I have decided that I will not be satisfied with any new stadium unless it is so spectacular that it puts all other new ballparks to shame. I want a grandiose, pushing-the-envelope design.

I want the new A's stadium to be built on a massive, mobile barge-slash-manmade-island in the middle of SF Bay.

Think about it: before gametime, Stadium Island could meander from one central waterfront location to another, picking up fans. The stadium would come to you. They could anchor the stadium in a different spot every night, to take advantage of the variety of the beautiful Bay views. They could rent the stadium out during the offseason and put Hornblower out of business. It would be a massive tourist draw, for the curiosity alone. And it would allow for even more condos (and affiliated small businesses) with spectacular locations. It could even be registered as an overseas vessel under non-US flag, so Stadium Island residents could avoid US taxes and Wolff could install slot machines and craps tables.

I say, think big.

Not convinced? Perhaps some versification will win you over.

The Ballad of Monkeyball

(with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

In San Fran Bay did monkeyball
a floating baseball-field decree,
where Beane, the sacred GM, ran
Athletics measurable to man
up to division lead,
so twice an acre of fertile ground
with chalk and bases were girdled round.
and there was bluegrass bright with sinuous swaths,
where scamper'd many a Saarloos-sav-ed mouse.
And brought from forests was wood to make the bats,
With which the Green and Gold would rock the house.

But O! That deep May-April chasm which slanted,
down the standings amidst Joe Morgan's chatter.
Third! Then FOURTH place! Unholy, disenchanted
as AN beneath a whining `toon was haunted
by women wailing for their demon batters.
In came B. Crosby, who ceased the turmoil, swearing,
and half the A's in high-sock'd pants were wearing,
a mighty win-streak momently was forced,
amid whose swift non-intermitted burst,
key base-hits vaulted like rebounding hail,
and Chavvy's bat much like the thresher's flail,
and 'mid the dancing rooks in th' stadium,
did spring up momently the sacred GM.
Two trades pre-deadline made the outlook rosy,
with Wolff and Gap the sacred GM ran.
Then watch'd as Angels bunted, hit-and-ran,
and sank in tumult in a lifeless OC.
And 'mid this tumult monkey heard from ESPN
the Angels' voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the field of baseball
floated midway on the waves
Where was heard the peanut vendors' calls
from the bleachers and "the Waves."
It was a miracle of Billyball
a floating baseball-field worthy of th' Hall.
A damsel with a Strat-O-Mat
in a vision once I saw.
It was an AN High-Socks maid,
and on her Strat-O-Mat she played,
singing of mount Davis.
Could I revive within me
her symphony and song.
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
that with music loud and long,
I would float that field on th' Bay!
Thy sunny field! Un-shav'd Ken-dall!
and all who fear'd should see Kielty there!
and all should cry, Beware! Beware!
his flashing eyes! his flaming hair!
Build stadium--condos--mayhap a mall,
and close your eyes with holy dread!
for he on monkey-dew hath fed,
and drunk Kool-Aid of Moneyball.