Post by TheShadow on Dec 10, 2003 15:51:00 GMT -5
www.oaklandtribune.com
by Monte Poole
12/10/03
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 idenity. 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.
by Monte Poole
12/10/03
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 idenity. 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.