By David Gibb
As a Bay Area native and sports fan, I have always been fascinated by the Oakland Raiders organization.
The constant soap opera at Oakland/Alameda County Stadium has captivated me my entire life, particularly the character of Al Davis.
It seems like Davis has been in his waning, twilight years my entire life, but now in the year 2008 it has become painfully obvious that he is an antique of the professional sports world who only stands in the way of progress.
However, I feel that the time has finally come for me to express my true love of one of history’s great crazy old men in the form of poetry.
While tipping my hat to the great Lewis Carroll, I humbly present “You are Old, Al Davis.”
“You are old, Al Davis,” young Lane Kiffin said,
“And your hair has become very white;
The whole NFL just wishes you dead –
And yet you continue to fight.”
“In my youth,” old Al Davis said to his coach,
“I took on the league and the owners.
They called me a maverick; they called me a roach,
They made me the sport’s greatest loner.”
“You are old,” said Lane Kiffin, “as I’ve mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly crazy;
Your ‘commitment to excellence’ has turned to a bore,
And I’m tired of your ‘Just win, baby!'”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he slicked back his grey locks,
“Fortune smiled on every coach that I hired,
But lately my team each other one mocks,
And that is the reason you’re fired.”
“You are old,” said the coach, “and can’t possibly mean
That you think that I’m underachieving!
It’s just too much, it’s completely obscene,
There’s no way it’s me who’s leaving!”
“But you must!” cried the old man, filled with rage,
“If you think you’re the boss, you’re dead wrong!
I can still run the show, regardless of age,
Even at 70, I’m strong!”
“You’re a fool,” whispered Kiffin, as he walked out the door,
Then he put both his hands on his head,
“This franchise will never take off and soar
Until you are buried and dead.”