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October 28, 2026. The Tampa Bay Rays fell to the Milwaukee Brewers, 4-1, in Game 5 of the World Series. And for those of us who know the history of St. Petersburg, that loss carried a weight far beyond baseball.

Because Tropicana Field was never just a stadium.

It was a landmark built on sacrifice, controversy, broken promises, community pride and generations of memories. And before there was a baseball diamond, there was a neighborhood.

Long before the dome rose above downtown St. Petersburg, that land belonged to the historic Gas Plant District, a predominantly Black community filled with homes, businesses, churches and families. In the name of progress, the neighborhood was cleared. More than 500 families were relocated, and hundreds of buildings were demolished. The nearby Laurel Park housing projects were torn down with it.

Families lost their homes. Neighbors lost one another. A piece of Black St. Petersburg history was buried beneath the concrete. And promises made to those families about economic opportunity remained unfulfilled for decades.

We cannot celebrate the history of Tropicana Field without honoring the people who sacrificed their neighborhoods so that it could exist.

But imagine this: St. Petersburg built a Major League Baseball stadium before it even had a Major League Baseball team. That’s how badly this city wanted to become part of baseball history.

Then came another chapter that some people have forgotten. Before Tropicana Field was home to the Rays, it was the ThunderDome. From 1993 to 1996, the Tampa Bay Lightning played hockey right here in downtown St. Petersburg — 28,183 fans for a 1996 playoff game against Philadelphia, an NHL attendance record. Then, in 1996, the Lightning moved across the bridge to Tampa.

In 1998, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays were born. Not the Rays. The Devil Rays. Those original uniforms, those unforgettable colors, that stingray across the chest. On March 31, 1998, more than 45,000 people packed Tropicana Field for the team’s first regular-season game against Detroit. But we finally had our team.

We witnessed the magical 2008 season, Longoria’s legendary Game 162 walk-off in 2011, another World Series in 2020, and in 2026, yet another run at baseball’s greatest prize.

October 9, 2024. Hurricane Milton tore the roof off Tropicana Field. For the 2025 season, the Rays played across the bridge in Tampa while our stadium was repaired. But St. Petersburg refused to let that hurricane write the final chapter. Workers rebuilt the roof, and on April 6, 2026, baseball returned to the Trop.

Wednesday night, the Rays’ remarkable season ended in another World Series heartbreak. We watched Milwaukee celebrate a championship on our field. And knowing that the Rays now have an approved plan to leave St. Petersburg for a new Tampa stadium in 2029 made the night even more emotional. The Rays are expected to remain through 2028, but the clock is ticking.

AND NOW, LET ME SAY SOMETHING ABOUT ST. PETERSBURG.

Tampa already got the Lightning. They played right here in our ThunderDome. Now Tampa is getting the Rays. A team that St. Petersburg waited decades for.

And let’s go back even further. WE USED TO BE 813! Before 727, St. Petersburg and Pinellas County were part of the original 813 telephone area code. Then came the 1998 area-code split. Tampa kept 813, and we became 727. Tampa got the Lightning. Tampa is getting the Rays. Hell, they even kept the 813!

But here’s what I want people to understand. You can relocate a franchise. You can change an area code. You can rename a stadium, rebuild a roof, tear down a building or replace an entire neighborhood. But you cannot erase the history of St. Petersburg.

You cannot erase the Gas Plant families who once called that land home. You cannot erase Laurel Park. You cannot erase the workers who built that dome. You cannot erase the Devil Rays. You cannot erase the memories of the people who watched it all happen.

Tampa may become the Rays’ next home, but St. Petersburg will forever be where the Devil Rays began.

ONE LAST THING, FROM MY HEART.

I don’t speak about St. Petersburg as a visitor or a tourist. Harris House of Horror was born and raised in St. Petersburg, Florida. These are my roots. This is my history. This is the city that helped shape the person I became. So when I talk about the ThunderDome, the Devil Rays, the old neighborhoods and the memories we’ve made, I’m not just talking about sports. I’m talking about home.

And if the day comes when the lights go out at Tropicana Field for the very last time, I hope we don’t simply remember the baseball games. I hope we remember the people.

Because buildings have lifespans. Franchises have business interests. But a city’s soul belongs to its people.

They can move the teams across the bridge. They can change the names and tear down the structures. But they cannot move our roots. And they cannot take away what it means to be from St. Petersburg, Florida.

ST. PETE FOREVER.
THE BAY DON’T BOW.