No Longer a Hell of a Team

Late last Monday night, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to watch ABC’s “Monday Night Football.” This is one of my two favorite TV programs, because I hate to miss any show with Michaels, Gifford, Dierdorf, Beavis or Butt-head.

Anyhow, I turned on my TV. There were 10 seconds left in the game, the Kansas City Chiefs had the ball, the Oakland Raiders were winning, 27-22, and Oakland’s fans were on their feet, getting ready to leave for the parking lot so they could find their Harley Davidsons.

Elvis “The Pelvis” Grbac, the hound dog who plays quarterback for Kansas City, dropped back to pass. Andre “Bad Moon” Rison--as he is called by ESPN’s Chris “Pee Wee” Berman--caught the ball in the end zone.

Touchdown, Chiefs. Raiders lose, 28-27.

The visitors celebrated. Elvis rocked. Andre rolled. Marcus Allen, I believe, pointed to Al Davis in the owner’s sky box and said, “Buy my autobiography! Only $24.95, at a bookstore near you!”

The home team did not celebrate.

Off the gridiron trudged the vanquished Raider gladiators. (This is my NFL Films impersonation. How do you like it?) They locked the locker-room door, hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, and put some soft music on the stereo, perhaps a gentle etude by Chopin, or Mozart’s greatest hits CD.

They were sore. They were sad. Many of their crests had fallen.

The coach, Joe Bugel, was one of the few Raiders who spoke. Joe said this was one of the saddest days of his whole life. Darn that Kansas City.

As for what the Raider players were saying, I could only guess.

You might remember, Coach Bugel recently issued an edict--much the same way Chopin issued an etude--warning each Raider that he would no longer tolerate profanity of any kind. In other words, no cursing, no cussing, no swearing.

Clean-mouth football.

(I am no expert on what the difference is between cursing, cussing and swearing, but I believe it generally involves parenthood, nationality or body parts.)

Difficult to imagine, isn’t it? A politically correct Raider. A PC, PG-rated Raider.

It’s like a snake with no fangs.

Asking an Oakland Raider not to curse is like asking Larry King not to marry. You can try, but he probably will go ahead and do it again anyway.

My spy in Oakland’s locker room heard everything, however.

An excellent snitch, he called to let me know every word that was spoken by the Raiders, right after the game.

It got pretty nasty.

“Fudge!” screamed Tim Brown.

The wide receiver was pretty angry. He paced back and forth, saying over and over, “I can’t believe we lost this tomfool football game. Fiddlesticks!”

Equally enraged was quarterback Jeff George.

Practically spitting out the words, George said, “Confound it! To lose like that, to the corn-husking Kansas City Chiefs!”

“Drat,” said Darrell Russell, a fine rookie out of USC.

Hotter than a whirlpool, defensive back Albert Lewis also did a burn.

Lewis said, “We let that funny Rison get loose. If our funny pass rush had put more funny pressure on funny Elvis, the funner never would have thrown the funny ball to funny Andre in the funny first place.”

Kick returner Desmond Howard couldn’t agree more.

“Gadzooks,” he said. “How did we ever let that scamp throw that football that bloody far?”

Man, I could tell, those Raiders were really cheesed off.

Veteran lineman Chester McGlockton sounded particularly incensed. McGlockton, I am told, pounded a bench with his fist and yelled, “An unfortunate turn of events! A truly unfortunate turn of events!”

If nothing else, Joe Bugel should be proud, proud, proud.

Jargon Joe’s stalwart lads took a defeat in stride, handling themselves like perfect gentlemen. For these are the Newer, Nicer Oakland Raiders, a football team for your whole family!

NFL officials must be speechless.

Next thing you know, a Raider will be cited for sportsmanlike conduct.