Post by TheShadow on Dec 24, 2005 21:55:56 GMT -5
Part one of two...
------------------
Raiders' Davis a maverick, but love of the game obvious
Nov. 1, 2000
By Len Pasquarelli
SportsLine.com Senior Writer
ATLANTA -- If you grew up in Pittsburgh as I did, and
witnessed firsthand
some of the legendary playoff battles in the '70s between
the Steelers and the
Raiders, then detesting Oakland owner Al Davis became a
natural part of your
black-and-gold cultural heritage.
He was, to an entire generation of professional football
fans, the consummate
bad guy. You half expected to walk into the neighborhood
post office for a roll
of stamps and notice his mug shot on the bulletin board
which documented
the FBI's most-wanted list.
You figured when Darth Vader took off the mask, it would
be Al behind it. Or
that, in a cameo appearance, Davis might show up on the
old nighttime soap
Dallas as the person who shot J.R.
What few people ever realized, and a point that 25 years
later we all still overlook, was
how much Al Davis loves the game.
No, not the mind-games it seems Davis has spent a career
foisting on the league. Not all
the legal battles he has waged nor the Machiavellian
machinations that sprung
from his fertile yet paranoid mind, but just simply The
Game.
You know, Sunday afternoons, those three hours when
everyone can escape talk of
salary caps and stadium revenues and off-field
indiscretions, and concentrate
on the product that has made the NFL the most successful
sports entity in
history.
When you cut through all the ancillary manure, that love
relentlessly drives
Davis and is what makes football the second most
significant love of his life
behind his wife.
It's damned unfortunate that most people will recall
Davis only as the prickly
thorn in the side of an entire league. Even those
old-guard NFL media types
who resisted for too many years voting him into the Hall
of Fame seem too
eager to overlook that he was a brilliant young coach. Or
that he was an
unwitting commissioner of the AFL, a man whose admittedly
cut-throat
tactics finally forced a merger with the NFL when he
surreptitiously began
pirating the senior league's top quarterbacks.
That merger, by the way, made the league what it is
today.
None of that is reason to beatify Davis, but neither is
it cause to brand him as
Satan incarnate.
I mention this because, as Davis stood in a hotel lobby
during a break in an
NFL owners meeting that was convened here this week, he
reminded the
contingent of reporters surrounding him that, at age 71,
he isn't going to be
around forever.
It wasn't meant, as some of his opponents might suggest,
as a mechanism
aimed at generating support for his latest lawsuit or a
way to evoke some
sympathy from his audience, but was just a passing
mention in one of Al's
trademark soliloquies.
But the reality that someday one of the game's most
notorious yet notable
characters will finally succumb to mortality, and that he
will be recalled as
one of sports' most misunderstood people because that's a
status he created
himself, stirred a cauldron of mixed emotions. Since I am
not one of the
several media lackeys Davis utilized for years, and since
he hurt a few of my
dearest friends in the league, I can't be accused of
being a staunch supporter.
In this case, at least, I am an impartial observer
measuring with objectivity the
body of his work, and concluding that he is one of a
handful of the most
significant people in league history.
Davis remains, even in his relative dotage, a caricature
of himself, the football
maverick of our age playing out to the bitter end the
role he has no choice but
to maintain. It seems apropos his team's logo includes a
pirate with an eye
patch. Most of his career it seems that Davis has been
winking at the rest of
us as if he knew something we didn't.
In most cases, that was probably true.
His persona was his choice, no denying that, and he
perfected the
rabble-rousing muckraker routine to the point that he can
be nothing else.
It seems to let down his guard would be to also let down
those who expect
him to forever maintain a certain standard of
intransigence and contrarian
behavior. The old "Pride and Poise" motto can grow thin
and hackneyed,
which it has, but Davis' shtick will never grow old.
While the league's high-priced attorneys won't
acknowledge it, however, Davis
has mellowed a bit in recent years. He still seizes every
opportunity to bash
league commissioner Paul Tagliabue, as he did Tuesday
afternoon. And the
fire in his eyes is still re-ignited when he's provided
an opening to launch a
salvo against foes like Denver owner Pat Bowlen or
Cleveland team president
Carmen Policy.
For the better portion of two decades, he had dragged the
league into court,
and will do so again next March, when he will attempt to
prove the NFL
undermined his deal for a new stadium at Hollywood Park.
"They brought in all their experts (to Los Angeles) and
did all kinds of studies
and, yeah, they got themselves a big stadium there,
didn't they?" he blustered
and filibustered. "It's the same one I left, the run-down
L.A. Coliseum. I had to
have someplace to play, so I went back to Oakland."
Dressed all in black -- the only other colors he
recognizes are silver and white
-- Davis chuckled at his own wit and the assemblage
roared along with him.
The hammering he has performed on Tagliabue and former
league officials like
Neil Austrian, to be sure, is no laughing matter to the
NFL. And most of Davis'
fraternity brothers can't be thrilled about the millions
of dollars in legal fees he
has cost them over the years. But even some of them, in
privately candid
moments, concede he is a lovable rogue.
Hey, the fictional Don Quixote spent years tilting at
windmills. In a lot of
cases, as with his latest rant against alleged salary cap
violators, Davis found
targets more real than those imaginary opponents of the
Man of La Mancha.
And to think there will come a day when he won't be
around to stir the pot, to
tweak the league even if just a tad, will make this job a
little less interesting.
That he has softened a bit is obvious in the way the
Raiders play now, having
abandoned under coach Jon Gruden the old "vertical"
attack model Davis
relished even after it became passé. On Tuesday, afforded
a chance to vent
about having to travel cross country in mid-week just to
spend a morning
caucusing on matters like stadium loans, instead of
addressing the on-field
game that he loves so much, Davis fooled his inquisitors
by insisting such
topics were necessary.
There was a melancholy acknowledgement that his old high
school, Erasmus
in New York, has disbanded its football team, ennui in
his voice when he
addressed that.
Of course, in the end, he turned the discussion back to
football, to his 7-1
Raiders, to the hectic course that the team confronts in
coming weeks.
As usual, Davis ended with a long and rambling monologue
about the integrity
of The Game.
Taking it all in, one couldn't help but think this:
People can question, and they
will long after he is gone, Davis' integrity if they so
desire. But no one dare
ever doubt his love for a sport whose history he helped
author.
Al Davis - the Godfather, the keeper of the Darkside.
Mepriapus and
Quartermaster team up to tell the whole story.
[Although the stories contained herein are "true stories,"
both as in
stories that are based on actual events and as in truly
fictitious tales, the
yarn spun below is in no way meant to be slanderous,
scurrilous, or
vituperative to any of the characters of that rugged
Silver & Black
tapestry known as the Oakland Raiders. The associations
that follow
are made purely in fun and for the entertainment of the
reader.]
Al Davis has built a strong Raider family. In the process,
he has
developed many adversaries. Since he stepped on the field
in 1963 as
the head coach of the faltering franchise called the
Oakland Raiders he
has dropped the veil of secrecy over team operations and
drawn much
scrutiny for his shenanigans as a Raider. "Davis the
legend, and Davis
the myth is a callous, sneaky underhanded demonic, who
stays up into
the wee hours of the night figuring out ways to swindle
people," one
reporter who hates his guts said privately. Further
detractors have
insinuated he has criminal connections going all the way
back to 'Lucky'
Luciano in his Brooklyn days and still has ties to the
mob. Who really
knows? Really successful "Godfathers" never get "caught"
with villainy
on their hands.
Still, the Godfather image defines Mr. Davis—cue Italian
music as Davis
speaks to Dallas Star-Telegram writer Mike Fisher: "My
preference,"
Davis whispers in heavy Brooklynese, "is Italian food.
Seafood is
acceptable. But I like to have Italian food." Seafood, but
not fish. Al is
known to never have fish for dinner. Is this his personal
metaphorical
avoidance of having to "sleep/dream with the fish"?
Wouldn't a real
Godfather harbor such concerns?
Early Seeds
There are many legends in the game of football, although
none seem as
colorful and controversial as the color-blind kid from
Brooklyn. From his
days on the hard courts of Lincoln Terrace Park to his
"whatever it takes"
methods of college recruiting and up through the months of
AFL
Commissioner and various stations with the Oakland
Raiders, Al Davis
was known, as Sid Gillman says, for his methodical
skullduggery to gain
dominance.
As a kid learned in the ways of the Brooklyn streets, Al
was not beyond
using his excellent mind to gain advantage against more
burly thugs of
the neighborhood gangs. The young Allen Davis attended
Erasmus Hall
High where, among other sports, he played basketball under
coach Al
Badain, a local legend. "Badain would take anybody,
regardless of color
or reputation, if they could help the team. He became
famous for making
championship teams from kids who were shunned by others
because
they were incorrigibles or renegades." Always the great
communicator,
the young Davis stood toe to toe with turf ruffians and
bent them to his
will with hair-splitting elocution, not physical
confrontations - usually.
On the streets, Al was nicknamed "Hooker" because he got
his nose
broken in one of those no-holds-barred court games. Guys
would clobber
you if you so much as feigned a lay-up and Al thrived in
that environment.
Bert Alpert, a paisano in youth, says, "Al Davis was a
part of that scene.
I wasn't. I was better with a referee around. He was the
type of player
who was better without one." Al was known for his
indomitable will and to
do whatever was necessary to achieve victory. The seeds
for "Just win,
baby"—not necessarily a win for Justice—were already
taking root in the
irascible young Mr. Davis. The fiercely competitive soul
of Al Davis
worked his neighborhood turf as he would the leagues of
American
football in years to come.
Supremely confident and crafty, Al made his way into the
college
coaching ranks on his guile. Every football program Davis
became
associated with in his 20's, achieved a higher degree of
success than
prior to his involvement.
Al as Peso Pesado (Heavy Hitter)
The rise of Al Davis through the ranks of professional
football is well
documented. As a coach of the San Diego Chargers'
receivers, Al Davis
"stole" wideout Lance "Bambi" Alworth out from under the
nose of Red
Hicky of SF, signing him at the game's end under the goal
post of the
1962 Sugar Bowl contest between Arkansas and Alabama. A
stunned
Red Hickey watched from the stands as his number one draft
pick was
lost to the upstart league.
Al left for Oakland in 1963 to build the greatest team of
professional
sports. The poet William Blake anticipated well by a
century plus the
desire of Coach Davis in one of his Proverbs of Hell:
"What is now proved
was once only imagin'd." The years of recent struggle and
turmoil on the
field only accentuate the dominance Al achieved in the
NFL. In his first
year as a head coach, Al Davis cut a slew of players and
built the team
in his own image, taking a 1-13 team to a 10-4 season—an
NFL record
for the greatest single season turnaround.
Firstly, he changed the colors from Black & Orange/Gold to
Black &
Silver, not due to his color-blind condition but because
Al "wanted colors
that themselves chilled the air. 'We wanted other teams to
come into
dark, gray Oakland, see those black shirts on the other
side and feel
something frightening.' "
Secondly, Al rid the team of players he thought too
passive, including the
previous year's offensive tackles (Charlie Brown, 'Red'
Conkright, and
Proverb Jacobs) just before the start of the regular
season. Players were
outraged and believed Davis was continuing the history of
Raider
coaching blunders. Al stood firm in his decision, saying
to the team,
"Gentlemen, let me just say this to you, we are not going
to win with
these players so I've got to make a move." The Raiders
then went out
and beat the reigning AFL champion Houston Oilers 35-13 in
game one
of the 1963 season. By the final game, Al Davis had earned
his post
season "Coach of the Year" award.
Oakland's hiring of Al Davis brought the Don of football
to the Raiders.
Even Davis' old mentor, Sid Gillman, recognized the
mobsters of the
East Bay when he allowed the San Diego media to juxtapose
the
"Classy Chargers" against the "Gutter Gang" from Oakland.
Gillman "felt
his security had been breached, his ideas taken and his
philosophy
betrayed by a former trusted assistant, now a 'polecat'
wearing Silver and
Black." Davis quickly shed his role of Charger Consigliere
for the new
ground of the ruthless Raider genius—il cerebro di la
operacione. Tom
Flores would recount that Al as head coach was so much
"the brains of
the operation" that he "never had a game plan or a list of
plays in his
hand. He just ran the show, the offense, defense,
everything without
anything to refer to but his own mind."
Now with real power, Godfather Al built up his empire from
the
scrap-heap of the AFL, the worst team in either league.
Early practices
were held near a local dump and the Raiders played their
games in a
park with retractable stands—Frank Youell Field. It is
only fitting that the
ground upon which the Godfather first established his
dominion was
named after an undertaker. Fear and pressure were his
horse's head and
chicanery was part of his method. "Fear and pressure," Al
told his
troupe, "that's the key. You make sure that the opposing
defense goes
to bed the night before a game knowing, fearing, that they
will be facing
somebody who can beat them deep on any play. Let them stay
awake
all night worrying about it. And their offense should go
to bed knowing
that nothing will come easy, not even short passes. They
know that we
will pressure them with bump and run coverage all over the
field." Then
Davis repeats, "I don't want our opponents to like us," he
says while
musing over hatred and fear as motivating qualities. "I
want them to fear
us."
This Raider Cosanostra, literally "our Raider thing," was
not limited to
opponents. "I also want my players and coaches to fear
me." Al Davis'
use of the waiver wire was such a place that players
feared. The Raiders
were so secretive about their roster moves that players
were known to
call the league office to discover their fate. Al wanted
to tip off no one,
and by keeping the players unaware of their status on the
team they
could not tip off the press, thereby tipping off other
teams, that the player
had been cut and subsequently picked up before they
cleared waivers.
"The only way the press figured out who was cut, would be
to count
heads and identify each Raider on the way to summer
practices. If a
player went to practice, the assumption became he hadn't
been cut;
such was not always the case, since the players weren't
always told,
until after they cleared waivers." No one was immune from
the wire. Al
used Jim Otto's name in a wire rumor and when ol' #00
caught wind of it
he demanded an answer. This "maneuver to get a little edge
on the
competition" was a smokescreen to enable the amazing
Apollo Creed,
LB Carl Weathers, to clear the wire. In another instance
prior to the 1980
season, Al asked Phil Villapiano what he thought of
Buffalo's Bobby
Chandler. Phil though he would be a great addition to the
Raiders and
encouraged Al to get him. Al said something like, "Great,
you've just
been traded for him," and walked away. If fear and
pressure tactics came
with the Don of the Raiders, especially with the threat of
release, then
cunning and deceit came with player acquisitions.
------------------
Raiders' Davis a maverick, but love of the game obvious
Nov. 1, 2000
By Len Pasquarelli
SportsLine.com Senior Writer
ATLANTA -- If you grew up in Pittsburgh as I did, and
witnessed firsthand
some of the legendary playoff battles in the '70s between
the Steelers and the
Raiders, then detesting Oakland owner Al Davis became a
natural part of your
black-and-gold cultural heritage.
He was, to an entire generation of professional football
fans, the consummate
bad guy. You half expected to walk into the neighborhood
post office for a roll
of stamps and notice his mug shot on the bulletin board
which documented
the FBI's most-wanted list.
You figured when Darth Vader took off the mask, it would
be Al behind it. Or
that, in a cameo appearance, Davis might show up on the
old nighttime soap
Dallas as the person who shot J.R.
What few people ever realized, and a point that 25 years
later we all still overlook, was
how much Al Davis loves the game.
No, not the mind-games it seems Davis has spent a career
foisting on the league. Not all
the legal battles he has waged nor the Machiavellian
machinations that sprung
from his fertile yet paranoid mind, but just simply The
Game.
You know, Sunday afternoons, those three hours when
everyone can escape talk of
salary caps and stadium revenues and off-field
indiscretions, and concentrate
on the product that has made the NFL the most successful
sports entity in
history.
When you cut through all the ancillary manure, that love
relentlessly drives
Davis and is what makes football the second most
significant love of his life
behind his wife.
It's damned unfortunate that most people will recall
Davis only as the prickly
thorn in the side of an entire league. Even those
old-guard NFL media types
who resisted for too many years voting him into the Hall
of Fame seem too
eager to overlook that he was a brilliant young coach. Or
that he was an
unwitting commissioner of the AFL, a man whose admittedly
cut-throat
tactics finally forced a merger with the NFL when he
surreptitiously began
pirating the senior league's top quarterbacks.
That merger, by the way, made the league what it is
today.
None of that is reason to beatify Davis, but neither is
it cause to brand him as
Satan incarnate.
I mention this because, as Davis stood in a hotel lobby
during a break in an
NFL owners meeting that was convened here this week, he
reminded the
contingent of reporters surrounding him that, at age 71,
he isn't going to be
around forever.
It wasn't meant, as some of his opponents might suggest,
as a mechanism
aimed at generating support for his latest lawsuit or a
way to evoke some
sympathy from his audience, but was just a passing
mention in one of Al's
trademark soliloquies.
But the reality that someday one of the game's most
notorious yet notable
characters will finally succumb to mortality, and that he
will be recalled as
one of sports' most misunderstood people because that's a
status he created
himself, stirred a cauldron of mixed emotions. Since I am
not one of the
several media lackeys Davis utilized for years, and since
he hurt a few of my
dearest friends in the league, I can't be accused of
being a staunch supporter.
In this case, at least, I am an impartial observer
measuring with objectivity the
body of his work, and concluding that he is one of a
handful of the most
significant people in league history.
Davis remains, even in his relative dotage, a caricature
of himself, the football
maverick of our age playing out to the bitter end the
role he has no choice but
to maintain. It seems apropos his team's logo includes a
pirate with an eye
patch. Most of his career it seems that Davis has been
winking at the rest of
us as if he knew something we didn't.
In most cases, that was probably true.
His persona was his choice, no denying that, and he
perfected the
rabble-rousing muckraker routine to the point that he can
be nothing else.
It seems to let down his guard would be to also let down
those who expect
him to forever maintain a certain standard of
intransigence and contrarian
behavior. The old "Pride and Poise" motto can grow thin
and hackneyed,
which it has, but Davis' shtick will never grow old.
While the league's high-priced attorneys won't
acknowledge it, however, Davis
has mellowed a bit in recent years. He still seizes every
opportunity to bash
league commissioner Paul Tagliabue, as he did Tuesday
afternoon. And the
fire in his eyes is still re-ignited when he's provided
an opening to launch a
salvo against foes like Denver owner Pat Bowlen or
Cleveland team president
Carmen Policy.
For the better portion of two decades, he had dragged the
league into court,
and will do so again next March, when he will attempt to
prove the NFL
undermined his deal for a new stadium at Hollywood Park.
"They brought in all their experts (to Los Angeles) and
did all kinds of studies
and, yeah, they got themselves a big stadium there,
didn't they?" he blustered
and filibustered. "It's the same one I left, the run-down
L.A. Coliseum. I had to
have someplace to play, so I went back to Oakland."
Dressed all in black -- the only other colors he
recognizes are silver and white
-- Davis chuckled at his own wit and the assemblage
roared along with him.
The hammering he has performed on Tagliabue and former
league officials like
Neil Austrian, to be sure, is no laughing matter to the
NFL. And most of Davis'
fraternity brothers can't be thrilled about the millions
of dollars in legal fees he
has cost them over the years. But even some of them, in
privately candid
moments, concede he is a lovable rogue.
Hey, the fictional Don Quixote spent years tilting at
windmills. In a lot of
cases, as with his latest rant against alleged salary cap
violators, Davis found
targets more real than those imaginary opponents of the
Man of La Mancha.
And to think there will come a day when he won't be
around to stir the pot, to
tweak the league even if just a tad, will make this job a
little less interesting.
That he has softened a bit is obvious in the way the
Raiders play now, having
abandoned under coach Jon Gruden the old "vertical"
attack model Davis
relished even after it became passé. On Tuesday, afforded
a chance to vent
about having to travel cross country in mid-week just to
spend a morning
caucusing on matters like stadium loans, instead of
addressing the on-field
game that he loves so much, Davis fooled his inquisitors
by insisting such
topics were necessary.
There was a melancholy acknowledgement that his old high
school, Erasmus
in New York, has disbanded its football team, ennui in
his voice when he
addressed that.
Of course, in the end, he turned the discussion back to
football, to his 7-1
Raiders, to the hectic course that the team confronts in
coming weeks.
As usual, Davis ended with a long and rambling monologue
about the integrity
of The Game.
Taking it all in, one couldn't help but think this:
People can question, and they
will long after he is gone, Davis' integrity if they so
desire. But no one dare
ever doubt his love for a sport whose history he helped
author.
Al Davis - the Godfather, the keeper of the Darkside.
Mepriapus and
Quartermaster team up to tell the whole story.
[Although the stories contained herein are "true stories,"
both as in
stories that are based on actual events and as in truly
fictitious tales, the
yarn spun below is in no way meant to be slanderous,
scurrilous, or
vituperative to any of the characters of that rugged
Silver & Black
tapestry known as the Oakland Raiders. The associations
that follow
are made purely in fun and for the entertainment of the
reader.]
Al Davis has built a strong Raider family. In the process,
he has
developed many adversaries. Since he stepped on the field
in 1963 as
the head coach of the faltering franchise called the
Oakland Raiders he
has dropped the veil of secrecy over team operations and
drawn much
scrutiny for his shenanigans as a Raider. "Davis the
legend, and Davis
the myth is a callous, sneaky underhanded demonic, who
stays up into
the wee hours of the night figuring out ways to swindle
people," one
reporter who hates his guts said privately. Further
detractors have
insinuated he has criminal connections going all the way
back to 'Lucky'
Luciano in his Brooklyn days and still has ties to the
mob. Who really
knows? Really successful "Godfathers" never get "caught"
with villainy
on their hands.
Still, the Godfather image defines Mr. Davis—cue Italian
music as Davis
speaks to Dallas Star-Telegram writer Mike Fisher: "My
preference,"
Davis whispers in heavy Brooklynese, "is Italian food.
Seafood is
acceptable. But I like to have Italian food." Seafood, but
not fish. Al is
known to never have fish for dinner. Is this his personal
metaphorical
avoidance of having to "sleep/dream with the fish"?
Wouldn't a real
Godfather harbor such concerns?
Early Seeds
There are many legends in the game of football, although
none seem as
colorful and controversial as the color-blind kid from
Brooklyn. From his
days on the hard courts of Lincoln Terrace Park to his
"whatever it takes"
methods of college recruiting and up through the months of
AFL
Commissioner and various stations with the Oakland
Raiders, Al Davis
was known, as Sid Gillman says, for his methodical
skullduggery to gain
dominance.
As a kid learned in the ways of the Brooklyn streets, Al
was not beyond
using his excellent mind to gain advantage against more
burly thugs of
the neighborhood gangs. The young Allen Davis attended
Erasmus Hall
High where, among other sports, he played basketball under
coach Al
Badain, a local legend. "Badain would take anybody,
regardless of color
or reputation, if they could help the team. He became
famous for making
championship teams from kids who were shunned by others
because
they were incorrigibles or renegades." Always the great
communicator,
the young Davis stood toe to toe with turf ruffians and
bent them to his
will with hair-splitting elocution, not physical
confrontations - usually.
On the streets, Al was nicknamed "Hooker" because he got
his nose
broken in one of those no-holds-barred court games. Guys
would clobber
you if you so much as feigned a lay-up and Al thrived in
that environment.
Bert Alpert, a paisano in youth, says, "Al Davis was a
part of that scene.
I wasn't. I was better with a referee around. He was the
type of player
who was better without one." Al was known for his
indomitable will and to
do whatever was necessary to achieve victory. The seeds
for "Just win,
baby"—not necessarily a win for Justice—were already
taking root in the
irascible young Mr. Davis. The fiercely competitive soul
of Al Davis
worked his neighborhood turf as he would the leagues of
American
football in years to come.
Supremely confident and crafty, Al made his way into the
college
coaching ranks on his guile. Every football program Davis
became
associated with in his 20's, achieved a higher degree of
success than
prior to his involvement.
Al as Peso Pesado (Heavy Hitter)
The rise of Al Davis through the ranks of professional
football is well
documented. As a coach of the San Diego Chargers'
receivers, Al Davis
"stole" wideout Lance "Bambi" Alworth out from under the
nose of Red
Hicky of SF, signing him at the game's end under the goal
post of the
1962 Sugar Bowl contest between Arkansas and Alabama. A
stunned
Red Hickey watched from the stands as his number one draft
pick was
lost to the upstart league.
Al left for Oakland in 1963 to build the greatest team of
professional
sports. The poet William Blake anticipated well by a
century plus the
desire of Coach Davis in one of his Proverbs of Hell:
"What is now proved
was once only imagin'd." The years of recent struggle and
turmoil on the
field only accentuate the dominance Al achieved in the
NFL. In his first
year as a head coach, Al Davis cut a slew of players and
built the team
in his own image, taking a 1-13 team to a 10-4 season—an
NFL record
for the greatest single season turnaround.
Firstly, he changed the colors from Black & Orange/Gold to
Black &
Silver, not due to his color-blind condition but because
Al "wanted colors
that themselves chilled the air. 'We wanted other teams to
come into
dark, gray Oakland, see those black shirts on the other
side and feel
something frightening.' "
Secondly, Al rid the team of players he thought too
passive, including the
previous year's offensive tackles (Charlie Brown, 'Red'
Conkright, and
Proverb Jacobs) just before the start of the regular
season. Players were
outraged and believed Davis was continuing the history of
Raider
coaching blunders. Al stood firm in his decision, saying
to the team,
"Gentlemen, let me just say this to you, we are not going
to win with
these players so I've got to make a move." The Raiders
then went out
and beat the reigning AFL champion Houston Oilers 35-13 in
game one
of the 1963 season. By the final game, Al Davis had earned
his post
season "Coach of the Year" award.
Oakland's hiring of Al Davis brought the Don of football
to the Raiders.
Even Davis' old mentor, Sid Gillman, recognized the
mobsters of the
East Bay when he allowed the San Diego media to juxtapose
the
"Classy Chargers" against the "Gutter Gang" from Oakland.
Gillman "felt
his security had been breached, his ideas taken and his
philosophy
betrayed by a former trusted assistant, now a 'polecat'
wearing Silver and
Black." Davis quickly shed his role of Charger Consigliere
for the new
ground of the ruthless Raider genius—il cerebro di la
operacione. Tom
Flores would recount that Al as head coach was so much
"the brains of
the operation" that he "never had a game plan or a list of
plays in his
hand. He just ran the show, the offense, defense,
everything without
anything to refer to but his own mind."
Now with real power, Godfather Al built up his empire from
the
scrap-heap of the AFL, the worst team in either league.
Early practices
were held near a local dump and the Raiders played their
games in a
park with retractable stands—Frank Youell Field. It is
only fitting that the
ground upon which the Godfather first established his
dominion was
named after an undertaker. Fear and pressure were his
horse's head and
chicanery was part of his method. "Fear and pressure," Al
told his
troupe, "that's the key. You make sure that the opposing
defense goes
to bed the night before a game knowing, fearing, that they
will be facing
somebody who can beat them deep on any play. Let them stay
awake
all night worrying about it. And their offense should go
to bed knowing
that nothing will come easy, not even short passes. They
know that we
will pressure them with bump and run coverage all over the
field." Then
Davis repeats, "I don't want our opponents to like us," he
says while
musing over hatred and fear as motivating qualities. "I
want them to fear
us."
This Raider Cosanostra, literally "our Raider thing," was
not limited to
opponents. "I also want my players and coaches to fear
me." Al Davis'
use of the waiver wire was such a place that players
feared. The Raiders
were so secretive about their roster moves that players
were known to
call the league office to discover their fate. Al wanted
to tip off no one,
and by keeping the players unaware of their status on the
team they
could not tip off the press, thereby tipping off other
teams, that the player
had been cut and subsequently picked up before they
cleared waivers.
"The only way the press figured out who was cut, would be
to count
heads and identify each Raider on the way to summer
practices. If a
player went to practice, the assumption became he hadn't
been cut;
such was not always the case, since the players weren't
always told,
until after they cleared waivers." No one was immune from
the wire. Al
used Jim Otto's name in a wire rumor and when ol' #00
caught wind of it
he demanded an answer. This "maneuver to get a little edge
on the
competition" was a smokescreen to enable the amazing
Apollo Creed,
LB Carl Weathers, to clear the wire. In another instance
prior to the 1980
season, Al asked Phil Villapiano what he thought of
Buffalo's Bobby
Chandler. Phil though he would be a great addition to the
Raiders and
encouraged Al to get him. Al said something like, "Great,
you've just
been traded for him," and walked away. If fear and
pressure tactics came
with the Don of the Raiders, especially with the threat of
release, then
cunning and deceit came with player acquisitions.