Saturday’s double-dip truly had an event feel. It’s hard for the A’s to wring value out of a game when tickets are so cheap and frequently discounted. There were no bobbleheads or fireworks today, which made the game itself the real attraction. When the preliminary schedule was released, there was no doubleheader and the series was a typical post-ASB four-gamer. Even though combined attendance for typical Thursday and Saturday games would have eclipsed the 27,379 posted today, today’s number was a better number. From the look of the crowd and the parking lot, 27,379 is more reflective of the actual attendance than the regular paid figure. That feeling of fullness multiplies the sense of energy within the crowd and the venue.
Despite the good vibes, the day was not without hiccups. I didn’t arrive until the bottom of the first inning, which means that I didn’t experience the service debacle that Bryan Cauwels (Hey Bud, PleA’se stop the TeA’se) did. According to Cauwels, many of the concession stands were not fully staffed or ready to serve until 1:30 PM. If this was a strategic plan by the A’s and Aramark to work with a late-arriving crowd, it backfired as many were left standing at concessionaires that normally would’ve been open at that time. Cauwels also went to the West Side Club, where he tried to get sandwich, only to be turned down because the sandwich vendor ran out of bread. I’m not sure how a vendor runs out of bread before a game starts, but it doesn’t make much sense.
By the second and third innings, the lines cleared up and nearly every stand along the original concourses was open. Both stands in the value deck were also open. Lines were short or non-existent, except in the West Side Club. That’s where, in between games, I hung out with a bunch of AN regulars. While in the Club I got an impassioned plea from Josh “emperor nobody” Chase Fields, which was centered on protecting the A’s legacy and progressing to something better (a new ballpark), then an assault on baseball’s antitrust exemption, and finally, a polemic. Since I don’t do polemicizing on the blog, I’m going to try to distill what he said into something with a little less heightened rhetoric. That’ll take some time, so that’s for later in the week.
Once the second game started, I roamed around the Coliseum as I’m wont to do from time to time. Seagulls hovered over the seats, confused about the crowd that was not abandoning the birds’ rightful dinner (their Pavlovian cue is the seventh inning stretch). After taking in the sun for several innings in Section 205, I walked around to the other side of the Coli and met up again with the ANers in 229.
All the while, I was keeping tabs on something statistical. I have a passing interest in the Bay Area’s microclimates, hence my nom de plume (partly). Since we were guaranteed at least six hours of baseball from first pitch to last, I figured I’d jot down the temperatures in both Oakland and San Jose during the game. These are according to AccuWeather, which has in its data a statistic called Real Feel. Real Feel is a trademarked, not publicly codified measure containing a composite of ambient temperature, humidity, sunlight, wind, and other factors combined to approximate the actual feeling on skin. For the period when the sun broke through, there were times when the sun brought the temperature inside the stadium well above 70. When the low clouds reformed, temperatures felt as though they dropped considerably. Saturday was unseasonably cool, so to compare the two cities properly I’ll run this again next month, when the region hits its seasonal highs.

Dew point - which is closely tied to humidity - in the region is usually between 50 and 58 degrees Fahrenheit, which is one reason why the Bay Area is so comfortable year round.
In future comparisons, I’ll probably use data from both AccuWeather and Weather Underground for greater granularity and accuracy. Let me know what you’d like to see in this. What I’m most curious about is the effect of humidity on a baseball’s flight. We on the West Coast have a good idea of what the marine layer can do to a fly ball, especially at night, but there hasn’t been much written or said about why. I think it’s really important to understand this, so that we can know what the right-sized ballpark is in Oakland, San Jose, etc. As much as I love 1-0 pitching matchups, I also don’t want our developing hitters in the farm system to feel that they’re condemned to a life of singles and doubles if they don an A’s uniform. There’s a lot more coming on weather and climate throughout the second half of the season.




