I am not sure how they got my info, but I got this email from Gregg Manning Director, Web Services, Hall Of Fame Magazine, LLC, wanting to promote this article from Hall of Fame Magazine about Al Davis. I think it's a pretty good read, and I wanted to share it with any of you who might not have seen it yet. I'm not sure I totally agree with the comparison of Al Davis to Fidel Castro, but as much as I'm not a huge Leslie Visser fan, there is still some good stuff in here. Quite frankly, it's nice to read something that's as polar opposite of the media's recents takes on Al as it gets. Anyway thanks Gregg for the heads up. Enjoy the read, and here's a link to the original article - http://www.hofmag.com/content/view/580/213/
For now, and ever, I'm in the Raiders Corner!!!
John Madden said if he had only one phone call to make, he'd dial Al Davis. Many of Davis' former players - and current attorneys - might agree. The legendary anti-hero is among the most brilliant, loyal and litigious figures in sports today. Some compare him to Castro - charismatic, controlling, and a man who made an entire landscape in his own image.
Davis dresses in silver and black in homage to the Black Knights of Army (more on that later). He signed people worthy of ultimate fighting - Jack (the Assassin) Tatum, Kenny (the Snake) Stabler, Ted (the Mad Stork) Hendricks. He slicks back his hair, wears a black jogging outfit and tells his team to "Just win, Baby."
And they do. From 1963 until 1992, the Raiders were 285-146-11, the best record in all of professional sports. They were filled with misfits and castoffs and a mystique worthy of the Phantom of the Opera. Al didn't care what you thought of him, which made us care all the more. I've only had a couple of private moments with Darth Vader himself, but they were illuminating. One occurred in January of 2003, before the Raider playoff game against the Jets. I was in Oakland to do a story for CBS, and Al called me into his office. It was 9:30 in the morning, and we had just learned that a mutual friend, the great Boston Globe writer Will McDonough, had died of a sudden heart attack.
Al cried before I did. I will never forget him pulling out pictures of Will from 25 years before, when both were young guns in the world of professional football. We talked about Will and the history of the AFL for more than an hour. Most people don't know this, but Al Davis was born in Brockton, Massachusetts, not Brooklyn, although his accent and his attitude are pure New York.
My second memorable moment with the aging general was in Canton, Ohio this past summer, where he came to present John Madden as the 17th "Raidah" to enter the Hall of Fame. At the party afterwards, Davis was his imperial self, refusing to speak to anyone other than Raiders Jim Otto or Mike Haynes. Sensing that I wanted to talk to him, he let me into his very tight circle, but then he only wanted to speak to my husband, Dick Stockton, about Syracuse football! He told Dick he was disgusted that their alma mater had fallen into such despair. I had to laugh. Al's body is broken, but his mind is MIT.
No one is laughing about the Raiders now. One of the great franchises in NFL history has become a sad and withered third-world country. Davis always loved the loyalty and dedication of the Army. His first job was coaching at Ft. Belvoir in Virginia, and he modeled his silver and black after the gold and black of West Point. A student of military history, Davis once even coached at the Citadel. But his Raiders are now the opposite of what he created.
This year again, the Raiders had shocking, mind-numbing losses. Oakland stumbled to its fourth straight losing season - 2-14, which was the worst finish in more than 40 years. The pain was nearly equal to the losses Davis endured off the field. In one week, he lost both legend Lamar Hunt, founder of the AFL, and "Run-Run" Jones, the all-purpose handyman who was a fixture at the Raiders' Alameda complex. Davis was also quite close to the great Red Auerbach.
"At some point, you run out of tears," he said quietly, holding on to his walker, "but I'll figure this out. We've been to five Super Bowls (winning three). I'll get it straightened out."
His fearlessness and maverick style were responsible for Davis taking over the team when he was only 33-years-old. The Raiders had gone 1-13 the year before; they went 10-4 when he took control. He readily employed the vertical game, the bump and run, the rebel in full voice. Three years later, he became the Commissioner of the AFL and was one of the driving forces between the historic merger of the two leagues, creating what we know today.
He also became the coach as liberator. It seems like a strong word, but he deserves it. Al Davis was the first to hire a Hispanic head coach (Tom Flores), an African American coach (Art Shell, twice), and currently has the most powerful woman in the NFL, the enormously accomplished Amy Trask – CEO of his team. One of his first interviews for a new head coach was 32-year-old Steve Sarkisian, quarterback coach at Southern Cal. Sarkisian took himself out of the running, and the job went to 31-year-old Lane Kiffin, son of the legendary Tampa Bay coordinator, Monte Kiffin. Davis is nothing if not a risk-taker; Lane Kiffin is younger than his defensive tackle, Warren Sapp. And remember that Davis is the guy who let Bo Jackson play two sports.
But the Raiders have fallen out of fame and fortune. Since moving back to Oakland in 1995, after a 13-year run in Los Angeles, the Raiders have sold-out only two-thirds of their games - the Black Hole isn't even terrifying anymore, it's known to be a bunch of decent lawyers and accountants pretending to make tough. The Raiders did reach back to make the Super Bowl in 2003, losing badly to Tampa Bay, but blunders light up the marquee since. Davis hired his offensive coordinator, Tom Walsh, from a bed and breakfast in Sun Valley, Idaho, then demoted him mid-season. His Hall of Fame coach often looked unmoved on the sideline, and Davis canned him after the season. The franchise that gave us Stabler, Fred Biletnikoff, George Blanda, Willie Brown, Marcus Allen, Gene Upshaw and Ray Guy, sits near at the bottom of the league in most categories, although the defense showed some life this year.
And then came the lawsuits. Davis moved the Raiders from Oakland to Los Angeles in 1982, winning a court battle that said the NFL couldn't stop him - then he moved back to the Bay Area when he realized the old LA Coliseum had no luxury boxes. A flurry of lawsuits followed - breach of contract on a new stadium proposal in Los Angeles, a lawsuit to stop expansion teams from using black in their uniforms, another suit to avoid revenue-sharing (at one league meeting, a rumor circulated that some owners didn't show up because they didn't want to be subpoenaed).
The economics and the style of the NFL have changed in the past 10 years. The outlaw brand that Davis created is now polished and corporate, a league run by people with graduate degrees. When Davis signed on as General Manager in 1972, he received 10 percent of the team for only $18,000. The average today is near $900 million, but Forbes Magazine puts the Raiders at $736 million, 22 percent below the rest of the league.
Davis is 77-years-old, with ties to the Raiders for more than four decades, more than half his life. And his life is more than just jogging suits and law suits. He's one of only three coach/owners elected to the Hall of Fame. The others are Paul Brown and George Halas, both cornerstones of the NFL. Davis enjoys friends as diverse as his own staff. He's eulogized people like Sugar Ray Robinson and singer Sarah Vaughn. Some whisper that in 2007, the game has passed him by, and this actually makes him laugh. "That's a joke," he says in that wonderful sneer. "It's impossible for it to pass me by, I understand the game too well."
Lesley Visser has been a pioneer and standard-bearer for her more than 30 years covering sports. She has spent half of her career at CBS Sports where she currently is a member of the network's lead broadcast team for NFL football. Lesley was inducted into the Pro Football HOF in 2006. She can be reached lvisser@hofmag.com