by Mike Siani
“If you had to vote for the most popular guy on the team, Dalby would win hands down . . . and there wouldn’t have been a close second. That’s how much he was liked, how much people liked being around him.
“Dave loved beer. As roommates, we were going to split the cost of groceries. We’re picking out groceries, and he picks up a case of beer. I didn’t say anything. I’m not a big beer drinker. A case would have lasted me a month at home. But for Dave it only took two or three days for it to be gone. And during that entire time, I had only one. He had twenty-three. I said, ‘Double-D, we’re not splitting beer anymore.’
“Fifteen minutes before practice was over, he’d always start going around to his best buddies and say, ‘Bamboo Room? Bamboo Room? Gonna have a beer?’ He was already recruiting for the next good time; the next time for some camaraderie. The look on his face was like a little heartbroken kid if you said no, so you always wanted to say yeah, because you didn’t want to see that look on his face if you said no. You couldn’t say no to Double-D.
“Dave was not a fan of the press. He didn’t want to explain himself. I remember a couple of times where he would be upset when the sports writers were inaccurately talking about us, putting blame on me or George for something that wasn’t even our assignment.
“Double-D was the prime example of the guy who really understood that linemen don’t get attention, and a guy who didn’t care to have it.”
RAY GUY
Ray Guy was a 6’ 3”, 195-pound punter out of Southern Mississippi. He was drafted in the first round of the 1973 NFL draft by Oakland and it was a steal! To this day, Ray Guy not only remains the only punter drafted in the first round, but is the first and only punter to be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
“Al Davis was a risk taker.” said former 49ers coach and general manager, Bill Walsh. “Al knew a player when he saw one.”
When Davis drafted Guy he had a broken foot, but after his foot healed and the Raiders saw his 60 to 70 yard punts, they knew they hadn’t made a mistake.
“Our punter for the last two years was Jerry DePoyster. He had three punts blocked in the ’72 season and I feel it was because he had to catch the ball against his body, and you wondered if he was ever going to get it off. Every time you go to punt, you wonder, ‘Is it going to be blocked, or dropped?’ I said, ‘I don’t want to go through this again.’
“People said, ‘How do you draft a punter in the first round?’ Because every defensive guy wanted him because he helped the defense. Because every offensive guy wanted him because he helped the offense. And of course everyone on special teams wanted him.”
Even though Ray was one hell of a punter, his nervous energy allowed him to practice with the safeties—”but just practice,” as Madden put it.
“Ron Wolf told him [Ray] he could play safety when he signed him. The first day we practiced, I look up and we have Guy in at safety, and I tell him to get the hell out of there. He said, ‘But Wolf told me that if I signed with you I could play safety, too.’ I told him, ‘Ron Wolf lied!’ We never had another conversation about him being a safety.”
“I used to let Ray practice with the safeties [during walkthroughs] because he was such a hyper guy,” Madden continued. “He couldn’t just stand around. He’d always want to jump in and help, play defense against the receivers when you were walking through practices. He could throw the ball farther and harder than any of our quarterbacks, so then we started letting him throw the ball, which was safe, and it got his energy out of him.”
Ray could also drink beer with the rest of them.
“If he wasn’t singing and playing guitar at Clancy’s, he was hoisten’ a few brews with the guys,” said Banaszak. “Hell, you look alongside of you to see who had that pitcher of beer and Ray was right next to you slopping them down with everyone else.”
It was also known that Ray loved to hit the Circuit.
“Yeah, it was fun. First we’d hit Uppy’s then the Grotto, Big Al’s—from Castro Valley to Walnut Creek to Jack London Square. We’d try to get to all of them. It’d take half the night to do it, but we would do it. Then always back to the Denny’s at three or four o’clock in the morning. Boy, did you feel bad the next day at practice.”
Ray was content with the simple life. And the Raiders treated him like family.
“I don’t like complex things. Life’s too complex as it is. But as soon as I got to the team, there was that family sense. After the first day, it was like I had been there all my life. They were just like me. It made me feel at home.”
Even though Guy had done well during the preseason, he was still a little apprehensive about the first regular season game.
“I had a great preseason, but when I stepped onto the field for the first real game, I was nervous. I grabbed the ball and hit it, caught it good, but when I looked down the field, the ball wasn’t there. It went about five or ten yards and about four rows into the stands. Talk about being nervous—I didn’t even know which bench to go to.”
“When I finally made it back to the Raiders bench, the first person I saw was George Blanda. He said to me, ‘You messed up, didn’t you? What did they draft you for? To be a punter? Then go do it. Have fun.’
“That hit home. I got up, got over it, and started mixing with the players. It was always like eleven guys moving at one time, and they were smoking when they did it. We were kind of like those Transformers. You keep turning all those parts. You fold them in and out and suddenly it’s one big man.”
Ray described the nature of punting.
“I just learned that every part of your body has a natural process, and you just have to keep everything in a natural alignment. You have to have timing and rhythm. Specifically, you don’t grip the ball tight. You drop it where your foot naturally wants to be. Then you trust your instincts.
“Where the power comes from, I haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s the long legs. Maybe it’s the muscles. Maybe God gave me something a little bit extra.
“It was at the 1976 Pro Bowl in the New Orleans Superdome when people began to talk about me hitting the dome’s hanging scoreboard on a punt. As the team was walking to the line, it just hit me right then. Why not? One of the officials, Jim Tunney was standing next to me when I heard him say, ‘You’re going to try it, aren’t you?’ I nodded my head. When the ball was snapped, I knew if I caught it right, and I had the right trajectory, I’d at least come close to it.
“Then when I kicked it, I knew I’d done it. When the ball left my foot, it was a perfect spiral. It just started rising and rising. If I’d been a yard further back, the ball would have gone over that thing. As it was, the back of the ball hit the top of the gondola, and the ball fell straight down.
“I had to re-kick the ball. This time I nailed it good; went just under the gondola. All I did was lower my drop a little bit. While practicing for the ’81 Super Bowl, I nailed that sucker four times in a row. When we came out on Sunday, they had raised that sucker all the way to the top!”
After being a finalist in 1992, 1995, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2007, and 2008, Ray Guy would finally be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 2014. His presenter: no other than his former coach, John Madden.
LESTER HAYES: LESTER THE MOLESTER/THE JUDGE
Before he was known as the “Judge,” Lester Hayes was affectionately nicknamed “Lester The Molester.” If I’m not mistaken, I think it was me who came up with the nickname.
This 6’ 0”, 200-pound Texas A&M defensive back was drafted by the Oakland Raiders in the 5th round of the 1977 NFL draft.
In his junior year at Texas A & M, Lester was converted from linebacker to strong safety. When the Raiders drafted him, they made one more change. They moved him from strong safety to cornerback—a position he didn’t really like.
“I was 6-2, 230 pounds, I was a linebacker and strong safety,” Hayes said. “I’m thinking, You don’t move All-Americans; you move other dudes.”
While in rookie camp, Lester pleaded with
John Madden to talk to Al Davis about his case—to leave him at strong safety.
After practice Hayes watched as Madden spoke with Davis.
“I’m hoping, wishing, praying that Mr. Davis would say something,” Hayes said.
Davis smiled then walked away. Madden then confronted Hayes.
“Son,” Madden told Hayes, “you can play bump and run and you can play cornerback.”
“My face,” Hayes said, “dropped to my knees. I was driving down Santa Rosa Boulevard, crying.”
By being fearless, proud, and tenacious, Lester turned out to be one of the best corners in Raider history.
If any player was created to play a particular position, Hayes was born to be an NFL cornerback. He had the perfect body for a corner during the ’70s and ’80s when the “bump and run” defensive technique was allowed in the league. In addition to his size, Hayes could run like a deer and turn direction in an instant as he covered the best receivers of the day. His strong upper body and long arms allowed him to jam receivers at the line of scrimmage and most receivers never made it past 5 yards downfield once the Molester got his hands on them.
One of the best matchups on any given Sunday were Lester and Seattle Seahawk wide receiver, Steve Largent. They were both equally competitive as well as aggressive and would battle one another from the first down to the last.
Also during his rookie season, Lester was introduced to Stickum by Fred Biletnikoff.
“Try that, rookie,” Biletnikoff said as he walked away leaving Lester confused. “I thought,” said Hayes, “that Fred had put axle grease in my hands.”
Hayes absolutely went overboard when he began using “Stickum” all over his uniform and body. That’s right—his entire body! I followed and then running back Mark van Eeghan—”The Grass Monster” also started spreading it on his jersey. However, Lester took the use of Stickum to a level no one had ever seen before. Prior to every game, he would spread an ungodly amount of this glue to every part of his body and uniform that he felt could help him in intercepting a pass. In fact, because of his excessive use of this substance the NFL banned the use of Stickum in 1981 and the rule is now known as the Lester Hayes Rule! Did he need the Stickum to help him become a better player? Probably not, but then again any small advantage helps when every Raider played to ‘just win.’
Lester now reflects back at his introduction to Stickum and laughs at what it did for his career.
TED HENDRICKS: THE MAD STORK, KICK ’EM IN THE HEAD TED
Linebacker Ted Hendricks was a one-of-a-kind player. Even though he possessed an extremely high IQ, he was as crazy as they come. They didn’t call him “The Mad Stork” for nothing!
Hendricks was 6’ 7” and weighed only 220 pounds—light for a guy of that height. He was drafted out of Miami (FL) by the Baltimore Colts in the second round of the 1969 draft. Like other members of the team, Hendricks didn’t find his niche in football until after he had completed five years with the Colts and one year with the Packers. In 1975, Green Bay, like Baltimore, had had enough of Ted and traded him to Oakland. It was the best move ever for Hendricks and, in 1990, Ted was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His presenter: none other than Al Davis.
“The thing I couldn’t figure out was why they wanted me when they already had Irons and Villapiano,” said Hendricks.
The big event of Hendricks’ career happened when the Raiders were at Denver and losing 17–7. In the third quarter, middle linebacker Monte Johnson was out with a back injury and was replaced by Mike Dennery. Dennery couldn’t do the job, so Madden called upon Ted Hendricks. In the Raiders defensive system, the middle linebacker always called the defensive signals. Unfortunately for Hendricks, he didn’t know the signals.
“In the first huddle, I asked if anyone else knew the signals. Everyone shook their head. I only knew two defenses—man to man or zone—so I used them for the rest of the game. We were able to shut down the Broncos offense and did not allow them to score again. We beat Denver, 42–17.”
But Ted wasn’t happy with the way Madden kept alternating he and Monte Johnson. Ted wanted more playing time but found himself on the bench more than on the field.
Hendricks purchased a harlequin mask to wear on the sidelines because he was sad.
“Madden was alternating the middle linebacker position between me and Monte Johnson. During the Denver game I was on the bench. I was very unhappy. I put on this harlequin mask that I had bought at a Renaissance Fair. It was a smile to show that I was sad underneath that I wasn’t playing. The ABC cameraman captured it on national TV.”
Against the Bengals in the division playoffs, Hendricks was magnificent. It would be his first full game as a Raider and with that he tallied up four sacks for the day along with a blocked punt. Al Davis was quoted as saying, “He played like a madman out there!”
Monte Johnson gave Ted a second nickname: “Kick ’em in the head, Ted.”
“We’re having a scrimmage. Ted is trying to vault over Hubbard’s block, and he hits Hubbard in the head. Hubbard’s laying knocked cold. The Ted kicks him in the head with his cleat. Not maliciously.”
Villapiano said that Ted brought more than just his playing ability to the team.
“Teddy Hendricks brought the Miami spirit to the Raiders. Now, you try not to live by this, but you have to in a way. The Miami spirit is ‘Help yourself and fuck the rest.’ And what you mean by that is taking care of your own fucking job, and then help wherever else you can. And when you fucking dominate somebody, then you can help the linemen. But help yourself first. At the end of the day it’s very true. And if anyone should know that, Ted should know. He fucking dominated.”
Matuszak looked upon Hendricks as a master at clothes-lining players.
“Before it was outlawed, Teddy was a master at the clothesline tackle. One time Joe Kapp was running a naked bootleg when he encountered Teddy in the open field. Kapp tried to juke him but Teddy wouldn’t bite. The clothesline went out and Kapp nearly lost his head. Kapp just looked up at him and said, ‘Nice hit, kid.”‘ Then he stumbled back to the huddle shaking his head. Teddy took pride in his ability to clothesline.”
Hendricks could also take food and drink orders.
“A bunch of Raiders were riding a bus to a golf tournament in the California desert,” said Matuszak. “It was hot and dusty and everyone wanted a drink. When the guys asked the bus driver to stop at a roadside store, he kept on driving as though he never heard them. They asked again and this time he refused. Teddy didn’t appreciate his lack of concern.
“‘You stop this bus right now,’” he screamed. “‘Or I’ll stop it because I’ll be the one who’s driving it!’
“When the driver stopped the bus, Teddy took food and drink orders for everyone.”
MARV HUBBARD
Marv Hubbard was a 6’ 1” running back who was drafted by the Raiders in 1968 out of Colgate. From experience, teammate Bob Moore describes Hubbard’s street fighting techniques on the gridiron.
“He was unbelievable. He was just a street fighter. When he ran the football, he was looking for a fight. Marv probably ran all of a 5.5 forty at the time. He’d start the season at 250 and work his way up to 275—and his mission was to run right over you. You’d slip off your block, and he’d be running past you, right up your nose. He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to run right through you! It didn’t matter how big you were, he was going to make you pay.”
Madden only needed a few words to sum up his running back: “Hubbard was tough!
“He was tough and he enjoyed being tough. He enjoyed a good fight. He said where he came from you could go to a bar, have a drink, fight a guy, knock him down, pick him up, dust him off, buy him another drink and you were buddies. He said, ‘I come out here to California, go to a bar, have a drink, get in a fight, knock a guy down, they want to sue me! What the hell is that all about?’
“He was so proud of the technique where he could punch the window of an establish
ment, break it, and not cut his hand. He did this one time too many, and the owners of the establishment informed Marv that the next time he broke a window they were going to call the cops.
“And so I called him in and told him, ‘You can’t do that.’ And he said, ‘Yeah, but I pay. I’m not running away from anything.’ I said, ‘But you can’t break the window of a business. You just can’t do it.’ And he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t do it. I told him, ‘Just don’t do it.’ And he stopped doing it. But he couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t do it. Or why he couldn’t fight.”
“He played real hard and partied real hard,” said van Eeghen. “But a lot of people did. One night he rode his motorcycle through the Piccadilly Pub in Castro Valley.”
“It was a straight shot back to front,” said John Vella. “There was a long hallway from the back door before you got to the bar and you could go straight to the front with no tables or bar stools in between. So Marv rode his motorcycle from the back straight through to the front. I’m not saying people had to dive to get out of the way. It wasn’t like he was going 100 miles an hour. But put it this way, though, he never stopped.”
George Buehler talks about the physical toughness of Hubbard.
“Marv played the entire ’75 season with a dislocated shoulder. We had to have a belt wrapped around his ribs tied to the belt on his pants so his arm couldn’t go any higher because it would come out of his socket. He went to Stabler before one game and said, ‘Snake, if you’re going to throw the ball to me, it can’t be any higher than this because of my arm.’” Ken looked at him and said, ‘Marv, we’re not showcasing you in our passing attack today.’”
On one play back in 1970 between the Raiders and the Chiefs, Marv Hubbard and Kansas City linebacker Willie Lanier hit the hole at the same time.
“When they hit, the whole stadium went silent,” said Duane Benson. “I thought they were both dead. Then Hubbard jumps up and says, ‘Is that the hardest you can hit?’ Next thing you know, Hubbard is walking toward the other goalpost. He was so knocked out they had to escort him off the field.”
