Rams’ Greene Stole a Page Right Out of Raiders’ Playbook

In the parking lot before the game, Channel 7 was interviewing incoming fans about the difference between Ram fans and Raider fans.

“Wimps!” exclaimed 1 Raider rooter. “Raider fans go to Charlie Bronson movies. Clint Eastwood’s. Ram fans like Alan Alda.”

Ram fans, he implied, eat quiche.

It goes deeper. One Raider slogan is, “Just win, baby!” The Rams run more to, “Do your best. Please?”

Ram fans come from the effete Westside--Beverly Hills. Or Pasadena. Raider fans come from Downey.

Ram fans arrive by Rolls with lunch in a wicker basket and a tablecloth. Raider fans come in pickup trucks. With gun racks.

The Rams are owned by a woman. The Raiders are owned by--well, Al Davis.

The Rams are Hollywood glitz, white wine and nouvelle cuisine. The Raiders are a shot and a beer--and the hot roast beef sandwich. Dessert included in the menu price.

The Rams get into the Super Bowl and everybody says, “Well, they gave a good account of themselves. They weren’t disgraced.” The Raiders get in and they kick butt--32-13, 27-10, 38-9.

Ram fans swap phone numbers and say, “Let’s do lunch!” in the stands. Raider fans punch each other out.

Ram fans wear furs and necklaces. Raider fans wear tattoos.

Ram fans implore, “Block that kick!” Raider fans say, “Break his damn leg!”

Ram fans say, “Nice try, Jim!” Raider fans say, “Get a quarterback in there!”

Ram fans remove their hats when the flag goes by. Raider fans remove their shirts.

Ram fans like their players from USC or Stanford. Raider fans don’t care if they’re from San Quentin. Ram fans wish they’d graduated. Raider fans just hope they’re paroled.

The Rams move to affluent Orange County. The Raiders fancy a gravel pit on the way to San Dimas.

So, it figures when these 2 sets of local heroes get together for 1 of their infrequent, so to speak, intersectional clashes, it would be the lowlifes against the highbrows. The rogues in silver and black would throw every dirty trick in the book against the high-minded types in the hats with the funny horns on them.

Well, do you remember when you were a kid on the sandlots? Everything went, right? No officials, no head linesmen, no zebras.

When you saw a guy go flying by you with the football and you had no chance to tackle him or he looked too big and tough, what did you do? Why, you tripped him, of course! Good old American gamesmanship. Chop his leg off, if you could.

Well, it pains me to tell you the Rams--the guys in the white hats, mind you, the fight-fiercely-but-fairly types--won the football game Sunday using those tactics, on a play that’s right out of a riot in Cellblock 8 or a Central Park mugging. It was like watching Frank Merriwell rob a church.

First of all, you have to understand something about Kevin Greene. Kevin is a Ram, but not in his heart.

Kevin is kind of this wild-eyed mass of muscle who plays outside linebacker the way Ted Hendricks--you remember the Raiders’ Mad Stork?--used to play it. With out-of-control abandon, calculated recklessness and a modicum of malice. The Raider way.

Kevin is really a Raider, is what he is. His dad was a colonel in the Army, and Kevin himself is a captain in the reserves and he was brought up in a barracks in Germany. If you’re getting a picture of Kevin with a bandoleer of bullets across his chest and an automatic rifle strapped to his biceps, you’re not far wrong. He was born in New York, so he’s not big on listening to excuses.

Kevin was a walk-on at Auburn University, which means the recruiters didn’t get around to Granite City, Ill., where Kevin could bench-press a Volkswagen or put knots in crowbars if the spirit moved him. He dismantled enough Southeastern Conference defenses to ring up 69 tackles and 11 sacks in his senior year. He got his degree in criminal justice.

An outside linebacker who moves to defensive end in pass-rushing situations, Kevin is 1 of the guys who makes the so-called “Eagle defense” of the Rams so hard to correlate.

“Kevin gives us that wild, catalytic type play that makes the defense work,” his coach, John Robinson, explains.

Sunday, in the third quarter with a little over 2 minutes to play, the Raiders had just tied the score on the Rams, 10-10, and had the ball on their own 4-yard line. It was 3rd and 8, and Raider quarterback Steve Beuerlein dropped back into the end zone to pass when he suddenly thought he saw a route to a first down.

In front of him, his offensive tackle, Steve Wright, was locked in one of those insect mating dances the offense and defense get into on the line of scrimmage. Wright appeared to have Greene upright and stationary. Beuerlein started to lunge inside him, en route to yardage.

You guessed it. He reckoned on Greene being a Ram. Instead, Kevin shot his foot out surreptitiously, and unceremoniously tripped him. The official immediately signaled a safety--2 points for the Rams.

And, that, sports fans, was the old ball game right there. It put the Rams ahead to stay, and a few minutes later, when the Raiders had to kick the ball to the Rams from their 20, in accordance with the rule on safeties, the Rams were able to turn it into a field goal and ultimately the victory.

Was it illegal? Is strong-armed robbery?

We used to do that all the time in the old neighborhood, but you wouldn’t figure anyone to get away with it with a dozen officials and network television looking on.

In the locker room afterward, Greene was surprised to see reporters after him.

“Go talk to Gary Jeter,” he urged. “He had the best day I’ve ever seen anyone have. What’d he have 5, 6 sacks?”

What about the play that won the game?

“Well,” challenged Greene, “what about it? Did I get a sack?”

Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, he got the game. But on purpose?

“Hey! How big a play is it? You’re just trying to get over in front of the quarterback and you’re locked up with No. 66?”

“Is that play in your playbook?” someone asked Ram Coach John Robinson.

“Yeah, it’s a 42-T,” he said, grinning.

It was right out of the Raiders’ just-win book. Except that Greene was hardly Raider-esque afterward.

If a Raider had done it and the press wanted to know, “Did you trip him?” the Raider answer would have come back: “He was going by. What was I supposed to do, kiss him?”