THE Cannon IS Quiet : Lyle Alzado Is Still on the Battlefield, but Now Others Are Crying For Him

The colors of their childhood are still black and red, with this sense of leather--the holsters the police wore when they came to their house in the middle of the night; the flashing lights in the street, the sounds of hitting and screaming. For Lyle and Peter Alzado, it was like growing up in a horror movie.

After a time, when Lyle and his older brother Peter were big enough, they would run downstairs to protect their mother from their alcoholic father while the three younger children hid in the closet, holding each other, terrified.

They watched as their father, enraged, pulled the phones out of the wall, or purposely broke the heater in the midst of a bitter Brooklyn winter. And always, they can still feel the hurt from the physical abuse their beloved mother suffered. They too, were physically abused.

The pain is still too vivid; the emotional scars, forever present. As a tall, thin adolescent, Lyle Alzado was like an explosion waiting to happen. The only way he really knew to express himself was physically, so he excelled in athletics and activities such as picking fights with other kids. He was a sweet kid, but he didn’t talk much. He didn’t like people.

On the football field, the violence and intensity with which Lyle played seemed to have its foundation in what he experienced growing up. He was able to use that negative emotion constructively. Anger worked here--on the field he could rip opponents heads off and people cheered him for it, even paid him for it.

Off the field, he grew to like people, even to love them. He earned a degree in special education and spent nearly every weekend of his 15-year NFL career visiting sick and disabled children in hospitals, trying to make them laugh while he cried for them inside.

Now, others are crying for Lyle Alzado.

He is suffering from inoperable brain cancer, a terminal disease that eats away at all that is life-giving until it wipes away the last morsel of one’s soul. Alzado at times knows this is one game he cannot dominate, one force he may be unable to stop. But he’s not settling for a tie. He’s still playing to win.

Since the cancer was diagnosed last April, Alzado, 42, has been in and out of the hospital. He has good and bad days, sometimes requiring assistance to walk, other times not needing it at all.

He has lost about 90 pounds from his once dominating body that is now slender, as in the days of his youth before he began bulking up with steroids.

Alzado’s cancer is a rare form of an already rare type of cancer, a primary brain lymphoma, and its track record is dismal. Treatment is a daily experiment. Cancer usually begins in the body lymph chain system, but Alzado’s began in his brain.

For a few months last year, Alzado’s cancer went into complete remission after radiation and monthly chemotherapy treatments. But it came back about a month ago and is now layered over nerves in his spinal column, keeping him in severe pain and making it difficult for him to swallow. His speech is raspy, and he talks with a slight lisp. Twice a week he is taken to UCLA Medical Center for chemotherapy that is painfully injected into his system.

Last week, Alzado’s wife, model Kathy Davis, helped him to the living room of their modest Beverlywood home for an interview. He was dressed in black, his bald head covered by a Raider cap.

His eyes filled with kindness, Alzado smiled, settled down on his couch and said to the reporter: “I can’t talk too loud, so maybe you should sit here next to me.”

It was 1982, and he was a wild, wacky, talented, big, mean guy who had suddenly grown old and was said to be washed up. It was as if at any moment one could expect to see Lyle Alzado bullying grown men on the football field, and the next, foraging through grimy trash cans for his next meal.

This is a guy who used to say: “If me and King Kong went into an alley, only one of us would come out and it wouldn’t be the monkey.”

He was perfect for the Raiders.

“Lyle had always been a loony guy, and he stood out in Denver and Cleveland because of it, but when he came here, he was just one of the guys,” said Al LoCasale, the Raiders executive assistant.

Raider owner Al Davis says “gestalt” is the reason the Raider rosters are so often filled with so-called has-beens that suddenly reappear in the present tense. Davis had known Alzado for 10 years as an opponent. He says the Raider philosophy is that their environment can inspire others to be great, again.

“Lyle was an All-American in high school, a Little All-American from Yankton (S.D.) College and an all-pro at Denver and Cleveland,” Davis said. “We took him when everyone thought he was through, but the Raiders are known for doing that.”

It was the Raiders’ first year in Los Angeles, and they had a young, talented defensive end in Howie Long whom they thought Alzado could help groom. They also had John Matuszak, another wild guy, and Ted Hendricks, the Mad Stork. Alzado, who grew up street fighting his way though the slums of Brooklyn and, later, Long Island, fit in beautifully.

“I should have played my whole career as a Raider,” Alzado said. “When I got there I was at the end of my rope. My career was about done. Al Davis and Tom Flores, who was the greatest coach I ever had, sat down and put their arms around me and said: ‘We know you can do this job, now just show us.’ And when I did, that’s all I needed. I was a star ever since.

“It was like starting over, because Al Davis and Tom Flores did things for me that at other clubs, I didn’t get the opportunity to do, such as play the way I felt comfortable playing, which is my aggressive, promotional style. It was everything football should be.”

Alzado, the first player drafted out of Yankton College (225 students), played eight years for the Broncos and three years for the Browns. The Raiders traded an eighth-round draft pick to the Browns for Alzado. He was embarrassed, but his price wasn’t always low.

As Denver’s fourth-round draft choice in 1971, Alzado started and played in 66 of 68 games before he suffered his first injury in 1976. He was a member of Denver’s “Orange Crush” defense, and in 1977 he was defensive lineman of the year and a Pro Bowl starter. When Denver traded Alzado to Cleveland, it paid a hefty price: three high-round draft choices.

At Denver, Alzado’s role model was Rich (Tombstone) Jackson, who Alzado says might have been the best defensive end he has ever seen. “We were in the locker room before a game and (Denver Coach) Lou Saban came in and gave this real inspiring speech,” Alzado recalls. “My locker was right next to Tombstone’s and Lou Saban ends the speech with, ‘C’mon, let’s go, let’s go get these guys.’ Well you know those steel hangers? Rich jumped up and grabbed it and squashed it with one hand. I said to myself, ‘Self, that’s one guy I’m not going to mess with.’ ”

Memories of Tombstone notwithstanding, Alzado was glad to leave Denver. He never felt comfortable there, says he never quite fit in. He enjoyed playing for Cleveland, but found his home in Los Angeles.

His first day at Raider practice, Art Shell decided to let him know exactly where he was. Shell lined up opposite Alzado, picked him up and dropped him flat on his back.

Welcome to the Raiders.

“I thought to myself, ‘Am I on the right team?’ ” Alzado said.

Alzado already had respect for Shell. When he played against Shell, he says nobody in the league hit him harder. Shell laughs when he hears that, but says there was a time he didn’t like Alzado.

“I respected him, he was exceptionally quick,” Shell said. “But it wasn’t until I had dinner with him at a Pro Bowl in Tampa that I came away thinking what a nice, gentle guy he is.”

With the Raiders, Alzado immediately took his place at defensive end and buckled on his helmet as if he were going to war. Besides Davis and Flores, he grew close to Shell, Gene Upshaw and Long, who used to eat at Alzado’s house every other night.

“We had a lot of fun, and there was a time I didn’t think anyone would be able to terrorize the league more formidably than we would,” Long said. “The thing that I think we were robbed of was the opportunity to be the same age, 22. If we were both 22 at the same time, playing defensive end on the same team, I would think that quite a few people would be intimidated.

“Lyle taught me how to realize my toughness from a potential standpoint. It was there. I just didn’t know how to use it, and I think that was a big part he played early in my career.”

Alzado says that Long became a great player on his own, although he boasts that he did teach Long a few things.

“Howie wanted his own way and that way was to teach himself,” Alzado said. “But before he could do that, I had to teach him a few things. I taught Howie how to knock someone’s head off; I taught Howie how to step on somebody; I taught Howie how to curse at somebody. I taught Howie new curse words.”

In 1983, Alzado took rookie Greg Townsend under his care. Townsend, who grew up watching Alzado play, thought he was dreaming. “I saw that exhibition match Lyle fought against Muhammad Ali (in 1977) and I thought ‘this guy has his hand in everything,’ ” Townsend said. “I was in awe of the guy. Then in my rookie year, on the practice field, I was not only wearing silver and black, I was in Lyle’s group. I had to pinch myself. Here he was talking to me and was so soft and gentle, and I had heard these mean things about him. He wasn’t a big, mean guy. He is a big, nice guy.”

It was that soft side of Alzado off the field that touched the lives of children everywhere. Alzado was a front-office dream, always the player you could rely on to go to a charity function, who would come through at the last minute when another player canceled. Millions saw that gentleness on television in the closing minutes of the Raiders’ Super Bowl victory over the Washington Redskins at Tampa in 1984, when tears streamed down Alzado’s cheeks.

“I hope you can somehow convey that scene,” said Al Davis, “when television showed Lyle on the field after the game, crying in front of millions of Americans, showing the glory of victory.”

In that game, the Raiders had built a 21-3 lead by halftime and maintained their domination. Alzado absolutely ate up tackle Joe Jacoby, and Marcus Allen rushed for 191 yards and scored two touchdowns to earn the MVP award.

“I don’t think people expected me to be that way,” Alzado said. “I looked up at the clock and I saw we were beating Washington, 38-9; I wanted the clock to quickly wind down so I knew I was a champion. So the moment when it happened was so exciting to me and so overwhelming, and when Marcus came over and hugged me and said, ‘Congratulations, this one’s for you,’ it was all so heartwarming.”

After the 1985 season, Alzado, 36, retired from football, against Al Davis’ wishes. Davis still thought Alzado could contribute. “You can be a great contributor and not be the focal point,” Davis said.

But Alzado was so popular in Los Angeles, movies were a natural. By the time he retired, he was doing national television commercials and was a regular on “The Tonight Show.”

He made several movies, “some good, some bad,” he says, and even had his own short-lived television series in which he was school teacher by day and a masked professional wrestler by night. But football wasn’t out of his system, and in 1990, Alzado, 41, tried to make a comeback with the Raiders. His strategy was intense, “revolutionary training,” he called it, but what it involved was massive doses of steroids and injection of the human growth hormone, which Alzado believes has caused his cancer.

Hobbled by injuries throughout training camp, Alzado finally accepted retirement in late August after a long meeting with Davis, who was extremely saddened.

“Men can love each other, and I was sad, not that Lyle couldn’t make the team, but because Lyle so much wanted to make the team,” Davis said.

“The uniform is retired, but time never stops for great people. Lyle was only here for four years, but people think of him as a Raider. I still get letters all the time from people who write that we need to have great teams again like in the 1960s and ‘70s when we had good players like Lyle Alzado and John Matuszak.”

Alzado doesn’t wear his diamond-studded Super Bowl ring as often now; it doesn’t fit anymore. He is saving it for his 9-year old son, Justin, who lives in Long Island with Alzado’s ex-wife.

Sometimes in the morning, when Alzado wakes up, he looks at his wife, 25-year-old fashion model Kathy Davis, and feels very lucky. Then, when he can, he walks out to the big bay window in their living room and stares outside. And wonders.

“I wonder why and how I can find a way to fix all this. To get back on track,” he said. “I wonder if I will ever fit in again.”

It all started when Alzado and his friend, actor Nick Klar, were in a gym working out. Alzado started to lean a bit and said he wasn’t feeling well. Everyone thought it was flu, except Alzado.

“I’d notice that we would be someplace and he would start to walk over to the corner and his balance would be a little off,” Klar said. “He has such pride that he didn’t want anyone to see that. Finally Lyle said, ‘I better go to a doctor. I don’t know what this is.’

“It all happened with such intensity and such speed. I hadn’t talked to him or seen him for a few days and he said, ‘Nick, I’m not feeling well, I’m real thin.’ I was kidding and I said, ‘So what are you now, 230?’ ”

One month after Kathy had married Lyle, doctors told her that her husband was suffering from inoperable brain cancer. She broke down. They went in to tell Alzado, but he didn’t cry. Instead he said: “Let’s beat this thing. What do we have to do?”

“Please excuse me if I don’t listen to statistics,” Kathy said. “My husband is a fighter and he is geared to beat this. He is strong. The only way I can look at it is that he’s going to get better, and we are going to have a baby. I have to try and reinforce a positive attitude.”

The news hit his family, friends and former teammates hard. Al Davis called Kathy every other day for an update. Alzado, home from the hospital, was arrested for allegedly assaulting a marshal who came to his house early one morning to serve him with a warrant. The case is pending.

And then, rumors of Alzado being gay and having AIDS bannered the tabloids. Alzado says he is not gay and his doctor, Robert Huizenga, says a misunderstanding about the type of brain cancer Alzado has may have fueled the rumors.

“Primary brain lymphoma is a rare disease that has become more common in AIDS patients,” Huizenga said. “AIDS patients however, have been found to have B-cell brain lymphoma whereas Lyle has yet a rarer form called T-cell brain lymphoma. Also, not only have doctors looked for HTLV-3 (the AIDS virus) but have also looked for HTLV-1 (which is an AIDS-related, lymphoma-causing virus) but have not found that either.”

Alzado’s claim that steroids caused his cancer has also created some controversy. He began using steroids in college, and, along with weight training, they helped him bulk up from his previously thin frame. He became so addicted to steroids that he never gave them up, even after he quit playing football.

But in research, steroids have been linked only to liver cancer, not brain cancer.

“When you eat right and drink right and you don’t stay out late at night and you get sick, in my case, it was from steroids.” Alzado said. “I made a big mistake, and my wife and I are trying to tell kids of America to stay away from it because I believe wholeheartedly that it has given me cancer. I would hate for anyone else to go through this pain.”

The first time in his life that Alzado had been afraid was during a stay in the hospital last year, when he nearly died.

“He said to me once, ‘Peter, I’m scared,’ ” Alzado’s brother said. “Lyle has a stamina and a force of character and he can bear the cross very well, with a great deal of dignity. And he is. It breaks my heart, truly.”

Experts say that the average person with Alzado’s type of cancer usually lives six to eight months. Alzado has already outlived that by six months.

“You can never give up. Giving up is the worst thing you can do,” Alzado says.

About 10 times in his life, Alzado says that Al Davis has bailed him out financially. Last week, Alzado and Kathy drove to Davis’ office in El Segundo to ask for help again. Kathy said Davis kindly greeted them by saying, “What can I do for you? In what way can I help you?”

Alzado and Davis talked about the past, what Alzado was doing in the future; how the team is doing, what they need, what they don’t need.

“He’s taken care of me since the day I got here,” Alzado said. “He’s always calling. You’ll never meet a nicer man. He still pays guys that used to play for him just because he likes to take care of them.”

Davis, though, said he has a difficult time talking to others about Alzado’s playing days, his battles on the field. “Lyle is in the battle of his life right now,” Davis said. “As someone once wrote, the cannon is quiet on the battlefield. All is quiet for Lyle right now. I am saddened about where we are headed.”

Recently, a highly publicized tribute to Alzado that would have paid him some money in appearance fees fell through hours before it was to begin. Friends and family came to Los Angeles from all over the country, only to find the event canceled. At the same time, the organizer, Alzado’s business manager and best friend, Greg Campbell, had a heart attack. All this occurred five days after Alzado was told his cancer had come back. He was sad for his friends, and disappointed.

Nevertheless, the night wasn’t lost.

Huizenga quickly organized a cocktail party at his house. Gene Upshaw, who had flown in from Washington, along with Franco Harris, Bob Golic and Henry Lawrence were just some of the many friends who came. When Alzado saw Harris walk up to him, he brightened. “He used to beat the (crap) out of me,” Alzado told Kathy.

Friends are planning another tribute soon and Upshaw said he would fly out again in a minute. “At the cocktail party I got to hold Lyle and tell him how much I care about him,” Upshaw said. “I don’t know how many more chances I’m going to get to do that.”