In Finest Raider Tradition, Look for Davis to Go Long

The last the villagers hear, a management firm named Spectacor, seeking to save the football Raiders for Los Angeles, calls a meeting with Al Davis, entrepreneur, and with the Coliseum Commission.

What Spectacor proposes, along with MCA, Inc., is sort of coded, but it suggests, basically, that if the Coliseum will yield the land, Spectacor will build an elegant stadium, replacing one that isn’t elegant.

A large part of the money would come from the prepaid sale of luxury boxes, ranging in price from maybe $80,000 to $100,000 a year.

Every garment worker buys a luxury box.

From the cash produced by the boxes, plus that from club seats, signage, souvenirs and the like, Spectacor would be obliged to make a good-faith payment, known in the industry as a franchise fee , to the Raiders, who would accept only to avoid offending their host.

That sum would have to match, or exceed, what the Raiders have been promised in Oakland and Sacramento, both fighting for their football lives. If either captures the Raiders, the other is deceased, because the NFL would never consider an additional team within that trading territory.

If the Raiders enter into a deal with Spectacor in Los Angeles, it isn’t clear who would operate the stadium. The Raiders are extremely partial to operating their own stadium. Experience has taught them the hazards of landlords.

Then, amazingly, the name of the senior tenant at the Coliseum, USC, has yet to be mentioned. What would be USC’s role in this caper, and, unhappy, would it move to Oakland or Sacramento?

Spectacor has also proposed to build a new indoor stadium for the Clippers. It would displace the Sports Arena and sit on land adjacent to the Coliseum, provided, of course, the Coliseum Commission would lease Spectacor the land.

You look at Spectacor in one of two ways: (a) You are impressed, or (b) you see it telling the guys in the white coats, “. . . and if we get a land-lease, we are going to redo Mt. Rushmore, 250,000 boxes.”

Technically, the land at the Coliseum belongs to the state, which holds three of the nine seats on the Coliseum Commission.

The county holds three, as does the city.

The trouble with the Coliseum Commission is, the city, county and state don’t often agree. The last time we can recall unanimity is when the late actor, William Holden, named to the commission, established a record there that still stands.

During an incumbency of almost three years, Holden never attended a meeting, a tribute to the cerebral excellence of that artist.

Well, when the Sports Arena opened, names of the commissioners were to appear on a bronze plaque implanted on the side of the building.

Now a serious discussion developed over whether Holden’s name, or that of his alternate, should appear on the plaque. Someone moved for a vote. The motion was seconded.

Holden lost, 9-0.

It wasn’t that simple when a member of the City Council, Roz Wyman, was appointed to the commission. Wyman informed the group of a serious flaw in the ladies’ washrooms.

Each cubicle, she explained, bore a hook. Since not all women’s purses have straps, she suggested the hooks be replaced by shelves.

This called for profound debate, which found some commissioners demurring, but the vote to install shelves carried.

Roz then pressed her luck. Recommending air-conditioning in the commission chamber, she was beaten, 8-1.

A serious-minded man, Al Davis studies this unique troupe. The faces at the commission keep changing, but the seltzer-squirting in the chamber goes on.

Al has to say to himself, “Would the commission really yield control of its show to Spectacor? And, in such an eventuality, would Spectacor do everything it advertises?”

Others had proposed to renovate the stadium, including the distinguished owner of the Los Angeles Express, J. William Oldenburg, billing himself as “the self-made billionaire.”

Oldenburg came into the news the other day--guilty on one charge of bank fraud, acquitted on six others. Going 6-1, he had a better record than the Express.

But Los Angeles terrifies the Raiders, who, despite court findings to the contrary, maintain that they made a deal with one Coliseum Commission president, solidified it with a second and got knocked out of the box by a third.

Along the way, the Raiders also picked up a $58-million lawsuit, filed against them by the Coliseum, which now hints it might relent if the Raiders are good boys.

The Raiders aren’t good boys. Never have been. Never will be.

But they are logical. And they are now asked to assess the forces coming at them in Los Angeles. Can sense be made of the Coliseum?

Or, at the scheduled signing, will the commission jump out of a cake and sing, “Yankee Doodle Dandy?”

A feeling exists here, quite without documentation, that the Raiders, who like to go deep, will go 400 miles.