Kamran
11-13-2006, 07:29 PM
Editor's Note: This article's timeliness is not the writer's fault but his inept editor's. For this, I apologize.
THE 2006 RAIDERS: TRUE TEAM OF DESTINY
In light of the Oakland Raider's recent victory over the broken-hearted Arizona Cardinals, a subject that has long been lingering within the confines of my skull has finally burst itself out of my head and into the open. For years, I have pondered my standing as an Oakland Raiders fan. I am in no way questioning my fan-dom for this band. I'm simply asking myself if my version of loyalty to the team may possibly be dubbed unsporting or even un-American. Since the Raiders were destroyed in the 2002 Super Bowl, they have been, far and wide, the worst team, record-wise, in the NFL. With competition like the aforementioned Cardinals, as well as those so-called "teams" from Detroit, Houston, and, until recently, New Orleans, it's an absolute shock to almost any sports fan. The question has been raised for years as to how this could have happened.
However, being a Raiders fan, I like to think I have an understanding of the way the system works down in Al Davis Land. It is with this knowledge firmly held in the deepest recesses of my sports-loving heart that I not only know the answer to this query, but I actually predicted it within moments of the Buccaneers dominating every single aspect of a football game that supposedly features the best of the best in a league full of the manliest men you may ever come across.
There are a number of problems with the Oakland Raiders organization. First and foremost is Al Davis's complete avoidance of bringing prospects along and developing young talent. He will gladly take a seasoned veteran over a wet-behind-the-ears rookie or sophomore. In usual football terms, this is a fine and dandy thing to do. But, as with all things, the key is moderation. Al Davis and Co. have no sense of the word. When the Raiders made their title run, I'm pretty sure the average age of their starting lineup was 83. I could be off by a few months, but I’m sure that's a fairly accurate figure.
The problem with a team loaded with aging veterans isn't that they can no longer produce. As that team proved, they certain could still produce. The lingering question no one in the Raiders camp bothered to ask was, for how long? It's no secret that aging players lose a step. It's no secret that their hunger wanes. It should never be a secret to anyone, ever, though, that aging players, well, they tend to get injured. And when that happens, they don't recover so quickly. After being trounced in the 2003 Super Bowl, I, as any real follower of a team they claim to love should have done, realized that we were two injuries away from complete devastation.
That devastation would come in the form of reigning MVP, offensive leader, and, most importantly, quarterback, Rich Gannon, going down in a fireball of shoulder injuries and rushed recovery. Naturally, this was a catastrophe. Our backup quarterback was Marques Tuiasosopo. Who? Exactly. Naturally, the Raiders did what the Raiders always do. Bring in the grizzled vet of justice!
That didn't work out. We lost a ton of games and never recovered.
This, however unnaturally, leads us to this glorious 2006 National Football League season, when the Chicago Bears seemed like the team of destiny, much like the Indianapolis Colts the year before. However, all this destiny talk was focused in a much-misguided manner. The Chicago Bears had to pull off a miracle to overcome the lowly Arizona Cardinals, scoring zero offensive touchdowns, yet still coming back from a twenty-point deficit in the fourth quarter. It does not speak highly of this "team of destiny." Meanwhile, the soul-crushing loss handed to the Cardinals broke the backs and egos of any and all players in an Arizona uniform. They could have played a Class AAA JV football team and lost the next week. Alas, they were scheduled to play 2006's only real version of a team of destiny: The Oakland Raiders, one of the sorriest collections of miscreants ever assembled to do battle on a football field.
With a defense that couldn't quite figure out the mechanics of making a tackle and a starting running back who couldn't figure out the mechanics of breaking a tackle, the Raiders were an early favorite to lose the one game anyone wearing pads and a helmet could have won. Then fate, as it often does, intervened. Starting running back LaMont Jordan was out with an injury. This left a crew consisting of Justin Fargas (hey, did you know his dad played Huggybear on the original Starsky and Hutch?) and Zack Crockett to do the dirty work inside. Naturally, as is the Raiders' forte, these two are much more productive than the highly-paid Jordan when given the ball. This did not bode well for the Arizona Cardinals. Nor did it bode well for the singular purpose of Raiders football in the year twenty aught six.
For, you see, the sole magical purpose of this fine team was to do something never before accomplished in this League of National Football: They were brought together in this time, this place, to become the first team to ever have a perfect sixteen-game season. A big, fat sixteen right where it oughtta be: The loss column. Only then would their season have reason, purpose. Only then would Al Davis's genius become so very clear. Unless this was the goal, the signing of free agent quarterback Aaron Brooks makes no sense in any universe I have ever seen or even dared to dream. The man who once lost thirty-five yards on a pass was running my Oakland Raiders. Clearly, this was either a sign of the apocalypse, one of Davis's cockamamie "get poor quick" schemes, or a test of just how bad he could make this team before the games stopped selling out. Quick sidenote here: they haven't.
When Brooks with out with an injury (who cares what it was? I don't), the team was forced to turn to unproven Andrew Walter, a man who broke John Elway's school passing records over at Arizona State University. Of course, we all know how "all-time leader in passing yards" generally works out. Need I remind you of one Danny Wuerfel? I should think not.
But lo and behold, Walter wasn't as crummy as he should have been, given his distinctive lineage and the fact that he was an Oakland Raider. Alas, he is a moderate to above-average quarterback who simply needs to work out the typical first-time starter jitters and kinks everybody goes through. Then, he might be something special. Just my luck. The one person who guaranteed that this team would be cemented as the worst team ever fielded goes down with an injury and he's replaced with a guy with upside aplenty. Disgusting.
Long story short, for a glimmering sixty minutes, the Raiders defense learned how to tackle and, stuck with a backfield that featured people who were actually worth the money being paid to them, they pulled out a gutsy victory over a team reeling from one of the most crushing losses in athletic history just six days prior. So angry did this game make me that I found myself slamming my remote control to the ground on a number of occasions, yelling incomprehensibly at the screen for minutes on end. Not once, not twice, but thricely, did I turn the blasted viewscreen off and storm from the room in a fuss unseen since women started getting real jobs and had more to worry about than making sure their husband liked the way the meat was cooked.
Moments after history was guaranteed not to be made in this, the year in which history was borne to be made, I did a once-over of the remaining Raiders schedule. So close. So very close. That brief glimpse showed me what might have been. Perfection. The only possible roadblocks: The on-again-off-again New York Jets, who I would think would never have such a complete breakdown as to lose to the 2006 Oakland Raiders, and the underappreciated Texans of Houston, a team I'm sure could pick apart this Raiders team. Say what you will about David Carr, but if you stick him with a team that has even two mildly talented offensive weapons and a line that blocks a guy on every other play, and he'd be a star. Sure win for the Texans over Oakland, no doubt. And those are the only remaining roadblocks to the season that might have been, should have been, but will never be.
Any Raiders fan rejoicing at a victory over the crestfallen and cursed Cardinals cannot possibly be a true Raiders fan. Anyone with a Raiders placard on their car worth the dirt and grime on their face should have been cheering wildly for the true team of destiny, the true heirs to the throne of suckitude. Alas, I fear I am the only one who feels this way. And, for the life of me, I can't understand why.
I curse your name, LaMont Jordan. You are the one I blame. Had you been kindly enough to tough this little injury out, this season would not have died in vain!
-Ben Rice
THE 2006 RAIDERS: TRUE TEAM OF DESTINY
In light of the Oakland Raider's recent victory over the broken-hearted Arizona Cardinals, a subject that has long been lingering within the confines of my skull has finally burst itself out of my head and into the open. For years, I have pondered my standing as an Oakland Raiders fan. I am in no way questioning my fan-dom for this band. I'm simply asking myself if my version of loyalty to the team may possibly be dubbed unsporting or even un-American. Since the Raiders were destroyed in the 2002 Super Bowl, they have been, far and wide, the worst team, record-wise, in the NFL. With competition like the aforementioned Cardinals, as well as those so-called "teams" from Detroit, Houston, and, until recently, New Orleans, it's an absolute shock to almost any sports fan. The question has been raised for years as to how this could have happened.
However, being a Raiders fan, I like to think I have an understanding of the way the system works down in Al Davis Land. It is with this knowledge firmly held in the deepest recesses of my sports-loving heart that I not only know the answer to this query, but I actually predicted it within moments of the Buccaneers dominating every single aspect of a football game that supposedly features the best of the best in a league full of the manliest men you may ever come across.
There are a number of problems with the Oakland Raiders organization. First and foremost is Al Davis's complete avoidance of bringing prospects along and developing young talent. He will gladly take a seasoned veteran over a wet-behind-the-ears rookie or sophomore. In usual football terms, this is a fine and dandy thing to do. But, as with all things, the key is moderation. Al Davis and Co. have no sense of the word. When the Raiders made their title run, I'm pretty sure the average age of their starting lineup was 83. I could be off by a few months, but I’m sure that's a fairly accurate figure.
The problem with a team loaded with aging veterans isn't that they can no longer produce. As that team proved, they certain could still produce. The lingering question no one in the Raiders camp bothered to ask was, for how long? It's no secret that aging players lose a step. It's no secret that their hunger wanes. It should never be a secret to anyone, ever, though, that aging players, well, they tend to get injured. And when that happens, they don't recover so quickly. After being trounced in the 2003 Super Bowl, I, as any real follower of a team they claim to love should have done, realized that we were two injuries away from complete devastation.
That devastation would come in the form of reigning MVP, offensive leader, and, most importantly, quarterback, Rich Gannon, going down in a fireball of shoulder injuries and rushed recovery. Naturally, this was a catastrophe. Our backup quarterback was Marques Tuiasosopo. Who? Exactly. Naturally, the Raiders did what the Raiders always do. Bring in the grizzled vet of justice!
That didn't work out. We lost a ton of games and never recovered.
This, however unnaturally, leads us to this glorious 2006 National Football League season, when the Chicago Bears seemed like the team of destiny, much like the Indianapolis Colts the year before. However, all this destiny talk was focused in a much-misguided manner. The Chicago Bears had to pull off a miracle to overcome the lowly Arizona Cardinals, scoring zero offensive touchdowns, yet still coming back from a twenty-point deficit in the fourth quarter. It does not speak highly of this "team of destiny." Meanwhile, the soul-crushing loss handed to the Cardinals broke the backs and egos of any and all players in an Arizona uniform. They could have played a Class AAA JV football team and lost the next week. Alas, they were scheduled to play 2006's only real version of a team of destiny: The Oakland Raiders, one of the sorriest collections of miscreants ever assembled to do battle on a football field.
With a defense that couldn't quite figure out the mechanics of making a tackle and a starting running back who couldn't figure out the mechanics of breaking a tackle, the Raiders were an early favorite to lose the one game anyone wearing pads and a helmet could have won. Then fate, as it often does, intervened. Starting running back LaMont Jordan was out with an injury. This left a crew consisting of Justin Fargas (hey, did you know his dad played Huggybear on the original Starsky and Hutch?) and Zack Crockett to do the dirty work inside. Naturally, as is the Raiders' forte, these two are much more productive than the highly-paid Jordan when given the ball. This did not bode well for the Arizona Cardinals. Nor did it bode well for the singular purpose of Raiders football in the year twenty aught six.
For, you see, the sole magical purpose of this fine team was to do something never before accomplished in this League of National Football: They were brought together in this time, this place, to become the first team to ever have a perfect sixteen-game season. A big, fat sixteen right where it oughtta be: The loss column. Only then would their season have reason, purpose. Only then would Al Davis's genius become so very clear. Unless this was the goal, the signing of free agent quarterback Aaron Brooks makes no sense in any universe I have ever seen or even dared to dream. The man who once lost thirty-five yards on a pass was running my Oakland Raiders. Clearly, this was either a sign of the apocalypse, one of Davis's cockamamie "get poor quick" schemes, or a test of just how bad he could make this team before the games stopped selling out. Quick sidenote here: they haven't.
When Brooks with out with an injury (who cares what it was? I don't), the team was forced to turn to unproven Andrew Walter, a man who broke John Elway's school passing records over at Arizona State University. Of course, we all know how "all-time leader in passing yards" generally works out. Need I remind you of one Danny Wuerfel? I should think not.
But lo and behold, Walter wasn't as crummy as he should have been, given his distinctive lineage and the fact that he was an Oakland Raider. Alas, he is a moderate to above-average quarterback who simply needs to work out the typical first-time starter jitters and kinks everybody goes through. Then, he might be something special. Just my luck. The one person who guaranteed that this team would be cemented as the worst team ever fielded goes down with an injury and he's replaced with a guy with upside aplenty. Disgusting.
Long story short, for a glimmering sixty minutes, the Raiders defense learned how to tackle and, stuck with a backfield that featured people who were actually worth the money being paid to them, they pulled out a gutsy victory over a team reeling from one of the most crushing losses in athletic history just six days prior. So angry did this game make me that I found myself slamming my remote control to the ground on a number of occasions, yelling incomprehensibly at the screen for minutes on end. Not once, not twice, but thricely, did I turn the blasted viewscreen off and storm from the room in a fuss unseen since women started getting real jobs and had more to worry about than making sure their husband liked the way the meat was cooked.
Moments after history was guaranteed not to be made in this, the year in which history was borne to be made, I did a once-over of the remaining Raiders schedule. So close. So very close. That brief glimpse showed me what might have been. Perfection. The only possible roadblocks: The on-again-off-again New York Jets, who I would think would never have such a complete breakdown as to lose to the 2006 Oakland Raiders, and the underappreciated Texans of Houston, a team I'm sure could pick apart this Raiders team. Say what you will about David Carr, but if you stick him with a team that has even two mildly talented offensive weapons and a line that blocks a guy on every other play, and he'd be a star. Sure win for the Texans over Oakland, no doubt. And those are the only remaining roadblocks to the season that might have been, should have been, but will never be.
Any Raiders fan rejoicing at a victory over the crestfallen and cursed Cardinals cannot possibly be a true Raiders fan. Anyone with a Raiders placard on their car worth the dirt and grime on their face should have been cheering wildly for the true team of destiny, the true heirs to the throne of suckitude. Alas, I fear I am the only one who feels this way. And, for the life of me, I can't understand why.
I curse your name, LaMont Jordan. You are the one I blame. Had you been kindly enough to tough this little injury out, this season would not have died in vain!
-Ben Rice