Waiting for a Decision Has Been Maddening

Wednesday began with a report from Oakland that the Raiders were coming home. John Madden, the loud hardware salesman, did a radio interview that got everybody up there all tingly with excitement, and the rumor was off and running faster than Rocket Ismail.

By high noon, the Associated Press was quoting somebody with the magnificent name of Ricky Ricardo Jr., who owns a bar just south of Oakland, as saying, “Welcome home, baby. All is forgiven.” And before long, Nolan Harrison, a defensive lineman for the Raiders and outspoken critic of L.A. crowds, was doing radio shows all over the Southland, openly rooting for Oakland.

“This team needs fan support, and that support is in Oakland,” Harrison said at one point.

I called Al Davis at home late Wednesday night, trying to pin down the truth. We spoke for about 15 minutes, and although he kept the entire conversation off the record, which I will honor, Davis did mention that a good friend of his (Madden) had gotten the whole snowball rolling that morning, but that if you listened closely, Madden hadn’t confirmed a thing.

And he hadn’t. I heard the entirety of Madden’s interview, in which he said that a decision was imminent--very possibly by Wednesday afternoon--and that he remained passionate about Oakland having the Raiders and had warned people not to wave the white flag of surrender too soon.

“Remember when I told you two weeks ago that it was Round 10 of a 12-round fight?” Madden asked. “Well, now we’re down to the final 10 seconds of that fight.”

That fortnight ago, I had spoken at length with Davis, again off the record, because a decision then appeared imminent as well. The opening of camp and the NFL exhibition season were approaching with haste, and the man’s team had to play somewhere. I had thought things were settled. I had thought Hollywood Park was the somewhere.

Davis dropped no hints. I listened and listened carefully, trying to glean what was going on with him, but not even Maverick played cards so close to his vest.

“I will tell you this much,” Davis said. “There is a parable about a horse who has one bale of hay to his left and another bale of hay to his right. And unless he wants to go hungry, he has to choose one of them sometime.”

On my own, feeling civic-minded and being willing to proselytize, I attempted to sway the Raider owner by publicly campaigning for him to keep his team here in Los Angeles. I took this upon myself because somebody had to, what with Dick Riordan, mayor do-little, continuing to do everything in his power to make this city safe from football.

This much was painfully obvious even to Harrison, the Raider lineman.

“We can’t even get anybody’s attention here from City Hall,” Harrison said.

Oakland keeps rolling out the black carpet. Oakland keeps pitching like Madden selling a hammer. Oakland is offering an $85-million modernization of its stadium. Oakland is promising SRO crowds. Oakland wants to reconcile like a divorced couple, giving Davis back the community property.

I recall that an old Oakland player, Tom Keating, once compared Davis to a character in a movie played by Kirk Douglas, a ruthless Hollywood producer who betrays a director, a writer and an actress. They detest what he did. But one day Douglas calls back, planning a new production, and gradually they lean toward the phone, listening.

If “all is forgiven” really is the Oakland slogan, then who are we to condemn that city? There are people here in Los Angeles, after all, who would take Cleveland’s or Tampa’s team without so much as a pang of guilt. Oakland is no better, no worse than St. Louis, forlorn and desperate, as lovers of L.A. football soon shall be.

On March 1, 1980, the day Davis committed to move from Oakland to Los Angeles lock, stock and jockstraps, Bill Robertson, the president of the L.A. Coliseum, compared it to the crossing of the Rubicon, a river in northern Italy that was crossed by Caesar’s army in 49 B.C., to begin the civil war with the Roman general Pompey. “Crossing the Rubicon” has come to signify any action from which there is no turning back.

So much for that.

There are crosses and there are double-crosses. So if the Raiders choose to leave, then there is no stopping them, because you can lead a horse to hay, but you can’t make him eat.