The Oakland A’s endured another humbling season in which they lost more games than they won, and the collateral damage has been unmistakable: tickets that once commanded premium prices are now discounted en masse, and sellouts are confined to a handful of marquee matchups against the Yankees, Giants and other national draws. Doug Kelly, writing in The Davis Enterprise, framed the moment bluntly as “baseball, but not as we know it” — a sport whose economics and social role are being remade before fans’ eyes.

On the surface this is a sports story about wins and losses. Beneath it is a business narrative about demand, pricing and the changing power of brands. Dynamic ticketing algorithms that once squeezed out casual buyers now struggle to find a base when the on-field product fails to engage. Teams that can market themselves nationally or import opponents that travel well — New York and San Francisco among them — continue to sell out, while local rivalries that once sustained weekday crowds are losing their pull. The result is a bifurcated marketplace: a handful of high-profile games that reliably generate revenue, and a long tail of contests that do not.

The implications extend beyond box-office receipts. Local bars, restaurants and transit hubs that relied on steady game-day traffic have reported softer sales on most A’s home dates, an erosion that compounds the pain of neighborhoods still rebuilding after decades of economic churn. Public discussions about stadium financing and redevelopment become harder when a team’s civic cachet is diminished and days with full stands are the exception rather than the rule.

Kelly’s column ties these on-the-ground effects to larger institutional shifts. Major League Baseball’s national media deals and burgeoning out-of-market streaming options make it easier for fans to follow star-laden opponents from home, undercutting the incentive to attend a middling local product. At the same time, franchise owners increasingly view teams as movable assets whose value can be maximized in new markets — a calculus that strains the traditional civic compact between a city and its club.

Culturally, the malaise touches identity. For generations teams like the A’s served as accessible communal rituals where diverse fan bases intersected. As attendance becomes more event-driven, affordability and access narrow, and the game risks alienating younger, less affluent and more diverse audiences that baseball needs to replenish its ranks.

The business response will be decisive. Clubs can invest in competitive rosters, local outreach and modernized ballpark experiences to rebuild steady demand. Alternatively, they can double down on cultivating marquee events and corporate partnerships that extract peak revenue from a shrinking set of dates. Both approaches carry trade-offs for equity, community investment and long-term sustainability.

Kelly’s portrait is not merely nostalgic; it is a call to reckon with how baseball’s relationships — with cities, fans and local economies — are changing. The A’s slump provides a vivid case study: when wins dry up and seats empty, the costs are felt far beyond the final score, forcing a reckoning over what kind of game, and what kind of civic institution, baseball will be in the years ahead.