by Mike Siani
“When John asked me what position I played, I told him ‘all four.’ ‘Which one do you want?’ I said, ‘I play all four. Just say the magic word. Whatever makes the Raiders win, that’s what I’ll play.’ When you make a boast like that, you better back it up. So I played in the first exhibition against Baltimore, and afterwards Madden said, ‘You proved it.’”
Madden agrees that he knew nothing about him.
“We had no background on him. We had no idea how old he was. And I never did know. He looked old then. When he played for us he could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty. But he was good—good enough to start the season. He was just a natural defensive lineman.”
KENNY STABLER: SNAKE
Kenny Stabler, a product of Alabama’s Crimson Tide, was drafted by the Raiders in the second round of the 1968 NFL-AFL draft. At 6’ 3”, 215 pounds, Stabler rode the bench during his first three years as a Raider. Game plans and playbooks were not a strong part of his vocabulary. The Snake, as he was nicknamed, would always be a sandlot type of player—in other words, if you got open, he’d find you.
Kenny got his nickname in high school after he zigged and zagged and snaked up the field for a 70-yard touchdown on a punt return. He was also a great pitcher. As a matter of fact, the Houston Astros drafted him right out of college.
But Stabler marched to the beat of a different drummer.
“I didn’t study in front of film like a Peyton Manning. I went out and played the game. But remember, it was a simpler time and a simpler game. The defenses weren’t sophisticated. John would give me the playbook at the Wednesday night meeting, but I didn’t study the game.”
Regardless of his style, Madden still thought that Kenny was an amazing quarterback.
“The whole thing is seeing it, reading it, deciding where you’re going, and getting it on its way. It’s something you can’t teach; you’re born with it, and Stabler had it. He was amazing.”
“Kenny was the most accurate fucking thrower I’ve ever seen,” said Pete Banaszak. “If you wanted the ball between the four and the zero, he’d put it there. If you wanted it in the ear hole, Kenny could put it there, too.”
“The ball sure didn’t have a lot of velocity on it, but I think accuracy is the thing that’s overlooked and underrated,” said Stabler, “That was my game. It’s not just a high completion percentage or quickness of release. It’s where you put the ball. I had a pretty good knack of putting the ball where ever I wanted.”
“The bigger the situation, the calmer he got,” said Madden. “That was a great combination with me, because I was just the opposite. I was intense. If everything was normal, and we were ahead, he’d get bored. He had to have his ass in the fire to get really focused in on something. Then, when he really got focused in, instead of getting excited and tight, he’d get calm.”
John gave an example of how incredibly calm Stabler was.
“It was 1977 and we were playing the Colts. The game had gone into double overtime. I was thinking of a play to call, or three plays. ‘We’ll do this, or this.’ So anyway, he was listening to me, he had his helmet cocked up, and he was taking a drink, and he says, ‘These fans are getting their money’s worth today.’ I just looked at him in awe.”
In sticking with his calm and cool demeanor, John Vella mentions how he never saw Stabler criticize a player.
“I want to tell you what I never saw him do. I never saw him chew guys out. He never once singled a guy out. It was always, ‘We’ll get ’em on the next play.’”
When the game was on the line, it was known how Kenny was usually pretty quiet in the huddle.
“He was usually the one guy in the huddle who wasn’t talking,” said Bob Moore. In the huddle, it was always Upshaw talking, or someone else—well, primarily, Upshaw talking and someone responding to Gene. Meanwhile, Kenny is as quiet as you can be. He calls the play in the same voice in the fourth quarter as in the first quarter. He’s the same guy starting the game as he was at the end. Same guy as he was in practice. All kinds of things would be going on around him and he’d be just as calm as he could be. Strangely calm.”
One reason that Stabler may have been so calm is that he always knew his offensive line would take care of him.
“In 1975 we beat Cleveland 38–17. I took several late hits from defensive ends Earl Edwards and Turkey Jones. On one play I rolled out to the left and threw a 22-yard pass to Branch. I was standing there watching the ball in flight when Jones came running at me from about ten yards away on the blind side and hit me in the back of the head. Gene Upshaw always arranged for turkeys like Turkey Jones to receive a message about their deportment, usually from a double-team.
“Look, this guy took a cheap shot at Snake. Let’s take care of him,” Upshaw said in the huddle.
“On the next play, Vella and Buehler dropped Jones. As he was getting up, Upshaw ran over and leveled him, and Turkey was carried off the field.”
After the game, the Browns coach and former Green Bay Packers member Forrest Gregg said, “The Raiders remind me of the old Packers—nothing fancy. They just take a football and drive it down your throat the way we did in Green Bay.”
Stabler quoted Kansas City coach Paul Wiggin in reference to his team’s defense.
“The Raiders defensive players aren’t really bad fellows; it’s just that they’re trained to kill.”
While Stabler loved his teammates, he also had much admiration for some of the great NFL quarterbacks of the game.
“I think the quarterbacks I admired most after Bobby Layne were Sonny Jurgensen, Joe Namath, and Billy Kilmer.
“They all followed a similar pregame plan to prepare for games. I had to love Kilmer, who won a championship and led his team to the Super Bowl playing with one leg shorter than the other.
“And just for the record, all four liked to have a drink now and then. Hell, Bobby Layne was known for hoisting a few at halftime!”
Teammates John Vella can’t understand why Stabler isn’t in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
“How could he not be in the Hall of Fame? Are stats everything? Ask the Steelers defense of the ’70s. Who would they have not wanted to face? Ask the Dolphins ‘No-Name Defense’ who they would not want to face in the clutch. That says it all. They would say without a doubt, ‘We don’t want to face Stabler.’”
THE SOUL PATROL: ATKINSON, BROWN, TATUM, AND THOMAS
The emergence of what would be dubbed “The Soul Patrol” began in 1974 and lasted through the Raiders 1976 season. It was comprised of the following Raiders players: cornerback Willie Brown, cornerback Skip Thomas (aka Dr. Death), free safety Jack Tatum (aka The Assassin), and safety George Atkinson (aka The Hit Man).
“That beard, the hair,” said Atkinson. “That was part of our persona—part of our makeup. It was saying, ‘Fuck you’ more or less. We’re here. We don’t care. We’re going to kick your ass and walk out of here, and we don’t care whether you like us or not, but you’re going to respect us and you’re going to fear us.”
“The Soul Patrol: I wouldn’t trade them for any secondary in the league,” said Stabler. “It’s as simple as that.”
SKIP THOMAS: DR. DEATH
A 6’ 1” 205-pound defensive back out of USC, Alonzo “Skip” Thomas was drafted by the Raiders in 1972. Teammate Phil Villapiano talks about his overall toughness.
“He was the size of a linebacker and he could run like the wind. I thought Nemiah Wilson, whom Thomas replaced, was good, but he was so small he’d get outmuscled. Because Willie Brown had so many All Pros behind him, people would keep throwing at Skip, which was just stupid. Skip was as good as Willie. I wouldn’t mess with Skip Thomas in a million years!”
Jack Tatum knew right from the beginning that Skip was Raider material.
“When Skip came to the Raiders, they made me his roommate. I knew from the beginning that he was Raiders material. He liked to beat people up, and he likes to be called Dr. Death.
“Skip never talke
d to reporters or let anyone take his picture. He said, ‘Gettin’ your picture taken steals part of your soul.’ As far as reporters go, Skip just didn’t like people. One time a reporter came up to our room to interview me. Skip didn’t like the questions I was being asked so he threw the reporter out the door!
“The night before a game, Skip would eat four or five full-course meals, drink a bottle of tequila, smoke two packs of cigarettes, and watch TV for hours after all the channels had signed off.
“Skip also had a fascination for motorcycles and fast cars. When the motorcycle craze was going around, Skip had a dream of jumping the Golden Gate Bridge on a bike. He was going to build a ramp in the parking lot of our training camp and practice by jumping over a couple of hundred cars. Al Davis put a stop to Skip’s dream.
“Another time Skip and one of our cornerbacks, Clarence Davis, got into a debate about which was faster, a Corvette or a motorcycle. Once again we were in the parking lot. Clarence was gunning his Corvette and Skip was on his bike. Al Davis didn’t get there in time to stop the race and when they zoomed across the finish line, there wasn’t enough parking lot left to stop the car or the bike. Davis banged off a few parked cars and slid into the practice field while Skip jumped off the bike and landed in a ditch. No one was hurt, but Al Davis sent the bike and car back to Oakland on a big truck.”
Skip Thomas was given the name Dr. Death because of his tempestuous behavior on the field.
“They called me Dr. Death because I was so wild. They didn’t know what I was going to do one minute to the next. I didn’t know what I was going to do! I knew one thing: if I did something wrong, Willie [Brown] was going to get on my ass. George [Blanda] was going to get on my ass. John [Madden] was going to get on my ass. John was going to send Gene [Upshaw] and Art [Shell] after me. They went all the way to make sure I did what I had to do. So I kept it where it needed to be.”
“Thomas used to check himself into the hospital on Sunday night after the game to make sure he was rested,” said George Atkinson. “He’d do that after every home game—with his motorcycle. Can you image that? He had his motorcycle with him in his room.”
Skip would literally ride his Harley through the front door of the hospital.
“I’d ride my Harley right down the hallway, ride it to the room, push the bed over and put it to the side. See, I’d go to the hospital after the game because I wanted to be ready to play the next Sunday. And I knew that once the game was over with I was going to do my thing. I was going to have fun. So if I go to the hospital, and then if I’m back for practice on Wednesday, I’m good to go. So I’d stay in the hospital ‘till defensive day on Wednesday. On offensive day, John might even say, ‘You look bad. Go back to the hospital.’ They wanted to keep me out of trouble, but that didn’t always happen. I had a bunch of nurses down there I’d play strip poker with. They’d have my liquor for me. They’d have a fifth of Crown Royal or a fifth of tequila, and they’d have it waiting for me.”
John Madden was comfortable with Skip in the hospital
“I liked Skip. Skip Thomas had no one to take care of him at home. So he’d go to the doctor. Like if he had a cold or something, they’d just put him in the hospital. He started to enjoy it. Cause he was getting, like, service. So the doctor said, ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Skip. But he wants to be in the hospital.’ I said, ‘I’d rather have him be in the hospital than any place else he’s gonna be. So just put him in the hospital. I don’t give a shit.’”
Dave Rowe talks about Madden and his altercations about Skip wearing his helmet during Saturday practices.
“John Madden was like a father to Skip, and Skip would do anything for John—except put on his helmet.
“We were having a light Saturday morning practice before we left to play the Chiefs in Kansas City. Madden comes in and says, ‘Get your helmets on.’ Skip is looking at John. John says, ‘Come on, put your hat on, Doc.’
“Skip says, ‘I’m not putting my hat on. It’s going to make my head look terrible. I just got my hair fixed.’ Now, Skip’s hair looks pretty good. He turns around and shows us, and it does look pretty good.
“‘Everyone listen up,’ Madden said. ‘Skip just got his hair done. Skip, don’t put your helmet on. We don’t want to mess that hair up. Everyone, be careful. Don’t run into Skip.’
“There’s not any other NFL coach who would have done that. He would have walked right off the field, but that was John, and that was Skip.”
WILLIE BROWN
Oakland’s defensive captain Willie Brown came undrafted out of Grambling in 1963. At 6’ 1”, 195 pounds, Brown played tight end and linebacker for the great Tigers coach, Eddie Robinson. Denver picked him up as a walk-on but, in 1965, Brown joined the boycott in New Orleans and Coach Lou Saban traded him to the Raiders for his actions. It was the best thing that could have happened to Willie. Willie was moved to the defensive back position upon his arrival in Oakland would end up being inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1984.
Jack Tatum was amazed at Brown’s work ethic.
“This is the truth. When I first got here, I saw Willie Brown working after practice, and I thought, ‘This guy is All Pro, and he’s still out here working after practice? I’m not going to let this old man outwork me.’”
Willie Brown credits that it was his teammates that made him what he became.
“They talk about how good I was, but I didn’t see it that way. The things that happened in my career I attribute to the Raiders, number one—my teammates. They’re the ones who helped me get into the Hall of Fame. I didn’t look at it in terms of how great I was. I always wanted to be better than how great they think I am, you see? I wanted to be the guy on third down where if you threw the ball to my man, I know it’s going to be incomplete. I didn’t worry about how hard I hit them, because chances are I’m not going to have a chance to hit them anyway, because the ball is going to be incomplete.
“I wasn’t a drinker. Didn’t chase girls. I was a captain. I had to be at a higher level. I had to reel them in once in a while, because they’d get out of hand on certain days. But I didn’t care what they did off the field. Come game time, my job was to make sure those three guys were focused. That’s the way the secondary took it: that I wouldn’t stand for any bullshit.
“You try to keep them calmed down some, make sure they’re in compliance with the rules. We’re not going to break the rules, but we’re going to bend the rules as much as we possibly can.”
GEORGE ATKINSON: THE HIT MAN, THE PHILOSOPHER
George Atkinson was a 6’ 0”, 181-pound defensive back drafted by the Raiders in the seventh round of the 1968 NFL-AFL draft out of Morris Brown College in Atlanta, Georgia. Like father like son, George Atkinson III now plays for the same team his dad played for: the Oakland Raiders.
George Atkinson was also known as “The Philosopher.”
“Yeah, we all liked to party, but we drew the line when we had to. There was a point, come later in the week, when you’ve got to gear down. To be human encompasses the whole thing—you know what I’m saying?
“You exist through a process you don’t understand. You don’t even know what is inside of you. And to not humble yourself and realize you were given a gift makes no sense; a gift not to be made a mockery of but to be displayed.”
Madden looked to Atkinson as a leader.
“George was one of the best I ever had. He was the type of guy, if you needed something done, you could just call him in and say, ‘Get this straightened out,’ and he would.”
Atkinson talks about how the Raiders loved to rattle other teams.
“Yeah, we had fun. We rattled other teams. Teams didn’t rattle us. We had ’em scared—especially after the first quarter. We’d let guys catch a pass and jack ’em up. We intimidated people. We didn’t sit back and wait. We initiated shit. We made shit happen.
“We had a special section of our locker room known as ‘The Ghetto.’ That’s what we
called it. You couldn’t come down to our end of the locker room. We had a strip of tape laid down on the floor. Colored it black on one part, and colored the other part white. If you crossed that line, we’d put you I a trash can, upside down.”
JACK TATUM: THE ASSASSIN
Jack Tatum was named “The Assassin” in a press release after a Colts game when he leveled Baltimore’s future HOF tight end, John Mackey.
Tatum was a 5’ 10”, 200-pound defensive back who played for the notorious Woody Hayes at Ohio State. He was the 19th pick of the first round in 1971, but it would be a week before he contacted anyone from the team. He took a road trip to the beach with a couple of friends from Ohio State . . . another player who marched to the beat of his own drum.
“In 1971 I joined the Raider training camp,” said Jack. “It was right after the College All Star Game. I was a superstar in high school and an All-American in college. At twenty-one years of age, I walked into training camp with an overconfident attitude, but the Raiders deflated that attitude and put things in proper perspective by introducing me to a former Raider, now retired, by the name of Fred Biletnikoff.
“Fred Biletnikoff was a balding but hippy-looking wide receiver for the Oakland Raiders. When I was instructed by my coaches to cover Fred one-on-one during a pass defense drill, I laughed to myself. Fred Biletnikoff had a great pair of hands and could catch anything near him, but he was slow by NFL standards. I’ve played against big receivers, small receivers, and fast receivers, and they couldn’t burn me. Now, for my first test in an Oakland Raiders camp, they put me against a slow receiver.
“Fred ran his first pattern and I showed him why I was an All-American. Covering him like a blanket, I nearly intercepted the ball, and after the play I told Fred, ‘You’re lucky that we aren’t hitting.’
“On the next play Fred drove off the line hard and made a good move to the outside. I was too quick for him though and reacted like an All-Pro. But then he broke back across the middle and left me tripping over my own feet. Needless to say, the quarterback laid a perfect pass into Fred’s hands and he scored. On the way back to the huddle Fred showed me the football and asked, ‘Were you looking for this, Rookie?’
