Post by TheShadow on Dec 10, 2006 10:03:31 GMT -5
www.oaklandtribune.com
by Monte Poole
THE RAIDERS fan who fell in love with the team last season and is convinced
this wretched season is the definition of misery, has no idea.
If you want to understand the meaning of misery, ask someone who lived --
and died -- with the original Oakland Raiders.
Or check out HBO tonight at 9, when the cable network takes us back a
quarter-century or so, to a time when the Oakland Raiders really mattered,
when they were so much more than a football team.
"Rebels of Oakland: The A's, the Raiders, the'70s," is soul food for the
sociologist and a must-see for any Raiders fan, any local sports fan, any
local politician, anyone with an interest in local culture.
Or anyone else who doesn't mind wading in nostalgia with a few laughs, a
smile or four and the occasional lump developing in the throat.
The special reminds us that the Raiders were Oakland's pulse, a team of
individuals bonded so tightly to the community that the pain of a
first-quarter sprained ankle might be felt within minutes by entire families
from Fremont to Fairfield.
While the literal part of this is explained by the fact many of the players
actually lived, year-round, within 20 minutes of the Coliseum, the
figurative aspect could be attributed to the team's link to the community's
identity. They were us. We were them. The Raiders were Oakland's first major
professional sports team and in just a few years evolved into a civic
touchstone. As beat their hearts, so beat ours.
And that's what resonated as the documentary unfolded. The sweet and sour
memories and the accompanying emotions, which run as deep as family blood.
Watching an advance copy of the special, I was reminded of how it used to be
around here. I was struck, above all, by the dramatic difference between the
team-community dynamic then and now.
While today's Raiders are more of a local amenity and regional pastime, the
original Raiders were part of the social fabric.
Guard Gene Upshaw was affiliated with a nightclub, Uppy's, on Jack London
Square.
Wide receiver Fred Biletnikoff was involved with a restaurant, The Flanker,
off Hegenberger Road, near the airport.
Running back Clem Daniels and center and Jim Otto owned liquor stores. Clem
remains one of two former Raiders, tackle John Vella being the other, still
presiding over a local business.
The original Raiders mingled with the people -- a blue-collar, melting-pot
team bonding with a blue-collar, melting-pot city.
Games always sold out at the 54,000-seat Coliseum, so anybody with a TV was
invited to every game, home or away. And once they got there, they were
greeted by a dazzling succession of colorful nicknames and unique
personalities.
The Mad Stork (linebacker Ted Hendricks).
The Mad Bomber (quarterback Daryle Lamonica).
Dr. Death (cornerback Skip Thomas).
The Assassin (safety Jack Tatum).
The Ghost (tight end Dave Casper).
The Snake (quarterback Ken Stabler).
As the over-40 set might attest, the original Raiders had a hold on this
community matched by few sports teams in modern history. Like the baseball
Cardinals in St. Louis. Or the Cubs in Chicago. Or the Red Sox in Boston. Or
the Cowboys in Dallas. Or the Packers in Green Bay.
Except the original Raiders won football games like few others. They kicked
butt. That they posted winning records in 15 consecutive seasons, from 1966,
when the Coliseum opened, to 1980, only hints at the consistency of their
quality.
Here's a more vivid illustration: They lost more than five games in a season
only twice during that stretch, with an overall record of 156-52-8 and a
winning percentage of .750, played in 10 AFL/AFC Championship games and won
two Super Bowls.
It was in Oakland, during the turbulent'70s, that the Raiders established
one of their many signature phrases: Pro football's winningest organization.
When you're that good, for that long, I suppose a community -- especially
one with self-esteem issues Oakland had and continues to have -- can't help
but want to get in on some of that.
Today's Raiders have not been of the same quality, losing nearly as many
games as they have won in the nine years since their return from L.A. They
are, through their most recent loss, Sunday in Pittsburgh, 71-70, the
epitome of mediocrity.
And while the record alone surely is a contributing factor in the lack of
sellouts, it doesn't account for the missing link -- the inability to bond
with the community.
Some of this is attributed to lingering pain over their departure after the
1981 season. There are Raiders fans who refuse to support the team simply
because they remain opposed, on principle, to anything that might bring Al
Davis a profit.
Much of it, though, is the result of changing times. These are different
fans and a different Oakland, too, for the city has lost some of that
dynamic, restless essence that provided the muscle and energy of the'70s.
So, too, have the players, whose contracts have taken them well beyond even
the most liberal interpretation of "blue-collar."
Today's Raiders -- and pro athletes in general -- prefer the suburbs,
isolated from the guy who carries a lunch bucket. Investments tend to remain
under cover. There are thousands of restaurants, lounges and retail
establishments in the Bay Area and not one active Raider has his name out
front.
Which must be a sign of the times, for the same could be said of members of
the A's and the 49ers and the Warriors and the Giants and the Sharks.
So while the Raiders fan might be knee-deep in disappointment as the team
stumbles to the finish, it could be worse. Your identity is not at stake,
and the agony is not likely to reach down into your soul.