Even vagrant musicians get pretentious when they plug in for more than one night. They declare any extended stay a “residency.”
Residencies are popular with entertainers who play Las Vegas. But as the Vegas A’s stumble into the second of three seasons at West Sacramento, nobody calls the interlude a residency.
I’ve heard “couch surfing” and “camping” to describe the A’s. But residency? When it comes to West Sac and the A’s, show biz pretensions can’t get to first base.
Major League Baseball sees the badlands between Oakland and Southern Nevada as a practical joke. In sports lore, old time baseball players were notorious pranksters. Just for laughs, they set shoes on fire. They called it a hot foot.
Like chain-smoking shortstops, hot foots are so 1962. But in 2026, there are major leaguers who would smile if Sutter Health Park got a hot foot and burned down.
For me, the saddest part about the A’s dropping anchor near the west bank of the Sacramento River is the defamation done to the River Cats and their ballpark.
Everyone loved the cozy little stadium before the A’s arrived. No one complained about ticket prices, hot afternoons, patchy turf, grim locker rooms or primitive media setups when the park was home to a Triple-A team.
The A’s ruined everything. They took a stage designed for minor league baseball, freshened it up with green and gold paint and nice clubhouse chairs, and expected it to pass for Dodger Stadium.
No surprise, Sutter Health Park failed. It’s a major league embarrassment.
The River Cats suffered along with their home field. For years, the team was beloved by fans because the Cats lacked the arrogance, formalities and expectations associated with the big boys. They were just a farm team, lovable, accessible, gravity-free.
Farm team status endures. But these days, when the Cats return from road trips, their presence reminds everyone that they aren’t the A’s and aren’t playing the Boston Red Sox. The River Cats can’t escape Oakland’s shadow.
Last year in these pages I worried about the damage the A’s would do to the River Cats, especially at box office. Sacramento is a small market overwhelmed and exhausted by baseball. The A’s and River Cats offer 14,000 tickets for 156 games this season. That’s 2,200,000 tickets to sell.
Such numbers are one reason minor league teams vanish in the night when cities join the major leagues. Baseball loves monopolies. And hates box office competition.
Sure enough, River Cats attendance collapsed last year. Turnstile counts fell 22%, with 1,200 fewer fans turning up each game. Most nights, the park was two-thirds empty.
Meanwhile, A’s fans had little to celebrate. The team fielded two of the best young players in baseball—shortstop Jacob Wilson and first baseman Nick Kurtz—but finished cellar-adjacent.
The A’s posted some of the highest ticket prices in baseball but were a terrible investment. People who bought A’s tickets learned they couldn’t profit by reselling seats in secondary markets.
Like Kings fans, many A’s supporters unloaded at steep discounts. Empty seats abounded.
The misery should end after the 2027 season, when the A’s theoretically move into a 33,000-capacity stadium at the old Tropicana hotel and casino site. But with A’s owner John Fisher, nothing is certain.
A Vegas ballpark is under construction, but costs have popped to $2 billion. Bally’s casino will someday wrap around the stadium, consummating the marriage between baseball and gambling. It’s unclear how Fisher plans to pay for his honeymoon.
Nevada authorities kicked in $380 million—crumbs. Fisher chose his parents well. He inherited a fortune and is worth $3 billion. But he’s the cheapest owner in baseball. Nobody thinks Fisher will write checks to cover funding gaps. The A’s need partners.
Back in Sacramento, let’s look past the A’s. Think about the River Cats. All they need is love.
R.E. Graswich can be reached at regraswich@icloud.com. Follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram: @insidesacramento.
