A’s ritzy Las Vegas ballpark ‘experience’ shows John Fisher’s priorities

A candy wall.

The Athletics’ new ballpark under construction in Las Vegas will feature a candy wall.

I thought a candy wall was something you ran into at about 10 o’clock on Halloween night. But, no.

A candy wall is a feature of a super-excloo club within the bowels of the A’s new ballpark, part of a space for high-end ticket holders.

The team’s announcement didn’t explain what a candy wall is. If you don’t know, don’t worry, you’ll never get to see one. Apparently, rich people are into candy. So grab some pine, Green Monster, you’re no longer baseball’s coolest wall.

The same team owner who stopped giving out free scorecards and golf pencils to season-ticket holders in Oakland because the expense was cutting into his art fund, is building his new fans a candy wall.

It’s part of the A’s ballgame “experience,” at least for certain people, and they know who they are. The stadium will feature two clubs, the Diamond Club and the Athletic Club, for high-end season-ticket holders and assorted VIPs.

“The Athletic Club and Diamond Club are ultra-premium, all-inclusive experiences designed for fans seeking the highest level of hospitality,” said team president Marc Badain.

What about fans seeking the highest level of baseball? I guess if you’re chomping a wagyu hot dog with caviar relish, you don’t have time to worry about your team, giving it a go out there on that field.

The A’s released nine artist renderings of the two clubs. Missing from all nine renderings: baseball. Zero view of the actual ballfield. 

The Athletic Club is designed to radiate “speakeasy vibes.” First of all, nobody younger than 90 knows what a speakeasy is. Second, a ballpark is not a speakeasy, it is a speakloudly.

In the renderings, the Diamond Club has all the warm charm of the lobby of the Trump Dubai Hotel.

At least John Fisher will be spending money on talent. The ritzy clubs will “feature personalized, high‑touch hospitality delivered by maître d’s, sommeliers, and dining concierges who anticipate needs, honor personal preferences, and create memorable moments.”

Isn’t that what spouses are for?

If you don’t know what a maître d, sommelier or dining concierge is, and also don’t know how to pronounce ’em, you just might be a bumpkin.

Let’s not bury the big news, though.

Fisher apparently is building his dream ballpark, right there on the Las Vegas Strip. You can go to the A’s website and see the construction cam, and clearly this is no bluff. Fisher recently said the ballpark is on schedule and under budget.

There were skeptics. I was leading the pack. Fisher wouldn’t find the money, we believed, or it was all a deke, like all his plans for new A’s ballparks around the Bay Area.

But there it is, rising before our eyes. So, credit to Fisher.

Even if he completes the ballpark, packs it every game and delights the city of Las Vegas, Fisher can’t outrun his past. He’s the man who wasted a generation of Oakland A’s baseball with his pathetic and dubious ballpark search, his obsession with saving money and his escalating ripoff of baseball and Oakland.

He can try to make amends in Las Vegas. It looks like he’ll be doing his best. The A’s website promises “Baseball in Las Vegas. Redefined.”

That’s encouraging, because before Fisher and his crew redefined baseball, they were not good at it. They could make baseball profitable, but not palatable.

Now Fisher’s got a mulligan. Sadly, he’s about to slice it into the woods, again.

Baseball in Vegas is an iffy proposition. Studies (that I made up or slightly exaggerated) show that only 15 people in all of Southern Nevada were eager for the city to attract a big-league baseball team, and all 15 of those people own casinos.

To succeed, to draw the requisite full house every game that will be required to fund payroll, the A’s must win the hearts of the locals. The team’s best strategy is to present itself as a scrappy, grass-stained Gashouse Gang of shoulder-bechipped underdogs.

Instead, the A’s masterminds are honking up the high-end perks, building an image of a team whose relief pitchers will be escorted to the mound by a maître d. Will this mound be suitable, sir?

I get it, every new sports venue tries to top the previous in catering to the superwealthy. You gotta pay the bills. Most parks and stadiums have an exclusive enclave where the elite and effete meet to greet, eat and tweet, and maybe shoot skeet.

The Dodgers probably started it all, back in 1962 when they opened their new stadium, which had an entire VIP deck and an exclusive Stadium Club.  At least the Stadium Club overlooked the field, making the game a part of the game “experience.” If you’re dining in the Athletic Club, you’ll have to send your sommelier out to the field to find out who’s winning.

While the Athletic Club might not be any snootier than, say, the Gotham Club at Oracle Park, it will be trying to be snootier than thou. I promise you there will be nothing on the Athletic Club menu that will be topped with nacho cheese and served in a miniature batting helmet.

“At the center of it all,” brags the A’s website, “is a commitment to thoughtfulness and genuine graciousness.”

Who needs that stuff? It’s a baseball game … somewhere out there … beyond the candy wall.