There are two direct paths to my heart. One is give me a new, shiny, object. Some state-of-the-art piece of engineering mastery. Another is to root it in the past. Give me that sweet, sweet, historical perspective. Humble beginnings and people of vision who worked and fought and triumph to make that dream reality.
So well done on this, Raiders. A $1.8 billion palace isn't enough. Give me Al Davis embracing his dark side to create the nastiest team in all of organized athletics. John Madden. Art Shell. Gene Upshaw. Ted Hendricks. Marcus Allen. Howie Long. Tough bastards from the Oakland and Los Angeles days, going all the way back to the days when they practiced on torn up dirt fields, taped up their broken legs without missing a play, ate steaks for lunch and drank whiskey for dinner. Men who could never have dreamed of a team in Vegas, much less playing their home games in what is basically a space ship.
Dammit, Raiders.I've never actually loved your franchise. But never for one second have I not respected the hell out of it. I cannot wait for kickoff of Week 1. Can. Not. Wait.
Have a great weekend. If that's still possible.