by Mike Siani
Stabler’s locker was next to Biletnikoff’s.
“Freddy was always a mess before games—nervous, hyper. He’d smoke a pack of cigarettes in the locker room and drink four or five Cokes. And he had a whole elaborate program for getting dressed to play. It would sometimes draw a crowd.
“First he would take a pair of scissors and snip off every little thread hanging from his pants. The threads could be so minute that most naked eyes couldn’t detect them, but Freddy twisted and turned those pants in the light till he got them all. His pants had to come just over his knees, and he would cut them in back for more freedom. He wore his black socks just over his calves so the flesh was bare to the knee.
“Then he would go through the ceremony of what shoes to wear. Receivers tend to be real picky about their shoes, depending on the field conditions and the weather. Even on perfect days, Freddy was picky. He might put on a pair of Riddells, then go to a pair of Spot-Bilts, then pull on a pair of Converse. One day I saw him put on one Riddell and on Spot Bilt. I guess one cut better to the left and the other to the right.
“He was so superstitious he’d put a dime in one shoe and two nickels in the other. He literally turned on a dime. And he always taped a crucifix under his shoulder pads that looked like they were made out of a couple of Kotex.
“Once he finally decided on his shoes, Freddy would tie them about twenty-five times to get them just right. Whatever that was. Pete and I would drive him crazy. Sometimes we’d hide a shoe or lace up a pair and skip an eyelet near the bottom.
“Freddy would tape over his shoes up to the ankle, which was called ‘spatting.’ He would tape his arms from just below the elbow to the wrist, then take a can of Stickum and spray the tape. Finally he would pull on his helmet and adjust the chinstrap.
“Then Pete would walk over, wink at me, and say, ‘Goddamn, Freddy, your uniform looks like shit today!’
“So Freddy would take the whole son of a bitching thing off and start all over.”
‘Hey, Freddy, be a little more careful,’ I’d say.”
Biletnikoff was also very superstitious. He’d wear the same pair of socks every game and chew the same number of pieces of gum. Before every game Fred would tie and untie his shoelaces about fifty times. Then he would lie on his back on the locker room floor, tossing a football to himself over and over and over. When it came to Stickum, Fred used twice as much as Lester Hayes ever did. Fred had a routine: he would come back to the huddle and go right to John Vella. John would literally pry Fred’s fingers apart or tear off the grass that was stuck to the palms of his hands.
Dick Romanski had to carry Biletnikoff’s gum with him throughout the entire game.
“Every time he came out of the game, he had to have new gum. He was superstitious like that. Sometimes he would want Spearmint, sometimes Juicy Fruit. It was always three sticks. At times I’d mix ’em all up and he wouldn’t know the difference.”
GEORGE BLANDA
George Blanda was a 6’ 2”, 215-pound quarterback out of Kentucky. He was drafted by the Chicago Bears in the 12th round of the 1949 NFL draft. He played ten years with the Bears, a year with the Colts, seven years with Houston, and nine with the Raiders. Blanda was cut by the Raiders prior to the next to last preseason game against the 49ers in 1976.
Blanda’s replacement was a twenty-three-year-old kicker out of Boston College by the name of Fred Steinfort. By 1977, after only a half year with Oakland, Steinfort was on his way to the Atlanta Falcons.
In 1981, Blanda was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His presenter was none other than Al Davis who, at that time, was the managing general partner for the Raiders.
What makes this even sadder is the fact that once you retire from the NFL, they are basically through with you. You are just a commodity. Once you are used up, they get rid of you. George deserved better than that.
For Blanda, it was humiliating.
“It was embarrassing. It’s like waiting to be beheaded. I was like a cancer out on that field. The players treated me like I had leprosy. I wish I had known what the situation was before I got here. I never would have come. I have no animosity toward Al Davis or John Madden. I just don’t care. Have you ever gotten to the point where you don’t care? I don’t care.”
Blanda said his final goodbyes after one last practice.
“It’s was really sad,” said Biletnikoff. “They owe you something. There should have been some way of having him leave that would give you a good feeling. There should have been something to bring a tear to your eye . . . it’s like the guy going to the electric chair.”
“I thought for sure that there would be a big press conference and he would go out with glory,” said Stabler. “George deserved it. As cold and hard as he was, I enjoyed being around him. He would tell you what he thought. If you liked him, fine. If you didn’t like him, the hell with you.”
BOB BROWN: BOOMER
The only way to describe Bob Brown is that he was one tough, mean son of a bitch! An offensive tackle out of Nebraska, Bob stood 6’ 4” and weighed 280 pounds. He was absolutely massive! Brown was drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles in the first round—second overall—of the 1964 NFL draft. He spent five years with the Eagles before being traded in 1969 to the Los Angeles Rams. After two years with the Rams, Bob was traded to the Raiders in 1971, where he completed his final three years in the NFL. After becoming a four-time finalist for the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Brown was finally inducted into the prestigious fraternity in 2004. Bob’s son, Robert Brown Jr. was his father’s presenter. Brown’s nickname was “Boomer.”
Bob Brown left his mark not only on the Raiders organization, but many other NFL teams. Kenny Stabler found Brown to be a most intriguing character.
“Bob had a massive upper body and little bitty calves. Brown could run (and keep up) with some of the backs. But most of all, he was mean. He wrapped his forearms from wrist to elbow over lengths of hard molded plastic. It was like he carried two clubs. He just hated defensive linemen and was devoted to making them pay for troubling him, particularly those who used the head slap. Bob punched back and would always go for a blow to the solar plexus.”
Stabler continued.
“He was the only offensive lineman I ever heard say things like: “I try to punish defensive ends. My game is based on an attack formula. I use a Two Hand Rip Up to attack soft spots like the spleen, the liver, and the solar plexus. I think the universal quotient for the particular occupation is pain, and I attempt to apply pain constantly!”
Bob Brown was different and he was proud of it. He did things his way, and if anybody didn’t like it, well, he did not send sympathy cards.”
He was always weight lifting. We had a lot of guys who regularly pumped iron, but Bob was the only one who ever pumped in the dining hall. He carried a dumbbell to lunch and did curls with one hand while he ate. An ambidextrous eater, he would then switch his fork and dumbbell into the other hand and continue. Dumbbells looked like cufflinks in Bob’s hands.
Bob was one of the most powerful men Pete Banaszak had ever seen.
“On his first day of training camp after coming over from the Rams in 1971, guys were just jacking around on the practice field. Bob Brown lined up in his stance in front of one of our wooden goalposts. Then he fired out and laid a forearm smash on the upright. The post shattered and toppled over dragging the crossbar to the ground.
‘Can you believe that big fucker?’ I said to Stabler. ‘Breaking a damn goalpost with his forearm?’
“‘He’s in the room next to ours,’ Pete said. ‘I hope he doesn’t slam the wall.’
“I think everyone was about half scared of Bob Brown, including his roommate Gene Upshaw,” said Banaszak.
“One night I head six or seven gunshots go off in rapid fire right outside my room. Freddy came in and I asked him what was going on.
“‘Bob Brown brought some pieces from his handgun collection to camp,’ Freddy said. ‘He’s out back firing in
to the air to check the gun’s action or something.’
“‘Or something?’ I said. ‘Did you tell him that might not be the best idea?’
“‘Would you tell him that?’ Freddy asked.
“‘No.
“So Bob continued to fire his gun—without complaints.
“Bob played the weak side of the line. This made him uneasy. He took his complaint to Kenny Stabler.
“The Raiders got the reputation in 1973 of being a left-handed team,” said Stabler. “The media kept reporting that we ran mostly to the left side because I was left handed. We did run left more, even without the tight end set over there, but it had nothing to do with me. We had Shell and Upshaw over there and they buried people.
“Bob Brown didn’t like to be thought of as a player on the weaker side of the line, and he kept complaining in practice that we didn’t run off right tackle enough. The next thing I knew, we went to the line of scrimmage in a game and Bob registered his complaint so that all could hear.
“‘Can I please get a few fucking plays run to my side?’ he said in that booming voice of his.
“I looked over at that small mountain glaring at me and I nodded. The next play went right over the top of him, and everyone on the opposing line knew it would. All Bob did was drive his defensive end about four yards off the line while tying up the linebacker at the same time.
“Bob Brown kept himself in great shape, loved to play, and he was that rare offensive lineman who played football mad . . . all the time
GEORGE BUEHLER: THE FOG, THE MAD SCIENTIST
Guard George Buehler stood 6’ 2” and weighed 260 pounds. He was drafted by the Raiders out of Stanford in the second round of the 1969 draft.
George was considered to be the strongest man on the team. He was a stellar athlete, but had a habit of losing interest in the game. Sometimes the other linemen would have to slap him around in the huddle to bring him back. Left guard Gene Upshaw said this about George: “He did have a tendency to drift a bit. Yelling at him didn’t always work. He seemed to have his mind on a hundred different things other than the game. It took a good slap to get him concentrating again.”
Fullback Pete Banaszak tells about a particular game when the Raiders’ were behind and driving for a last minute go-ahead touchdown.
“Everyone was deadly serious as they listened to Kenny Stabler call the play. Then, all of a sudden, Buehler started talking to me and asked, “Where’d you get those shoes? I’ve been thinking about changing mine and maybe I’ll try a pair like yours. I like that fancy design.’
“We called George ‘The Mad Scientist’ because he loved electronic gadgets. He made a little remote controlled tank that he used to send out to pick up his mail every morning.”
George also liked remote controlled airplanes. Unfortunately for George, he didn’t know how to use the controls. He brought a plane to training camp one day. We were all in full gear ready to scrimmage and George started flying his airplane around the field. The coaches told him to put the toy away but something was wrong with the controls. The plane started diving at us almost as though there was a crazed pilot flying it. Buehler was punching the control box with his fist and cussing while everyone else was running around ducking and dodging. Finally, the plane crashed into the goal post.
Someone screamed, “Buehler, what the hell happened?”
He answered, “I lost contact!”
CLARENCE DAVIS: C. D.
Clarence Davis was a 5’ 10”, 195-pound running back out of USC. He was the fourth round pick of the Oakland Raiders in the 1971 NFL draft.
One time we were playing in Pittsburgh and Clarence Davis came up to my room with a big smile on his face. He said, ‘Tate, I just gave an interview for you.’
‘Meaning what?’ I asked.
“Clarence started explaining with a smirk on his face. ‘You remember the time we went out to dinner in Oakland and you left me? Remember, Tate? Remember that time when you left with that big dude’s lady friend?’
“I remembered what C. D. was talking about. One time, when he and I went out to dinner, I noticed this nice looking lady sitting across from us staring and smiling at me. Well, she got up to powder her nose and I just happened to get up to make a phone call. Anyway, I talked with her in the lobby and we both decided to leave together. She left her boyfriend and I left C. D.
‘Damn, C. D., I hope you didn’t get upset about me sticking you with the check for dinner.’ I replied.
“‘Oh, no, Tate, I wasn’t angry about the check I got stuck with. The lady’s friend had a knife and she wanted to stick me with it. I was lucky to get away with my life so I decided to do you a favor. That’s why I gave an interview for you.’
“C. D. was overly excited. I knew that he must have really stuck it to me, so I asked, ‘Okay, tell me about it.’
“‘Well, Tate, I was down in the lobby just minding my own business when this man comes up to me and starts asking questions. It was strange, though, because he kept calling me Mr. Tatum.’
“I knew what had happened. A lot of times reporters and even fans mistook Clarence and me. Really, though, I can’t see the resemblance. I’m much better looking.
“The man who came up to C. D. was a reporter and he wanted to interview me. He asked C. D., ‘Tell me, Jack, what receiver of the Steelers do you fear the most?’
“C. D. answered, ‘Steelers receivers! Ain’t none of them worth a damn.’
“Obviously, the reporter was startled at my arrogant display of verbal abusiveness or, I should say, at C. D.’s. The man asked a second question: ‘Tell me, Jack, what do you think of the Steelers’ running backs?’
“‘Chicken, all of them, chicken!’ C. D. replied.
“The reporter was really taken in and he started firing more questions at C. D.
“‘Do you have any respect for anyone on the Steelers’ club?’ asked the reporter.
“‘Mister, if I told you the Steelers were gutless suckers, that would be a compliment. Ain’t none of the Steelers worth a damn, and tomorrow me, Mr. Jack Tatum, will personally beat them all over the stadium. You can quote me on that!’ Clarence told the man.
“The man did quote him and the Steelers read the story. Let me tell you, I had a hell of a time explaining everything to the few friends I did have on the Steelers club.”
DAVE CASPER: GHOST
In 1976, tight end Bob Moore was sent from the Raiders to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in the expansion draft. Dave Casper took over his position.
Casper was one of the bigger tight ends of his day. A product of Notre Dame, “Ghost” stood 6’ 4” and weighed in at 240 pounds. In 2002, Casper was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His presenter was his former coach, John Madden.
Dave Casper, like the rest of the team, was a little “different.” According to offensive guard and former Notre Dame teammate Steve Sylvester, Dave was sometimes a bit . . . weird.
“Sometimes he was one of the guys. He played golf on Tuesdays and he was involved in all the tournaments. But sometimes, after games, when we would go hang out, he would go down to the estuary by himself and get his fishing rod and fish. Hey, on that team everybody beat their own drum.
“Madden loved Casper. He loved his weirdness. ‘He’s off the wall!’ John would say.
“Casper would draw up these crazy plays on the blackboard. ‘This is what we gotta do!’ It’d be something like a tight end around double reverse. Madden would love to watch it happen—on paper. But he’d never use the plays.”
Raiders guard George Buehler would sometimes be totally lost when talking with Casper.
“He’d frequently say things to you that you sort of wondered about. If you walked up to him and asked him a question, he’d ponder the answer for a second or so. Then he’d give you a series of confusing answers.”
Defensive tackle Dave Rowe enjoyed conversations between Madden and Casper.
“Casper would purposely say odd things to John and g
et him started. One day we’re about to go on the field for practice, and Madden was all pumped up, and Casper says, ‘Hey, coach, did you ever notice that if you lost something you find it in the last place you looked?’”
“Madden looked at him and said, ‘Well, yeah, that’s just stupid. It’s the last place you looked because after that you stop looking.’ So Casper says, ‘Coach, one time I found something in the last place I looked, but because I didn’t want it to be in the last place I looked, I kept on looking.’”
“Madden goes, ‘What?’ Then he goes, ‘But you found it, right?’
“‘No,’ says Casper. ‘I kept on looking.’
“And he just walks away. Madden is dumbfounded. With Dave, everything he said was sort of rhetorical. There were no right answers.”
George Atkinson called him “El Strange-o.”
“A deep man from a different world. Trust me. Different world altogether.”
“Dave was with us, but not really with us,” said Dave Humm. “He was a part of it all, but he could also leave it all behind him. He was torn between being a professor and a really good football player.”
DAVE DALBY: DOUBLE-D
When the great Jim Otto retired, Dave Dalby took over the center position. Dave was a product of UCLA and was drafted by Oakland in the fourth round of the 1972 NFL draft. Dalby was good size. He stood 6’ 3” and weighed 247 pounds. His nickname was “Double-D.”
In 1975, Dave started in every game of the season. Continuing this streak, he eventually played in 205 consecutive games.
As part of Dave’s wedding vows, it was included that he would have Thursday night out—for every night of his life! Now how many wives would agree to that inclusion?
John Vella had numerous stories of Dalby, as he was his roommate for nine years.
