Hostetler, Raiders Suffer Frost Damage : They Hurt When Score Matches the Temperature

Well, it was way, way too late when Willie Gault, the Ghost of Football Past, finally broke loose for a long kickoff return.

By then, the Raiders had already bitten the frost. Their--and our--worst fears had come true, when a football game of considerable importance was left in the cold-storaged hands of too-old Vince Evans and too-new Randy Jordan, neither of whom could hang onto the football-sicle long enough to transport it forward rather than backward.

Zero on the thermometer?

That was about all.

Zero on the scoreboard?

That was all.

“The wheels are coming off the Raiders,” TV analyst and NASCAR enthusiast Joe Gibbs eventually felt qualified to say Sunday after observing the Green Bay Packers take advantage of mistake after mistake, pulling away to embarrass the Raiders by four touchdowns in what turned out to be a Reggie White Christmas at Lambeau Field.

Once again, the Raider defense by the fourth quarter was too pooped to pop anybody. For the better part of three periods, Green Bay quarterback Brett Favre was pressured in the pocket, unable to stand there at will until Sterling Sharpe got open. But then, as we have witnessed before, the Raider defense wilted because of the offense, which provided little or no rest between possessions.

The two worst words in Al Davis’ dictionary-- Hostetler Hospitalized --left the Raiders out in the cold with little to do except crumple their Gatorade cups and reach for the Nyquil.

No Hoss, no hope.

Greg Robinson was gone, missed more than we ever would have believed possible, and Nick Bell was ineffective, which pretty much sums up young saint Nick’s entire 1993. Nothing in the Raider game plan appears to provide for Steve Smith becoming anything more than a blocker, so their backfield-in-no-motion was pretty much confined to Ground Jordan, who sent few shivers down the spines of Packer tacklers.

Onward came that dedicated Christian soldier the Rev. Reggie White, personally converting the battleground into Rambo Field. The man is earning every penny, in my opinion, of that fat free-agent contract that the Big Packer in the Sky helped him sign, no matter what White’s sack count might be this season. In fact, after going several games without one, the Rev. Reggie became practically sack-happy on Sunday, not much caring who was taking the Raiders’ snaps.

This was a game the Raiders really could have used, and a day their defense really came to play, but now everything points toward next Sunday’s visit from the Denver Broncos and a matchup between perhaps the top quarterback in the league this season, John Elway, and whoever is able to go out there and represent the Raiders. Tell me I’m nuts, but Los Angeles could be a hard tackle away from attempting to qualify for the playoffs behind a quarterback whose name is Billy Joe Hobert.

Ode to Billy Joe:

Be prepared.

“This team knows how to win,” defensive lineman Nolan Harrison said after a recent victory over Tampa Bay, “but we’d hate to have our entire season come down to shutting out the Denver Broncos.”

He was prophetic, because that could be what is necessary now. We have no guarantee, even with Tim Brown and the Air Raider attack of the Rocket (Ismail), the Jett (James) and the Wright brother (Alexander), that the home team will have the means to score points in the season’s biggest game. And while it would be wonderful if a Terry McDaniel or a Lionel Washington were able to intercept an Elway pass and score the points themselves, this is hardly something that will appear in this week’s Raider playbook.

The Raider defensive backs have enough to keep them busy, as was the case Sunday in Wisconsin. They had to keep track of Sterling Sharpe, who once again was both--sterling and sharp.

Elway, too, will keep them on their toes.

That they can handle.

What they can’t handle is being on their toes all day long. The defense must be given some rest, or the Raiders will be observing the 1994 playoffs as described by Joe Gibbs on television.