Recently in Oakland Raiders Category

Those are the only reasonable explanations for what happened in the NFL Draft last night. No, I'm not talking about Josh McDaniels scoring an F minus at the Bill Belichick School of Outsmarting Everybody in the Room. I'm talking about the Oakland Raiders breaking from its commitment to exasperating foolishness by picking Rolando McClain, a 6'3, 254 lb. beast out of Alabama.

With the best DTs (a desperate need) off the board, it was an incredibly logical and intelligent move. McClain's not a project or the guy with the fastest 40 at the combine. He's a real football player - a difference maker who rocks an off the charts football IQ that allowed him to keep the Alabama defense running like a well oiled machine. I have no doubt that he has the talent not only to step in and have an immediate impact on a tissue-soft run defense but also to become the centerpiece of a great one.

It's enough to make a penitent, weary fan at her wit's end zip over to the NFL Shop and pick up her first jersey since Tim Brown retired. Truth be told, I very nearly did, and then I remembered something: as a member of the Oakland Raiders, there's an 80/20 chance that Rolando McClain's career is over before it even has a chance to begin.

The pollyannas amongst us might believe that this decisive, abnormally prudent selection is a sign of great things to come but I'm not buying it. Tom Cable is still the coach, Stay-Puft Russell is still the quarterback and Al Davis still lives. Until those things change, this organization will continue to be a backwards place where talent goes to die. And for a guy as seemingly awesome as Rolando McClain, that's just not fair.

I stayed up until 4:30 am watching the New York Yankees win their 40th AL Pennant, and now I'm too wired to sleep. In light of that, I have a few random thoughts.

1. Last night, Andy Pettitte worked the strike zone like an attentive lover. I wish I could trade places with it. I'd tell him myself but he's yet to respond to the last letter I sent with locks of my hair in it.
   
   
2. If Robinson Cano was a genre of music, he'd be jazz -- one of those smooth Charlie Parker joints with cool, easy getout phrases and soft, sweet, fairytale solos. Though Cano's defensive play ranges in quality, the way he turns double plays is absolutely sublime.
   
   
3. Vladimir Guerrero is dumber than hair
1. In related news, the bulk of the Angels roster is shockingly dumb as well. The words fundamentals and smart should never be used in the same sentence as "Angels" ever again.
   
1. I mean, wow.
   
   
4. The Yankees were .187 (how appropriate) with RISP in the ALDS, but unlike the Angels, the Phillies are aware that they play in the major leagues. This means they won't play like asshats in the World Series. it also means they will pound us into submission if we dare leave 52 men on base. You hear that, Posada, Swisher and Teixeira?
   
   
5. After watching the New York Jets violate Jamarcus Russell and the Oakland Raiders, I've come to the conclusion that the Silver & Black should change their logo to the Gordian Knot. It is the only image that can truly define this sad organisation.
   
   
6. In related news, I got a call from my 9 year old nephew, Alejandro, who was distraught about the Raiders' spectacular ineptitude.
   A: Aunt (Flash), I'm confused.
   F: And I'm here to help.
   A: Well, we are Warners.
   F: Sure are.
   A: And Papa says that makes us winners. (We have a lot of family pride. If we were chavs, at least one of us would have our surname tattooed in Old English across his or her shoulders)
   F: Don't ever forget it, hombrito. Papa speaks the truth.
   A: Then why are we cheering for the Raiders? They are not winners.
   -- I had no answers for him. Sadness abounds.
   
   
7. When will the Indianapolis Colts and the New England Patriots stop running up scores like they're in the SEC? You don't need style points to impress BCS voters, assholes. You're going to the playoffs, not the Sugar Bowl.
   
   
8. ESPN fired Steve Phillips, the former Mets GM who had an affair with a 22 year old production assistant. If ESPN cared as much about the quality and competency of their on-air talent as they do about scandal being brought upon them, they wouldn't be doing to sports what MTV has already done to music.
   
   
9. Like all public figures who get into trouble, Phillips has decided to enter "a treatment facility to address his personal issues." I assume this means sex addiction rehab, but the reality is that Steve Phillips doesn't have a sex addiction problem. He has a Settling for Ugly Bitches problem. If you're going to cat around and ruin your career, do it with a woman who is worth a damn. Not some hideously fugly broad who looks like Snoopy and spreads like peanut butter because she's insecure. I wish I had more hands to give this man more thumbs down.
   
   
10. The man in my life is a very fit fellow of Middle Eastern descent. As a result, people keep suggesting that we attend Halloween fancy dress parties this weekend as Aladdin and Princess Jasmine. I don't know whether to be offended or amused.

Before Monday, more than 18 months had passed since I last wasted an emotion on the Oakland Raiders. I used to have this butterflies-in-the-stomach, sweaty-palmed, rapid heartbeat giddiness at the start of every season because the Silver & Black were gonna rule the world - or, at the very least - kick it in the ass.

But the perennial Commitment to Impotence and Mediocrity eventually sucked out my passion and turned me into the bitter half of one of those couples who had been together for 20 years, gotten comfortable and fallen out of love. Sure, I still told the Raiders I loved them, pecked them on the cheek when I left for work and even gave it up in the sack every Sunday night because that was our "routine." But that heat? That fire? That adrenaline rush I'd get every time I saw them? That was long gone. After a while I started ogling other teams; entertaining thoughts of illicit affairs; closing my eyes during our Sunday interludes and fantasizing I was with the Packers or the Giants.

But even though I was jilted and lonely, I never had the stones to leave them or even cheat, so I settled in on Monday night for a new season of doormat football. I was going to watch a quarter and go to bed because how long can it really last when you've got Tom Cable, a quarterback who looks like he ate Aaron Brooks, two rookie wide receivers and a defense led by a guy who got Shanghaied out of Foxboro?

But when we came out of the gate, we weren't just aggressive, we were nasty. A punishing rushing attack was followed up with a bust-you-in-the-mouth defense. Bodies flew around the field. First round busts emerged from the ether. The Stay-Puft quarterback blew people up on blocks. We were switched on; energized. It felt like vintage Raider football but with young players who had no idea what that was all about. For once, the Silver & Black looked like a legit NFL team instead of the deformed hobgoblin that hides in the damp, dark recesses of Roger Goodell's soul. And even though Jamarcus Russell couldn't hit the ocean from the beach, we looked so decent and the Chargers so bad that I started to wonder if NFL Films had replaced the game with a flashback video from the 1990s the way ABC had with the Florida State/Miami tilt a couple weeks back.

That hesitant wonder turned to unabashed, obnoxious glee. And when we went up 20-17 with a little more than two minutes to play on a 4th and 14 miracle bomb from Russell to rookie Louis Murphy, I called my friend Maine, fellow Raider fan and malcontent:

"Do you believe what we're seeing? Could it happen?"
"Don't talk to me. You'll jinx it. I'll call you back."

I should have known better than to call him with that much time on the clock. Philip Rivers could still hit LT for the touchdown with 7 seconds left to play and deep down, I knew it was the most likely outcome. But I was so wrapped up in that moment that I didn't care. Christ, I couldn't care. All of those old emotions came flooding back and for the first time since 2002, I really believed. I was giddy with it, anxious with it. I was living with every Richard Seymour tackle and dying with every inaccurate Jamarcus pass, all the while knowing and believing that the Raiders weren't going to merely pull off an upset, they were going to turn the league on its ear.

But then came Philip Rivers, Darren Sproles and a defensive regression to 2004. I didn't have Sproles programmed into my doom and gloom scenario but I didn't count on our defense bitching out and getting soft either. Rivers went 7/7 and moved the ball up the field with ease before Sproles took the draw and strolled into the endzone to give the Chargers the 24-20 win.

I was gutted. I still am. It's been a long time since Oakland has made me feel so low but there's no one to blame but myself. They were able to rip out my still-beating heart, shit on it and set it aflame because I was weak enough to believe again. It was like being a Bills fan for a day.

I remarked to a friend yesterday morning that the worst thing about football season these days isn't knowing that we're going to lose but knowing that there's no hope. He said, "Welcome to my time in the Rich Kotite era." We had a good laugh over it but after last night, I realized that those hopeless days in Oakland  might just be gone. I also realized that the spineless part of me wants them back.

After the Raiders signed safety Gibril Wilson a few weeks ago, I had a glimmer of hope that this off-season just might go well. This was a fantastic FA get. Sure, we massively overpaid (7 years, $39M) but it's reasonable to believe that Wilson - one of the most consistent safeties in the league - will turn out to be worth the cash. At least, he will be until he realizes he plays in the Bay and completely flakes out a la Charles Woodson.

But then we signed DT Tommy Kelly for an insane $50M dollars and then Kwame Brown - a middling OL that didn't start a game last season - for $16M over three years. And now, Al Davis has emerged from his oxygen chamber to cock things up yet again.

I'm sure most of you saw the news last week that the Raiders signed malcontent Javon Walker and his irreparably shredded knees. Even in Walker's diminished condition, I'll take him because we have a wide receiving corps that consists of Ronald Curry, To Be Determined and To Be Determined. In a situation like this, it's hard to be picky.

But in his infinite wisdom, Al Davis has somehow found a way to make this the worst move of all time. Instead of paying beaten up, broken down, waiting on a new hip Javon Walker what he's worth, the Crypt Keeper is giving him $55M for 6 years. My first reaction was, "Well, I'm sure it's totally backloaded, so no big deal." And while that is somewhat true, Walker still gets $16M in guaranteed money and $27M for the first three years. Hell, if he gets cut this season, he still gets $11M and if he's cut in 2 seasons, he's got $16M! 

What's next, Al? Gonna pull Keyshawn Johnson out the ESPN-abyss with a guaranteed 1-year, $25M deal? I assure you that he's a lot more functional right now than Walker, he of the 28 catches, 287 yards (200 of which came in the first 2 games), 0 touchdowns and 8 games in 2007. Former Pro Bowl, 1000 yard receiver or not, this is pure madness. The only thing I can see explaining this mentally defective contract is if the price of bribing formerly capable players to waste their careers on our shores has ballooned to an additional 85% of market value.

Speaking of ballooned, there are rumors that Stay-Puft, also known as Jamarcus Russell, is currently weighing in around 300 pounds. Now, if that's true, what does it matter who we sign when we've got a heifer for a quarterback that might be tempted to eat the damn ball?!

2 thumbs down! 

I kid, of course. But allow me to congratulate Coach Lane Kiffin and the Oakland Raiders on ending the 17-game losing streak of pure AFC West shame and, barring a freakish miracle, nailing the 3rd and final win of the 2008 NFL season. That's a 50% improvement on Art Shell's gross incompetence, so huzzah to the boys.

I'll be honest, I actually thought we'd pull down 4 wins this season. Crazy but true. After a summer listening to Kiffin's stuttered song and dance about innovative methods and youthful vision, I had about a half inch of hope going into the season. That grew to a whole inch after a near miss in Denver and two straight wins going into week 5. At that point, I couldn't help but sit back and think, "Dare I believe?" ... Well, I didn't and we dropped 6 games in typical Raider fashion.

As such, I didn't have much hope for Sunday with the Chiefs. I figured we'd make a battle of it before pissing the game away with a minute to spare.

But while thinking about everything that could go wrong for the Silver and Black, I failed to consider the one thing that could work to our advantage at the end of the 4th quarter: Herman Edwards.

The 2004 New York Jets aside, no Herm-led team has had a winning record after 6 games. Add that to the fact that Edwards is not only one of the worst clock managers of all time but also one of the worst in-game field generals since Gen. Ambrose Burnside, and I should have known that the odds were just too high in our favor for things to go wrong. 

Go Raiders and thanks Herm!