It’s a Moving Performance

Early Saturday morning, long before all the battering and braying and black-hole sucking, an Oakland Raider official spied a visiting Los Angeles reporter walking into the Network Associates Coliseum.

The official clucked her tongue.

“So,” she said. “Do you miss us?”

Didn’t then.

Do now.

Didn’t think the Raiders were capable of behaving in a manner that would make a sane or sober Angeleno actually miss them.

Do now.

The Raiders smothered the Miami Dolphins, 27-0, Saturday in a raucous AFC divisional playoff game that resurrected fear and loathing and regrets.

In a pit of black noise and gaudy costumes--it was part melodrama, part Mardi Gras--the Raiders put on a show that would have knocked them breathless even back in our little burg.

A maligned defense reducing the size of Dolphin Lamar Smith from 209 yards to four.

A graying quarterback enlarging his legend with fastballs and slides.

Nine chugging backs and receivers spreading around the yards as if they were Al Davis depositions.

All of it accompanied by a crowd so loud and furious and determined to make up for 20 years of playoff-less football here, it eventually even consumed its own.

After the final whistle, defensive linemen Regan Upshaw and Roderick Coleman ran to the area behind the south end zone known as the “Black Hole.”

Once there, they were swept up into the arms of the screaming, smirking, skull-clad fans. You remember the ones.

After several moments when you couldn’t distinguish the players from the nuts, Upshaw emerged from the dark mass with a plastic sword.

With the Raiders’ old Western theme song blaring over the loudspeakers, he slashed the sword through the air as he skipped back toward midfield.

Where he promptly dropped to one knee and joined several players in prayer.

This is that sort of team.

At once both reckless and serious, chaotic and controlled, Al Davis and Davis Love III.

Like all Raider teams, it’s theater. But unlike most others, it’s trench theater. And this time, it appears to be about more than a motto.

“We aren’t the kind of team that is going to hit you with big plays,” receiver Tim Brown said. “We are going to get three or four or five yards. We’re going to nip at you all the way down the field.”

The guess here is, they will nip their way directly to the Super Bowl, no matter whom they play next week in their first AFC championship game in a decade. They would easily beat Baltimore here, and could will their way past Tennessee in Nashville.

Then comes the trip to the big stage. Where the watching would really hurt. More than even last year with you-know-who.

While the St. Louis Rams were in Los Angeles much longer than the Raiders, they departed with much more surprise and nastiness. When they reached the Super Bowl last year with a surprise backup quarterback, it seemed much more like luck.

What is happening with the Raiders doesn’t look a bit like that.

It looks like schemes and sweat and, OK, judging from Tory James’ 25-yard touchdown dance on his interception return Saturday, maybe a little bit of swagger.

It looks like something worth cheering, while this suddenly feels like a loss worth mourning.

“The mystique about this team is that we just love the game of football,” running back Terry Kirby said. “The only thing special is that we play hard.”

Kirby, acquired from the Dolphins two months ago, rumbled 32 yards on a short pass from quarterback Rich Gannon in the second quarter to set up a field goal that gave the Raiders a 13-0 lead.

Randy Jordan earlier fought through the line on a five-yard shovel from Gannon to set up a field goal to give them a 10-0 lead.

Five different players advanced the ball on a nine-play drive in the second quarter that gave the Raiders a 20-0 lead.

And their best running back was probably 35-year-old Gannon, who three times staggered and slid for first downs on third-down plays that led to scores.

“We don’t have any predetermined plan to drop back and run,” he said, shrugging. “But we’re intelligent enough to know that when the defense. . . .”

He proceeded to rattle off some football jargon, confirming how times have changed, even if Davis’ white satin jump suit has not.

Remember when the Raiders had only one running back and one receiver and one play, a bomb?

“We’ve got too many options, to tell you the truth,” said Coach John Gruden, still scowling even in victory. “We’ve got so many doggone options, I don’t know who’s running the ball on what play.”

Credit for most of that goes to offense-schooled Gruden. The Raiders are the only remaining team whose players dance around more before each snap than their cheerleaders do.

But credit also goes to Davis, who perhaps has finally learned to leave well enough alone. The only thing vertical about the Raider boss these days is his thinking.

“We went to the championship game after the 1970 and 1980 and 1990 seasons. . . . Now we will do it after 2000 season,” he said.

Somebody checked his math. He was right again.

Late Saturday night, the owner walked from locker to locker hugging his players. The middle of the room was filled with their shrieking, scampering children.

Outside, fans wearing jerseys with the names Otto and Alzado and Stabler were waiting to cheer players named James and Wheatley and Jett.

Maintenance workers had removed all of the stadium banners but one.

“Welcome to Hell,” it read.

For somebody who had just flown up for the day from Raider-free Los Angeles, it felt like something else entirely.

Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com.