Why I Still Hate Al Davis

I recently made a comment on Facebook about how I have never forgiven Al Davis and that I hope he rots in some sort of state of eternal punishment. I just wanted to take some space to explain myself. I grew up in northern California as an Oakland Raider fan. I LOVED the Raiders. My parents raised me right: I was taught to love the Raiders, like the 49ers, and to hate the Steelers, Cowboys, and all things Los Angeles. It was a simpler time. The Raiders in the 70's were colorful, goofy, and more than slightly dangerous. They wore the silver and black and were proud of their outlaw image. To a child growing up during this time there was the Raiders and there was Darth Vader... both were badass (and don't get me started about how Darth Vader was going to be redemptive or save the force or whatever... Darth Vader was a badass who snapped necks and could choke your ass out just by wanting it to happen. That was some cool shit). My parents like to tell the story about how I used to cry when the Raiders lost. Like that shit was funny... Losing sucks.

In 1981 Al Davis decided to tell the Bay Area to fuck itself and moved to Los Angeles. This was in spite of the fact that the Raiders had (and still have) a rabid following that had an unprecedented sell-out streak and the love of the entire area. All of those 49ers fans in the 80's? Most of them were fans by default, because Al Davis was an asshole. L.A. of all places? By the time of the Raiders move I was old enough to understand what was going on (and before you ask, no I didn't cry), so I decided at that moment that the Raiders and Al Davis were dead to me.

He never made a pretense of anything other than what his move to L.A. was, a cash grab. And since he was so unapologetic about his being a jerk, I have been and will continue to be unapologetic about my hatred of Al Davis and his stupid pompadour and sweat suit. So I'll say it one more time: I hate you Al, I hope you rot away in some special level of hell.

I feel better now...