as it used to be.
The profile of Beane, the general manager who once stood tall astride this sports enterprise, has been eclipsed by that of the managing partner. Wolff, perhaps deliberately, has evolved into the symbol of this foundering operation.
And if that doesn’t explain Beane’s absence, it certainly sheds light on Wolff’s carefully orchestrated contribution to A’s FanFest, attended by roughly 7,000 on Sunday at Oracle Arena. Whereas Billy’s custom was to field questions from the audience during this promotion, a shepherd addressing his adoring flock, Lew did no such thing.
While Beane apparently was out of town, Wolff’s interaction with fans was limited to those invited to his office, which was fewer than 10, each one at a time.
It was a wise move on the part of Wolff and his staff, surely recognizing that a displeased individual is less daunting – and more easily mollified – than an angry mob.
That’s what has formed around Wolff. Many A’s fans have had enough. They’re not renewing their ticket plans. They’ve endured Wolff’s endless prattle about leaving O.co Coliseum and moving out of Oakland. They’ve watched their beloved club plummet from contender to irrelevance.
They are raw from the effects of an offseason dismantling in which three All-Stars, still quite affordable, were swapped for prospects who could reach their primes by 2020.
And, based on recent history, those primes will take place in different uniforms.
A’s fans know Beane made the deals, but they blame Wolff and his silent partner, John Fisher, for creating a climate cool to the concept of chasing every game, every season.
“What I try to do is pick up the phone and talk with them,” Wolff explained during a news conference. “Some agree. And some say, ‘Gee, we’ve heard this so much and we don’t agree with you.’
“From our point of view, we are not giving up. We’re not trying to reduce payroll just to put money in our pockets. We really want to win. And we thought we’d be there sooner.”
When Wolff says “there,” he means a place other than Oakland, ideally San Jose, which he identifies as the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow. He may be right. The South Bay generally is wealthier and more densely populated with businesses prone to treating their employees and friends to the delights of a luxury box, bar included.
To many current A’s fans, however, “there” is defined as an attractive team capable of contending, as the A’s were in the seven seasons before the Wolff-Fisher ownership. Those clubs averaged 94 wins per season and made four postseason appearances.
Though the book and movie “Moneyball” got much of the praise that rightfully belonged to the likes of Jason Giambi, Miguel Tejada, Tim Hudson, Mark Mulder and Barry Zito, talk was of baseball and not a ballpark.
The team’s priority clearly was the game, not the yard. Billy emerged as the face of the club. Owners Steve Schott and Ken Hoffman were tolerated because they sold a quality product. The A’s mattered more than their location.
That they don’t matter as much as they once did lands in the laps of Wolff and Fisher, whose every desire is framed by the purpose of getting a ballpark in San Jose.
“People think I don’t care about them,” Wolff said. “But I think the people who come here are the most loyal of all fans you can get, because here I am telling us we’re going to move and we’re not going to have these players. I don’t know if I was convincing about it, but I was giving them my logic and the logic of our people.”
Meanwhile, the players come, they thrive and they go.
“We’re all trying to do the best that we can, and we’re very committed and very appreciative of the fans that can stick with us,” Wolff said. “I know how hard that is. But I think we’ll be there soon.”
Until then, the A’s are less a baseball club than a franchise adrift, paddling in circles indefinitely. Their narrative no longer is about whom or what, but when and where.
There are no answers to either, not yet. It’s forever Oakland, and probably irrelevant for the time being, until it’s someplace else.
So Wolff, in his mid-70s, is the face of the franchise. He won’t meet the masses, but he also won’t hide with the regularity of, say, former Warriors owner Chris Cohan.
Billy and the fans will have to accept this. They won’t be happy about it, but happiness isn’t an option when your favorite team is staring at tiny crowds and a 100-loss season.
