Growing up in the suburbs of Denver, I naturally was taught the
Raiders, regardless of their city affiliation, were evil.
Growing up in the suburbs of Denver, I naturally was taught the Raiders, regardless of their city affiliation, were evil.
And why not? What small child wouldn’t find the black and silver jerseys, flagrant play and fans to be straight out of the bowels of hell? Like every other kid in town, I grew up dressing up in a junior-sized orange John Elway jersey on Halloween and wishing I could be a hero like him.
Fifteen years later and still a Bronco fan, I scurried onto the BART train in Fremont Sunday morning with God-know-how-many Raider fans anticipating the biggest game so far this year.
Was I wearing a John Elway jersey? Heck, no. Do you think I’m crazy? I secretly cheered my team on by wearing a white polo shirt. It may seem neutral, but the Broncos were in their road jerseys, so I was in mine.
Coming into the game, both the Broncos and Raiders were in control of their own destinies. If the Broncos could beat the Raiders and then the Arizona Cardinals next week, they would be the AFC West Champions. Thanks to the Chiefs beating the Chargers in the morning game, all the Raiders needed was a win over the Broncos to secure the division for themselves for the third-straight year.
And I was in the right place to see it play out before my eyes. All I had to do was to get over my fear of a coliseum full of crazy Raider fans who might tear me limb from limb if they found out the truth about my affiliation.
If there is one stadium you don’t go in wearing the opposing team’s colors, it’s Network Associates Coliseum – especially if you’re a Broncos fan. And sure enough, I didn’t see a single fan in the parking lot. In fact, the only Broncos emblems I saw were on the football field during the game.
I had heard all of the horror stories of people getting beat up, kids being yelled at and having beer poured on their heads at Raider games, and it frightened me. I had a dream Saturday night that as I was passing by the tailgaters, they realized I was a Bronco fan and tried to attack me. As they bore down on me and began knocking me to the ground, I shouted, “It’s OK, I’m a part of the working medi-ahhhhhh!”
I took in the whole scene as I got off the train and crossed over the top of the highway toward the stadium. As I walked in the sea of black Oakland jerseys I saw the chain-link fences along each side of the walkway wrapping over the top of us and the razor wire running along the top of the fence. It felt like we were walking into a giant concrete prison, not a stadium. Hanging from the side of the stadium was a giant banner with the Raiders’ logo and motto: “Commitment to Excellence.”
One fan in a Raider jersey walked by me yelling “F— John Elway, F— the stupid horses, I hate those stupid helmets!”
I did my best to keep my mouth shut and not whimper back about how great John Elway was and made my way to the press box, the safest place I thought I could be. And I was right. Suddenly I was surrounded by the same sports writers and TV sports reporters that I grew up reading and watching in Denver.
I watch the stands fill up and the green seats turned into a mass of black, and banners reading “Skull Patrol” and “The Black Hole” hand been hung along the base of the field. Yikes.
Although my team didn’t come up with the win, I was determined to take something away from the game. I paid close attention to the fans – of course, from the safety of the protective glass and security of the press box. The sellout crowd was nearly all dressed in black and silver, and every time the Raiders made a play they would burst from their seats in an explosion of emotion that I have never seen at a professional sporting event. It seemed to me like a giant prison riot. Arms were flailing and people were beating on the walls off the stadium. But I wondered to myself if these fans weren’t much different than the Broncomaniacs back in Colorado.
After all the post-game press conferences and interviews I walked out onto the grass and to the Raiders emblem at midfield. As I stood there I wondered to myself that had I grown up in Oakland, I would be just like the crazy fans I had seen earlier – screaming and yelling for the Raiders, wearing a black and silver jersey with Woodson or Brown scrawled on the back and some evil skull mask on my face. I would still be complaining about the “tuck rule” and worshiping the ground that Rich Gannon walked on.
Then I thought of my triumphant hero Elway playing here and imagined him on the field being booed and hollered at by the Raider faithful. I asked myself again, “Could I have been a Raiders fan?” Could I really be that evil?
No way.
