My Best Hits Border On Felonious Assault

I got an email the other day asking how I, a lifelong member of Raider Nation, can object so harshly to the New York Yankees being called the Evil Empire and say nothing about the Raiders being referred to as the same.

I never said that the Yankees shouldn't be called the Evil Empire. The Bombers are a perennial contender whose owner uses his status to make changes that not only make things less competitive for the organization but also succeed in putting other teams in distress, financial and otherwise. You call it an evil empire and I call it good [sometimes] business. My complaint was that given the fate of the "real" Empire and our post-season collapse/current state of affairs, embracing the term may not be the smartest move.

But the Raiders are different. Sure, Darth Davis was Steinbrenner-esque in the days before parity, profit sharing, and free agency and he still shows some tendencies today. But the comparisons between the organizations are now weak at best, holding most true in the realm of tyrannical, sometimes meddlesome ownership. Oakland's position on the dark side of The Force has nothing to do with payrolls and free agency and everything to do with the fact that since inception, the Raiders have been evil through and through, balls to bones. We're not the good guys and we don't want to be. Raider football is about being vicious, ruthless, and nasty in the endless pursuit of excellence. Though we temporarily lost the right to refer to ourselves as an empire on that black day at Qualcomm Stadium, we'll soon return to our rightful place as the NFL's perennial villain. But I digress.

It's finally time for me to purchase a new authentic Raider jersey. I got my first when I was still crawling around to seek out mischief. It was a Jack Tatum jersey made into one of those one-piece baby outfits with the snaps at the bottom. Even though I was born after The Assassin retired, my dad put me in it anyway in hopes that I'd represent well at the sand box with near-felonious assaults on LA Rams babies. My next one came after Tim Brown was drafted. I wore that (and new versions as I grew) until, well, now. It never really sunk in that he was no longer a Raider until I passed him in the hall a couple months ago at work and I was wearing his jersey. He was taking a tour with Boss, and looking at what might be his office, when I walked by to go into mine. "Hey, that's me," he said with a smile. I've felt like a goon ever since.

So now that Timmy is through, I'm moving on. I refuse to snatch a Warren Sapp because it's cool or a Randy Moss because he'll be able to Go-Go Gadget to Kerry Collins' off-target passes. I can't reverse years of hatred that easily. I'll more than appreciate their services for the Silver & Black but that is where the love will end. In light of that, I'm pleased to report that my new jersey will be a Jerry Porter #84. Look for him this season as he becomes one half of the most feared wideout duo in the NFL.