I’ll never forget the elevator ride.

Just Joe DiMaggio and me, dropping slowly from the upper level of the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum to the basement in silence. He faced the door in the small compartment, and I was right behind him.

I mean, what do you say to a guy who was married to Marilyn Monroe, the star of Mr. Coffee commercials and introduced after his Yankee days as “The Greatest Living Ballplayer?”

To hear Rob Manfred tell it Thursday in New York to reporters, he is crushed like balls from the bats of the Bash Brothers by the coming of the “Las Vegas” Athletics. The Major League Baseball commissioner said, “I feel sorry for the fans in Oakland.”

Yeah, well. Then why is Manfred joining the 30 MLB owners in preparing to choose money over memories?

The answer? Such things happen when you’re the “Oakland” Athletics, and when Forbes ranks you only above the Miami Marlins ($1 billion) in team valuations at $1.18 billion, and when Forbes mentions the average value of MLB teams rose 12% this season to $2.32 billion.

To save you the math, the A’s are worth slightly more than half as much as nearly any of their peers.

As a sports reporter for the San Francisco Examiner, I was there at the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum on October 15, 1981 during the American League Championship Series. Some guy named Krazy George began making a bunch of noise with his little drum.

The crowd kept responding with bizarre sounds.

By the middle of the game, the A’s hosting the Yankees became secondary to whatever Krazy George was doing.

I left the press box to roam the stands as Krazy George banged his instrument while urging those in one section, then another, then another to do this strange thing of rising in a hurry with their hands in the air and yelling before sitting down after he pointed to another section.

It began in the upper deck.

Then it was everywhere.

It saw the first documented use of The Wave.

All it took to make the A’s shrug over their 56 years on the other side of San Francisco Bay and prepare for a Las Vegas move after the 2024 baseball season was this: With Manfred joining those owners in applauding, the Nevada Legislature approved a bill this week containing $380 million in taxpayer money, and that bag of goodies from state politicians is headed for a $1.5 billion stadium with a retractable roof on The Strip in Las Vegas.

Oh, wait.

Isn’t $12 billion larger than $1.5 billion?

Yep, which means Manfred was (cue Bob Uecker’s voice from Major League) “just a bit outside” of reality when he told reporters during his Monday talk on the A’s leaving Northern California: "I do not like this outcome. I understand why they feel the way they do. I think the real question is what is it that Oakland was prepared to do? There is no Oakland offer. They never got to the point where they had a plan to build a stadium at any site.”

Now back to reality.

A’s officials spoke often with city and county officials around Oakland over a $12 billion project covering 55 acres at the city’s Howard Terminal. The whole thing involved a mixed-use district, complete with restaurants, retail space and residential accommodations.

In contrast, a spokesperson for the Oakland mayor’s office told ESPN that the A’s deal with Las Vegas is confined to “a 9-acre leased ballpark on leased land” on the site of the former Tropicana hotel.

During the summer of 1981, the defending world champion Raiders faced members of the media between a doubleheader at the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum.

I played right-center field.

After one of the Raiders lofted a deep fly in my direction, Lester Hayes at first base (or was it Rod Martin?) tagged and raced for second, but he was gunned down by a laser throw from my right arm as the crowd of 40,00 roared.

Then the crowd booed after the umpire reversed his call to safe.

I got a standing ovation as I headed for the dugout at the end of the inning, and legendary A’s manager Billy Martin met me on the front steps, delivered a pat to my rear and said, “Way to go, pal.”

The “Oakland” A’s rarely were boring.

There were three straight world championships through 1974 for Reggie Jackson, Vida Blue and Rollie Fingers as part of a moustache-dominated team.

There was Charlie Finley, the eccentric owner who ordered that facial hair along with the wearing of kelly green uniforms and white shoes.

There was Rickey Henderson, king of leadoff hitters, stealing bases and speaking in the first person.

There was BillyBall, with mostly young players scratching and clawing their way to victory by any means necessary, and with the temperamental Martin kicking dirt at the feet of umpires and brawling in bars.

There were those Bash Brothers of Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire who led the A’s to three straight AL pennants and a 1989 World Series title.

There was Billy Beane and Moneyball.

In 1981, the A’s threatened to go 162-0. They set an AL record at the time with an 11-0 start. I was there during much of the Oakland-Alameda Coliseum part of that stretch when A’s officials followed every home victory by blasting this new song by Kool & the Gang through the stadium.

“Celebration.”

Now every time I hear that song, it’s 1981 again.

I also cringe from “Celebration” burnout.

During the three seasons since the pandemic, Oakland’s baseball attendance has imploded, which tells you A’s fans are among the sane. Consider this: The team reached the playoffs in 2019 and 2020, but at the urging of ownership, management shipped away its young talent in the aftermath.

Then the A’s raised ticket prices.

That combination kept most sports fans around the San Francisco Bay Area far away from MLB games in Oakland, and A’s officials used the self-inflicted barren stands as part of their excuse to bolt town.

We’re back to reality, though. Justified or not, the “Oakland” Athletics are going, going, almost gone due to money, money and more money.

Well, perceived more money.

See $12 billion versus $1.5 billion.