Special Coach Creates Special Kind of Unity

Coach of the year in the National Football League, man of the hour in the Coliseum, may we introduce to you the act you’ve known for all these years, Arthur Shell Jr., the papa bear of a younger generation who somehow has seemed incapable of losing much of anything in Los Angeles this season, except maybe a pound or two here or there (mostly there).

A liquid diet is what his players have cooked up for their heavy-duty coach now that the playoffs are here and the Raiders are in them, back where they belong after a five-year sabbatical. Although Art Shell did not get Gatoraded when he left the playing field after Sunday’s 17-12 stiff arm of the San Diego Chargers--a game that gave his team the division championship--he does know the drill.

“They got me after Cincinnati, after we clinched the playoffs,” Shell said. “Fortunately, it was only water that time.”

Water’s better?

“Hey, I don’t care what they pour on me,” Shell said. “If they do it, that means we’re winning.”

That they are, and the day the L.A. Raiders undeniably rose from the dead was Oct. 3, 1989, when Art Shell rose from assistant to head coach and Mike Shanahan was returned to sender. This was their rebirth. This date marked the official restoration of the Raiders as strong, sturdy, healthy, viable NFL title contenders, the end result of their Art transplant.

There is scarcely a voice in any corner of the locker room that has not been heard giving credit to Shell for transforming the Raiders into NFL power-brokers again, and if there exists a coach less criticized by the general public anywhere in the league, we cannot identify him by name. Coach of the year? No confirmation on this yet, but anybody who does not vote for Art Shell deserves a hard right-hand clout in the snout.

He woke these players from their nap, Shell did, just the way he shook them from a deep slumber in the midst of Sunday’s game, when the Raiders had nothing to show for a half’s worth of work except 90 net yards and seven lousy points.

In their dressing room, Shell dressed them down.

“It’s scary when you get Art mad at you like that,” running back Steve Smith said. “It’s like a big bear growling at you.”

Much of what makes Shell such a success as the NFL’s youngest coach can be attributed to how much his players want to play for him. They cannot help but feel a bond with a man who knows what their life is like--faces in the dirt, blood on the shirt. For 23 seasons Art Shell has labored in the Raider organization, and in 23 postseason games he played. Who could be better qualified to take this team to the NFL’s promised land?

Shell did more than restore the Raiders to their rightful place in the playoffs. He restored Raider desire.

“I don’t always know what they need, but I generally know what they feel,” Shell said. “Because I was there, I have a pretty good notion of when a football player needs a good talking-to and when what he needs most is a little compassion.

“If they do like me, maybe that’s why they like me. Because I’m one of them.”

The particularly good news for the Raiders, aside from the extra week of rest Sunday’s victory granted them, is that they will open the playoffs at home. The advantage there is neither an unduly unruly crowd nor an inspirational national anthem sung beforehand by the likes of country warbler Hoyt Axton, who will be invited back as soon as he learns the words. No, the edge is Shell himself, whose two-season record in home games is now a snazzy 12-2.

What is it about the Coliseum that brings out the best from the resident coach? Nothing, naturally. Sheer coincidence. Tell that to Shanahan, who could not get the Raiders to respond at any time, anywhere. Here’s your Raider story in a nutshell: Art Shell wins home games. Who, what, when, where. The only thing nobody knows is why.

Shell’s players had to flap their arms to get some sound out of their crowd, in an attempt to unnerve the rookie quarterback San Diego thawed out for the occasion, John (Deep) Friesz, who had never played one minute of NFL ball. Greg Townsend formed a one-man welcoming committee, flipping Friesz onto his back like a cowboy with a calf.

Other Raiders were equally unhospitable. Eddie Anderson had a hand in 14 tackles. Along the line, Scott Davis prowled and howled. Mike Harden swiped a pass. And Dan Land chased and caught a runaway kick-returner like a smokey after a bandit, possibly saving the day. These were hardly the usual Raider headliners, but Shell’s got everybody on this team playing hard.

“Hey, I’m not doing anything,” the coach claimed. “They’re the ones doing it.”

We hate to argue with the head coach, particularly one who growls, but we are prepared to in this case. This is your football team, Art Shell. Your players. You got them where they are.