by Mike Siani
John was larger than life. He was an intimidator and, at 6’ 9”, 290 pounds, he was physically bigger than any man I had met or seen.
His mere presence attracted immediate attention, but he seemed to love the fame and notoriety, and perhaps that’s why he chose Hollywood to live in and acting as his vocation after football.
But there was another side of Tooz. It was almost as though he were two different people.
The other Tooz was always the last player out of the stadium parking lot after a game because he could never say no to anyone seeking his autograph.
I can recall talking to John in Reno aout today’s pro athletes earning huge sums of money and then charging kids for their autographs. I listened to the anger in his voice as he vehemently objected to the practice—he insisted pro players owe it to fans to oblige them with such a small token.
The other Tooz was a man who would go just about anywhere to appear at a charity event. He would travel for hours from Oakland to places like Sacramento, Stockton, Modesto, or Fresno to speak at Pee-Wee football dinners or Boy Scout luncheons. There were seldom any fees involved.
My most vivid memory of John Matuszak is of the Sunday night after we had just beaten the Vikings in Super Bowl XI, and were winding down from the greatest party ever thrown by Al Davis. It was 5 a.m. and I was walking through the lobby of the Newport Beach Marriott with a friend of mine, Dan Bruscella. There was Tooz—still signing autographs.
I introduced Dan to John and asked if he would sign a football for him. He obliged by signing the ball. The next thing I knew, Tooz makes like Kenny Stabler and sends Danny deep down the middle of the lobby for a bomb. He hit Danny with a perfect spiral, just missing a crystal chandelier by inches, in full stride in front of the elevator for an imaginary touchdown. Then John proceeded to high-five anyone still left in the lobby. As I got into the elevator, I turned and saw Tooz had gone back to signing more autographs.
JIM OTTO: DOUBLE-O
“Double-O,” as he was called, was a 6’ 2”, 255-pound center out of Miami (FL). Otto joined the newly founded Oakland Raiders in 1960 and, for the next fifteen seasons, was the only starting center the Raiders ever had. He was one of only three players to see action in all of the Raiders’ 140 regular season games over the AFL’s ten-year history.
More than anything, Jim wanted to play for the NFL, but no offers came around. But in 1959, the AFL held its first draft and Jim was drafted by the Minneapolis franchise which later became the Oakland Raiders.
“I was notified by telegraph, and I had to ask where the hell was Oakland,” Otto said. “I signed for $8,000.”
Whenever we played the Steelers, it was always Joe Greene vs. Jim Otto.
Here were two men who defined the AFC title game’s matchup at the line of scrimmage—Green at the top of his career and Otto, called “Pops” by his younger teammates—in his fifteenth season, 223 consecutive start, and his final game.
Greene tried to rally Otto on the field but Jim simply said, “How’s your wife and children, Joe?” That was Double-O’s way of saying, “Shut up and play!”
For six seasons, Greene had done battle with Otto.
“I mean, you hit him in the head and your helmet would just . . . ring!” Greene said. “You had to deliver a blow with your helmet, and hitting him with your helmet was not something that you cherished. First, you had to get your ‘mind right’ as we used to say.”
Jim was taught to lead with his head, as did most of the players of that time.
“Well, in being taught to lead with your head and shoulders to make a tackle, and basically place your head to where it’s going to hit the ball, because you get some good fumbles that way when you tackle and place your head and shoulders to where you’re going to hit the side where he’s carrying the ball. And then being in that position to hit the ball, the runner drops his head, the quarterback drops his head or whatever it might be, and you have head-to-head contact.
“You’re the tackler, and you get fined! Now, I don’t think that’s fair. I think some of these below-the-waist blocks as well, sure, you stand to hurt a knee or stand to hurt something, I don’t have knees anymore. And sure, this hurts, but you know, and it can hurt somebody, but I don’t think a guy should get fined for doing something he was taught to do all his life. Uh-uh, can’t do it, you know?”
Jim once returned to the sideline in 1973, his forehead oozing blood that streamed over the bridge of his nose; a screw inside Otto’s helmet was the cause. The team trainer approached Jim to help stop the bleeding.
“Get away from me!” Otto growled. I thought, Double-O likes it! He thinks the blood will intimidate his opponent! He had no idea that it intimidated me!
Jim refused to listen to his body when it was telling him to stop.
“I was very physical and never cared how I came out of it,” Otto said. “It was almost like being a kamikaze pilot, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have landed when my wheels were down.”
Double-O retired in 1975 and was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1980—the first Raider to of many to come. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who his presenter was . . . who else but Al Davis!
CHARLES PHILYAW
Charlie Philyaw was a one-of-a-kind guy and to say that he was different would be an understatement. He was a defensive end out of Texas Southern. At 6’ 9” and 276 pounds, he was a giant of a man. The Raiders drafted him in the second round of the 1976 NFL draft. Though large in stature, it always seemed as though Philyaw was in a perpetual state of confusion.
“One day on his way to practice, Philyaw stepped in a hole and sprained his ankle,” said Tatum. He limped his way through the day and later that night came over to our room to see the doctor. Philyaw was standing in the hallway outside our room, all six feet nine inches of him, explaining his problem to Skip. Philyaw was saying, ‘Trainer say to get the whirlpool from you.’”
“What you talkin’ about, Dummy?” Skip screamed at Philyaw.
“‘Trainer say you have the whirlpool and I need it for my ankle,’ Philyaw explained as he started taking off his shoe to show Skip his swollen ankle.”
“Skip turned to me for help and asked, ‘Tate, what’s this big dummy talkin’ about?’”
“I just shrugged my shoulders and rolled over in bed. I wasn’t about to get mixed up in any of Skip’s and Philyaw’s communication problems.
“Skip slammed the door in Philyaw’s face and stormed over to the phone. He called the trainer and cussed the man out. Skip wanted someone, anyone, to teach Philyaw the difference between the team’s doctor and the team’s cornerback. Skip didn’t stop with a phone call to the trainer either. He called Big Red, El Bago, Tom Dahms, and even one of the owners. Skip cussed and screamed for over an hour, and that was the last time Philyaw came after Skip for medical attention.
“Next day at practice, Philyaw came over to Skip and said, ‘Hey, man, you know, all this time I’ve been thinking you were the doctor. Can you believe that?’
“Skip had to hold himself back from killing him.”
John Matuszak saw Philyaw as a one-of-a-kind man.
“Charles Philyaw was a sideshow by himself. But I want to make it clear that I am not trying to poke fun at Charles. He was one of the nicest people I ever met and I always considered him a friend. He was a good football player, and his unusual way of doing things kept everyone smiling.
“Charles weighed in at 276 pounds and was always hungry. One day he was complaining during practice that he was starving. Fred Biletnikoff heard him moaning and generously directed him toward George Blanda. This was near the end of George’s career and he wasn’t getting much playing time at games or in practice. Fred told Charles that George’s sole function at practice was to take food orders for the rest of the guys. Charles walked up to George and put in an order for a hamburger. George nearly killed him.
“Another story involves Phil Villapiano. Phil would always look out for Charles and help hi
m whenever he saw he was having problems. In one game, Charles was unexpectedly inserted into the lineup against the Steelers. As always, he was more than willing, but they ran a lot of traps and misdirection plays, and their offense could be confusing if you weren’t familiar with it. Charles was falling for too many fakes. Phil used to have an uncanny knack for guessing the other team’s plays. Right before each play, he began to whisper to Charles what he thought was coming. Phil was often right and Charles had a great game.
“The following week, Charles was back in the starting lineup. Before the first defensive play, Phil noticed that Charles was staring at him as they waited for the offense to break its huddle. When the offense got to the line of scrimmage, Charles was still staring. Phil didn’t know what Charles was up to, but he had no time to worry about it. He had a play to stop. Finally, just before the ball was snapped, Charles cupped his hands over his mouth and whispered to him, ‘Hey Phil, aren’t you going to tell me what to do this week?’
When a player gets a minor injury, he’s instructed to come and watch the other guys practice. Injured players always feel awkward and insecure, and they usually don’t like to call much attention to themselves. Most guys dress accordingly, in some basic shorts or sweats, certainly nothing flamboyant.
One day Charles sprained an ankle and came by practice to watch. He had on skin-tight shorts with his car keys dangling from a belt. He was wearing a tennis shirt, a hat, and a pair of sunglasses. Over two different color socks, he had a regular shoe on his good foot and a sandal on his bad one. He was also sipping on a coke. Other than that, Charles blended right in.
Philyaw was a great guy, but sometimes he didn’t have both oars in the water. Just ask Dave Rowe.
“Charlie was extremely naïve. One day, Charlie comes by and says, ‘Hey, van Eeghan, how come you have both your names on your jersey?’ Mark explains to him that van Eeghen is his last name and that his first name is Mark. But Charlie still wanted both names on his jersey like van Eeghen.
“One day he got towed into training camp. When I asked him what happened, he told me, ‘I ran out of gas. I didn’t have any money on me.’
“I asked him if he had a credit card and he said he had a Master Card. I asked him why he didn’t use it to buy gas. He told me, ‘You can use that to buy gas?’
“Charlie was a really nice guy. He had a world of talent. He just had a difficult time with learning defenses and utilizing basic, common sense.”
Jack Tatum gave Philyaw the nickname, “King Kong.”
“We named Charley King Kong. To say that Charley was sometimes a little slow catching on is an understatement. At practice, Charley hurt his hand and needed medical attention. He walked over to Pete Banaszak, holding his hand and asked, ‘Hey, man, what should I do?’
“‘Go see the doctor,’ Pete told him.
“‘The doctor?’ Philyaw asked.
“‘Yeah, the doctor,’ Pete said.
“Instead of Philyaw walking over to the team doctor, he walked out into the middle of a pass defense drill and pulled Skip Thomas aside, saying, ‘Man said I should show you this,’ and he stuck his bloody paw in Skip’s face. Obviously he had forgotten his last encounter with Skip.
“Coach Madden asked, ‘Philyaw, what the hell are you doing?’
‘Showing my hand to the doctor.’ Charley answered. ‘The man said that I should show it to the doctor.’
‘Get that man the hell out of my sight!’ Madden screamed.
“Every morning the offense and defense went to separate film rooms and view game films. One morning, Philyaw was sitting in the offensive film room ten minutes before someone said, ‘Philyaw, you’re in the wrong room.’
“Defensive coach Tom Dahms had a nice meeting going without Charley, and when someone said, ‘Coach, Philyaw isn’t here,’ and he answered, ‘Good!’
“During a morning practice session, Philyaw had hurt himself once again. He wasn’t expected to practice for a couple of days, but that afternoon, like a good rookie, Philyaw was back on the field. Like before, Charley was wearing one shoe on his good foot and a sandal on the one he had sprained, but that wasn’t all. This time Charley had on different colored socks, the wrong colored jersey, no belt, and his thigh pads were upside down. Everyone stopped and stared in disbelief. The coaches took Charley aside and started counting up the things wrong with his uniform. Philyaw set an NFL record with ten things wrong with his uniform.”
ART SHELL
Shell was drafted by the Raiders in the third round of the 1968 NFL-AFL draft. The 6’ 5”, 265-pound guard turned tackle out of Maryland Eastern Shore (now University of Maryland-Eastern Shore) developed a great respect for the man who played opposite him on game day.
“I always felt that you didn’t have to hate each other on the field,” said Shell. “From high school to the pros, I always heard that I wasn’t mean enough, but I sincerely mean it that you don’t have to be angry to play football. It is a job, and you treat it as such. I think that during the course of my 15-year career, I was angry three times about something that someone on the other team did to me.”
The one thing that bothered Shell the most was allowing his man to sack Stabler. He took it personally.
But it’s something that didn’t happen often. Kenny Stabler can attest to that.
“Art possessed natural strength,” said Stabler. “He was very quick on his feet and could move accordingly to the oncoming pass rusher. He completely dominated the line of scrimmage and saved my ass more than once.”
When Shell was ready to enter the NFL-AFL draft, he thought that the Chargers would take him.
“I drew interest from a lot of teams, and I really thought I’d go to San Diego. All I got from the Raiders was a questionnaire. But the Raiders drafted me in the third round. As I understand it now, the Raiders missed out the year before on drafting Kansas City linebacker Willie Lanier, who had played at a historically black, small school, Morgan State and they vowed that if a talented small school player was available, they weren’t going to miss out on him. But back then, what got my attention about the Raiders was watching their games on television and seeing Jim Otto snap the ball without looking!”
Shell became a starter in 1970 and held the position until he retired in 1982.
“The coaches told me that if I didn’t win a starting job within three years, I should quit,” Shell said.
Against opponents Upshaw and Shell were the left offensive side of the line of scrimmage. They were two completely different men. Shell was quiet while Upshaw was loud and brash. Even though it was Gene who usually did all the talking, the players would come to Art in the huddle, knowing that when he had something to say, Stabler would listen.
“When Snake walked into the huddle, it was his, but if I had something to say, I’d catch him before the huddle. I used to be the carrier pigeon for Cliff Branch. Cliff would insist he was open and could go deep, so I’d talk to Snake about it and he’d tell me that Cliff thought he was open but he didn’t see the safety rotating back. So I go to Cliff and tell him that he didn’t see the safety rotating back, but it got to the point where Cliff was always open.”
My most vivid memory of Art Shell occurred in my rookie season. It was my second, professional, regular season game and we were playing the powerful Green Bay Packers at Lambeau Field.
We had just lost our opener to the Steelers in Pittsburgh, however, in the fourth quarter I was able to get free for two long touchdown catches thrown by Lamonica. Since it worked with the Steelers, John Madden and then wide receiver coach Tom Flores decided we would continue bombing away with Lamonica.
Guarding me that day for the Packers was All-Pro cornerback Ken Ellis. We had never played against each other before and early in the game I was able to break free for a 56-yard catch. That didn’t sit too well with Ellis and he began taunting me throughout the first half. Occasionally he would take a swing at me when the officials were not looking.
Enter Art Shell! Ar
t saw what was going on and he wasn’t about to let anyone cheap shot his teammate. So big Art got in between Ellis and myself during an altercation. He simply told Ellis to back off in so many words and waited for Ellis to turn and walk away—which he did.
From that point on and throughout my career, all I had to do was ask Art for a little help if I ever had a problem with a defensive back and the problem was solved quickly and efficiently.
As big as Art was, he was incredibly agile and mobile. I witnessed Art dunk a basketball from a standing position and as gentle as his demeanor was, he could seriously hurt you if he wanted to! I’m glad he was on my side and not my opponent!
In 1989 Art was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His presenter, of course, was Al Davis. Along with Willie Wood of the Green Bay Packers, Art was enshrined with Pittsburgh Steeler foes, Mel Blount and Terry Bradshaw.
That same year, Al Davis named Art Shell the head coach of the Raiders. Art was the first black head coach in the NFL.
OTIS SISTRUNK
6’ 4”, 265-pound, defensive lineman Otis Sistrunk never attended college, but was discovered at a Los Angeles Rams tryout by Al Davis. Sistrunk was one of the first NFL players to sport a shaved head. He was also instrumental in helping the Raiders obtain their misfit image. He gained national attention on Monday Night Football, when commentator Alex Karras said of Sistrunk: “He’s from the University of Mars.”
The reason Karras said that was because when Sistrunk came over to the sidelines for an interview (it was really cold that night), steam was coming from his head. Otis actually like the nickname, “The Man From Mars.”
Sistrunk arrived in Oakland in 1972.
“When I got to Oakland in ’72, John told me later, they knew nothing about me. ‘Did he just get out of jail, or what?’ They were taking a chance. ‘Who’s this guy Treetrunk?’ So you come in with your big cigar and your Dashiki, and you start doing your thing.
