Tailgating with a Twist : In Lot 6 Before Raider Home Games, Fans Have Turned a Genteel Ritual Into an Intense Expression of Loyalty

Game day in Lot 6 at the Coliseum. Long strips of carne asada sizzle on tiny grills behind cars, thick tortillas are laid out on hoods, rap music blares, footballs are in the air, feet are bouncing uncontrollably on the pavement.

But nothing smells, tastes or feels better than the peace.

Raymond Moreno, a gang member from East Los Angeles, is strutting around bare-chested, showing off the latest of his half-dozen tattoos.

It reads RAIDERS, in light blue letters, slightly above the breast line.

That is the favorite team of the hundreds who jammed into this Coliseum parking lot at 8:30 a.m. one Sunday this fall for the most unusual pregame ritual in the NFL.

“I said, ‘Sorry, mom, I need just one more tattoo,”’ says Moreno, 30.

The tattoo would have been lower on Moreno’s chest, except there is a bullet lodged there, barely below the skin.

Nearly everyone who comes through Lot 6 is politely requested to put a hand on Raymond and feel that bullet.

And nearly everyone does.

This includes Ronald Nezey, a department store worker who warmly shakes hands with Moreno as they proclaim their love for the Raiders.

Not an unusual scene, until Nezey quietly says that he is a member of another gang.

He smiles, then repeats that word.

“Peace,” he says. “In here, there is peace.”

In the other 27 NFL cities, pregame tailgate picnics in parking lots represent a chance to escape the routine of daily life. It is a day for ordinary people to dress funny, drink heavily and chant like 4-year-olds.

For those who will occupy the 456 tight parking spots in the west end of Lot 6 before the day’s game, tailgating represents something far different.

It is the chance to enjoy the routine of daily life. It is a chance to have neighbors who don’t shoot, to have common causes that cross the borders of race and street numbers.

Eight times a year inside these wrought iron gates, dozens of rival gang members declare a truce. It is the only real truce that many of them will ever enjoy.

“There is only two colors that matter in here--black and silver,” says Lydia Hernandez, who has a tear tattooed underneath her left eye. “Everybody is brought together because of our love for the Raiders. That is bigger than anything in here.”

“A safe harbor,” says Raul Hernandez, an oil worker who is attending the Raider game, even though his midsection is heavily bandaged because of a recent stabbing.

“Things that you can never get away with on the outside, you can do in here,” he says. “Nice things.”

“One gang in here,” says Greg Prado, 26. “The Raiders’ gang.”

Several times every season, gangs walk along the sidewalk outside the lot, taunting rivals who are tailgating inside.

“But the guys in here all yell back, ‘Hey, leave us alone, we’re here for the game,’ ” says Lindy Oates, a saleswoman from Norwalk. “Tell you what, I feel safer in here than I do at home.”

It is such a safe place that fans will do almost anything to arrive early and find a parking spot.

Prado, a refinery worker, remembers one Sunday when he didn’t have enough money for a game ticket.

He got an old, but working, washing machine from his back yard, cleaned it up, hauled it to the sidewalk and taped on a “For Sale” sign. Price: $35.

“Sold it in 15 minutes, and got in here in time for the party,” he says.

David Chavez, a cable splicer from Colton, was driving to the game in a van filled with friends when they had a flat tire.

They couldn’t get the spare out of the back of the car quickly enough. Friends in another car drove to the only nearby service station that was open at dawn on a Sunday and bought a new tire.

“Even the state police thought it was cool,” Chavez says.

Once they make it to Lot 6, those who party here are greeted by the sight of black pirate flags, thick smoke and men with entire murals tattooed on their forearms.

To successfully mingle there, one must realize that the chest-thumping music and loud bragging about time served in state penitentiaries are no different from the tinkling of champagne glasses and discussions of stock prices that might occur at more genteel tailgate parties.

One must also be able to navigate among card games played on tables filled with piles of money. And to avoid shooting flames roasting everything from thick slabs of meat to shrimp.

“To walk through here is like running a gantlet,” says Tony Camacho, who works in a mortgage bank in Riverside.

There is an ordinance against burning charcoal in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium, but there is no such rule here. Chavez remembers the time some fans tried to cook in a drizzle by lighting their grill in the trunk of their car.

“I’ve never seen people around here run so fast in my life,” he says.

Although nobody can be found who actually saw it, there is talk that last season in Lot 6, somebody roasted a stray dog.

When a black and silver mutt jogs past, Raul Hernandez whistles.

“He’s got very lucky colors . . . or that thing could end up on a barbecue,” he says with a straight face.

While waiting for the game to start, the Lot 6 bunch has two hobbies: football, and dealing with taunting fans of opposing teams.

The diversions can be equally messy.

Football games are played in parking lots throughout the nation on fall Sundays, but on what other stretch of pavement do they play tackle football?

It happens in Lot 6.

“They had a tremendous game in here last year, guys getting all scraped up, just killing each other,” says Richard Contreras, who drives a beer truck. “It was so good, a lot of people wanted to stay out here and watch it instead of going into the regular game.”

The best football play ever seen by the regulars in Lot 6? A run by Marcus Allen? A sack by Howie Long?

“I once saw a guy jump onto the hood of a car, jump off, and make a catch in midair,” Contreras says. “Then there was the guy who caught a pass and ran full speed into the grill of a Chevy.”

It is not unusual at any park for fans of opposing teams to be taunted. But usually, the home fans don’t rip off a visitor’s jersey and set it afire.

It happened in Lot 6.

Since the publicized beating of a Pittsburgh Steeler fan several years ago, the Lot 6 party group usually does no more than chide the opposition.

But recently, a Buffalo fan walked through Lot 6 yelling taunts, according to witnesses. The Raider fans ripped off his jersey, doused it in lighter fluid, set it ablaze, then took turns stomping on it.

The fan was not hurt and actually was somewhat taken with the incident, according to witnesses. The police made no arrests, but did ask the Raider fans to buy him a new shirt.

“You can come in here and promote your team and nothing will happen,” Raul Hernandez says. “But if you tell us that our team is trash, or that we are trash, then we get mad.”

The regulars still laugh about the Chicago transplant who bought a beat-up convertible, painted it orange and drove it into the middle of Lot 6 before a game against the Bears.

Perhaps wanting some stories and pictures for the boys back home, he asked the regulars to stand on his car and strike menacing poses.

“But I think we misunderstood him,” says Jim (Hard Time) Pierce, who paints his face and dresses like a mad silver-and-black biker.

Some misunderstanding. The regulars trashed the car, and the Chicago fan and his friends had to take a cab home.

“We offered to give them a ride, but they turned us down--I can’t imagine why,” says Wayne (Violator) Mabry, who wears a painted face, shoulder pads with spikes on them, and steel boots and gloves.

Sometimes, visiting fans are thwarted simply by the regulars’ threats.

“We told a couple of New England fans that we were going to take them over to Compton, and they ran away,” says Bob Carr, who lives in Compton.

Regulars, however, say that their reputation for troublemaking is overblown. The police agree.

“They aren’t so bad,” says Commander Garrett Zimmon of the LAPD. “We watch them pretty carefully.”

A group of Cleveland Brown fans are actually indebted to the Lot 6 bunch. They were headed out of the lot in the wrong direction when the regulars stopped the bus.

“We turned them around, and led them all the way back to the Harbor Freeway,” Carr says. “We knew they were headed for trouble that they didn’t want.”

Andrew Mircovich, a Los Angeles property manager and New York Jet fan, is taking no chances before the Raiders play the Jets. He and his wife, who are open-minded enough to park in Lot 6, nonetheless sip on mineral water and keep their mouths shut.

“I’m not wearing green, and I’m not telling anybody who I like,” he says. “We’ve tailgated in Anaheim before and compared to that . . . this is a free-for-all.”

After the Raiders’ dramatic last-second victory over the Jets, the regulars don’t want to let the free-for-all end.

Mabry, who says he loses five pounds a game as the “Violator,” stands in the middle of the one of the exit lanes in full “uniform,” slapping hands with everyone who drives out.

Two lanes over, men are dancing around an old van.

In the next aisle, amid shards of broken glass and hot coals, other men are playing football--barefoot.

Mabry looks at this and sighs. He says he will not remove his costume and paint until around midnight, then will have to get into his truck and head for his construction job five hours later.

“But I will be fine,” he says. “We get this feeling at these games, a feeling that lasts until the next home game.”

In this case, that’s Oct. 31, Halloween.

Halloween in Lot 6?

“Just another day,” Mabry says.