For Oakland A’s fans, the name John Fisher might ring a bell, but the face? That’s a different story. Despite being the principal owner of the team for 15 years, John Fisher remains an enigma to the very fanbase he ostensibly serves. Many A’s supporters wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd, a testament to his deliberate avoidance of the public eye. For years, Fisher allowed his minority partner, Lew Wolff, to absorb the brunt of public criticism, portraying him as the face of cheap ownership and the seemingly perpetual failure to secure a new stadium in Oakland. After quietly pushing Wolff aside, Fisher didn’t step into the spotlight himself. Instead, he appointed Dave Kaval, a more affable figure, as team president – a front-facing representative tasked with rebranding the franchise and navigating the complexities of building a new ballpark in Oakland.
Throughout this period, a fundamental question lingered in the minds of A’s faithful: who exactly was the silent money behind the team? This $2.7 billion man, ranked among the wealthiest owners in Major League Baseball, consistently refrained from investing any significant portion of his vast fortune into the on-field product. Did John Fisher even care about baseball? Why did he own the team in the first place if not to compete?
The prevailing assumption among fans was that Fisher was simply cheap. The A’s, after all, had become synonymous with low payrolls and a constant shedding of star players. This reputation for frugality wasn’t just a perception; it was seemingly baked into the team’s operational DNA.
Now, the extent of this perceived cheapness has been thrown into stark, undeniable relief by a pair of public letters. While it’s perhaps unwise to declare definitively that Fisher has reached the absolute nadir of spending, these communications suggest a new depth of austerity that feels like rock bottom for many loyal fans.
The first letter, delivered by General Manager David Forst, placed him in the unenviable position of delivering devastating news to minor league players. News that, crucially, was not of Forst’s making. The message was clear and brutal: John Fisher had decided to cease paying minor leaguers their already meager $400 weekly stipend. This decision, seemingly designed to cut costs during a period of uncertainty, is estimated to save the organization less than $1 million annually. To put that in perspective, it’s less than the sum the A’s paid veteran Brandon Moss to briefly participate in Spring Training, a move made solely to facilitate a minor trade for pitcher Ryan Buchter.
The second letter, however, was even more impactful. It came directly from John Fisher himself, addressed to the fans. This communication was noteworthy precisely because of its rarity. It stands as perhaps the first substantive public statement from the owner in memory. This letter warrants a closer examination, as it is a spectacularly tone-deaf message that begs the question of how it ever received approval for distribution, save for perhaps Fisher’s own inflated ego convincing him it was a necessary and well-received gesture. Let’s dissect this communication piece by piece.
To our friends, family, and colleagues,
“Friends, family, and colleagues?” This opening immediately misses the mark. A’s fans are fans, customers, supporters – but not friends or family in a business context, and certainly not colleagues. This attempt at forced intimacy feels disingenuous from the outset.
I hope each of you and your families are safe and sound during this challenging period.
This sentiment, while superficially polite, rings hollow when immediately followed by actions that directly undermine the financial security and well-being of many within the A’s organization. It’s a jarring disconnect – offering thoughts of safety while simultaneously wielding the hammer of economic hardship.
I am writing to you personally today because you are our fans, employees, and members of our A’s family. This has been a tremendously difficult day and I wanted to share some important updates with you. While I normally stay behind the scenes, mostly because I believe in the leaders who run the team day-to-day, I felt that you should hear this news directly from me given the extraordinary nature of these times.
The claim of writing “personally” is undermined by the generic and corporate tone of the letter. The assertion that Fisher “normally stays behind the scenes” is not a virtue, but rather reinforces the perception of an absentee owner. Framing this communication as an “extraordinary” step due to “extraordinary times” only highlights how detached and uninvolved Fisher typically is. Should fans be impressed that the owner finally decided to send out a form letter to his customer base during a crisis?
I am very saddened to let you know that we have implemented a significant temporary furlough of staff positions, and reduced compensation for staff members who are not furloughed. We are also suspending compensation for the A’s minor league players.
The shift from “I” to “we” when announcing the cuts is a classic deflection tactic. While presented as a collective decision, the reality is that these are ownership-driven choices. The passive voice obscures accountability and avoids Fisher taking direct responsibility for the unpopular measures.
Our first priority is to those who are being impacted by these decisions, and we will do everything possible to support them during this time.
This statement is demonstrably false. “Everything possible to support them” rings incredibly hollow when the primary action being taken is to eliminate their income. Support, in this context, seems to mean anything except actual financial support.
Many of those affected by these decisions have been loyal to the A’s for years – some even decades. I want to apologize to every person impacted.
An apology, without any tangible action to mitigate the harm caused, offers little comfort to those struggling with sudden unemployment or reduced income. A vague apology is a poor substitute for genuine support, particularly for individuals who have dedicated years of service to the organization.
Baseball is more than a job – it is a way of life.
This statement is particularly galling coming from John Fisher. For him, baseball is likely a business and perhaps a hobby, but certainly not a “way of life.” For many minor leaguers and team staff, however, baseball is their livelihood, their profession, and their passion. This platitude reveals a fundamental disconnect between the owner’s perspective and the lived experiences of those he is impacting.
People who work for our team are our family – our very foundation — and they work tirelessly to help the A’s compete in this most precious game.
Again, the “family” rhetoric clashes sharply with the act of furloughing employees and cutting pay. If team staff are truly considered “family” and the “foundation,” then their financial well-being should be a priority, especially during difficult times. Actions speak louder than words, and these actions demonstrate a clear disregard for the very people Fisher claims to value. The decision to furlough staff in key roles is likely to erode trust and loyalty within the organization, potentially leading talented individuals to seek more stable and appreciative employers. Minor leaguers, in particular, are unlikely to forget being abandoned during a crisis, potentially impacting their motivation and development.
COVID-19 has brought a tragic loss of life and sickness to so many in our community, and it has impacted us all in ways we could have never imagined. Our organization, like so many others across the country, has had to make tough and painful decisions. We all miss baseball, and we want it back as soon as possible. We want the season to get underway soon, and we believe that the healing power of the game will help bring our community here at home – and across the nation — together again.
While acknowledging the impact of COVID-19 is reasonable, using it as a blanket justification for these specific cost-cutting measures is disingenuous. The assertion that “so many others across the country” are taking similar steps is misleading; in fact, the A’s were among the first, if not the first, MLB team to announce such drastic measures. This attempt to normalize the decision falls flat when contrasted with the actions of other organizations.
I know that many of you will wonder why the A’s are cutting costs now. Nobody knows how this pandemic will evolve over the long term. What is clear is that our revenues will be dramatically reduced this year.
Here, the true motivation is revealed: reduced revenue. However, this explanation omits crucial context. John Fisher has benefited from significant franchise appreciation and annual profits during his ownership tenure. These gains have accrued to him personally, while the financial risks are now being disproportionately shifted onto lower-paid employees. The estimated $2 million in savings from these cuts is a minuscule fraction of Fisher’s overall wealth and the team’s long-term financial picture. Framing these cuts as a necessary measure for survival strains credulity, especially when considering the potential damage to team morale, fan relations, and the organization’s reputation. Why not view this relatively small sum as an investment in goodwill, employee loyalty, and community relations, particularly at a time when the A’s are seeking public support for a new stadium project? The decision appears driven by short-sighted cost-cutting rather than a strategic long-term vision.
None of this diminishes the pain of today’s actions, but it is an honest acknowledgement of the circumstances of the moment.
This claim of “honest acknowledgement” is undermined by the lack of transparency surrounding the team’s finances. If Fisher truly sought honesty, he would open the books and demonstrate the actual financial hardship necessitating these cuts. Without such transparency, the assertion of honesty rings hollow and self-serving. Fans are left to wonder about the true financial picture and question whether these measures are genuinely necessary or simply an exercise in maximizing profit at the expense of employees and public perception.
I became involved with the A’s because I love the game of baseball. I love the drama that can unfold in a few innings, or even a single pitch. I love rooting for our team.
This statement is difficult to reconcile with Fisher’s consistent absence from public view and the team’s persistent financial constraints. Fifteen years of ownership with minimal public engagement and a consistent pattern of underinvestment casts doubt on the sincerity of this professed love for baseball and the A’s.
I want our employees and fans to know that we remain deeply committed to the long-term future of the Oakland A’s, including our new ballpark, which we know can be a positive force for the City of Oakland and the East Bay. With this said, above all else, my concerns today are with every single person in our organization who is being personally affected. Through no fault of any of our staff, today’s actions are hard.
The juxtaposition of “long-term future” and “new ballpark” with the immediate pain inflicted by furloughs and pay cuts highlights a profound disconnect. If Fisher is truly committed to the A’s future in Oakland, alienating fans and demoralizing employees through these actions seems counterproductive. The stated concern for “every single person in our organization” again clashes with the tangible impact of the decisions being made.
We look forward to welcoming employees and fans back to the game as soon as possible.
For many fans, this incident has fundamentally altered their relationship with the Oakland A’s. Knowing that their financial support ultimately benefits an owner perceived as uncaring and detached creates a moral dilemma. While fans love the team and the game, the actions of John Fisher have made it increasingly difficult to separate that love from the owner’s deeply unpopular decisions. Supporting the A’s now feels, for some, like directly enriching someone who has demonstrated a willingness to prioritize profit over people.
Dallas Braden’s public criticism of these decisions, risking his own professional standing, is commendable and reflects the sentiments of many within and around the organization. Susan Slusser’s insightful commentary, particularly her observation regarding the immediate dismissal of long-time scouts after their draft contributions, further underscores the short-sighted and damaging nature of these cuts. Anyone associated with the A’s who has spoken out against these decisions deserves respect and recognition. While the hope for a reversal of these decisions may be slim, the collective outcry serves as a powerful indictment of John Fisher’s ownership. His tone-deaf letter suggests a profound indifference to fan perception, further solidifying his image as a detached and unpopular owner.
Prior to this week, John Fisher was largely an unknown figure to many A’s fans. Now, he has become a figure of widespread resentment and anger. His actions have not only damaged the team’s reputation but have also forced many fans to reconsider their loyalty to a franchise now inextricably linked to an owner who appears to prioritize profit above all else. The question now is whether this damage is irreparable and what the long-term consequences will be for the Oakland A’s and their relationship with their devoted fanbase.
