It was never hard for me to dislike the Raiders. I grew up in the Bay Area of California in the 80s, and, like all of the other kids, I had a choice to make: red and gold or silver and black. I chose correctly and became a 49ers fan. Most of the kids on my street made the same choice. Most, but not all. Jesse was a Raiders fan and Zack, well, Zack chose option C — the Denver Broncos.
My neighborhood may have been pro-49er, but each stop on my long bus ride to school in the morning collected new Raiders fans, and by the time I got to school, I was outnumbered. It's easy for us now to scoff at the idea of the Raiders being any good. Although they've beaten the Broncos in eight straight contests, the Raiders have been, for the last 20 years, almost a laughing stock.
But there was a time when the Raiders were the crown jewel of the newly formed NFL. The late Al Davis oversaw a period of Raiders excellence that had them in the playoffs in nine of 10 years, amassing three Super Bowl wins in seven years, from 1976 to 1983. The Broncos would not win their first until the late 90s, and so for many years, lived in the Raiders' shadow.
When it comes to the Broncos/Raiders rivalry, the Raiders still have the upper hand, owning a 73-54-2 lifetime record against the Broncos. But when I played here in Denver, from 2003-2008, we were 9-3 against the Raiders. My coach at the time, Mike Shanahan, owned a regular season record of 21-7 vs. the Raiders, winning three out of every four.
Shanahan's brief stint as Raiders head coach, in 1988 and 1989, had not ended well. Shanahan was fired a quarter of the way through his second season at the helm, and, as fate would have it, some years later, would become the head coach of the Raiders' bitter rival, the Denver Broncos.
When I arrived here in 2003, the Broncos had established themselves as the new crown jewel of the league. Back-to-back Super Bowl championships and a domination of the Raiders that was impossible to ignore. For me, a Bay Area kid and 49er fan, it was extra special to board a flight and head back to California to play the Raiders. Not only were they my rival as a Broncos player, but they were my enemies from childhood. As the buses pulled into the parking lot of Oakland Coliseum, there I was again, a kid on the school bus, picking up classmates who saw the world through different lenses.
As we pulled through the throngs of Raiders fans, unlike in elementary school, our bus was showered with beer and middle fingers, old ladies throwing eggs, spittle flying as the passionate expletives of the hopeful Raiders fans ricocheted off of the windows of the bus.
Once we were in the stadium, the verbal attacks continued, and you never where they'd come from: the sweet little girl in pigtails or the grandma with the walker. Anyone in Broncos colors was the enemy, including my friends and family who came to the game to watch from the stands. It was not for the faint of heart, but in the end, just as Coach Shanahan would tell us, if we withstood the storm of energy in the first quarter, we would always pull away in the second half. He was right. It usually went that way, and as the game got out of reach in the fourth quarter and fans started to leave, it would be easier to spot my friends and family who were up in the stands silently cheering me on — dressed in neutral colors, of course.
No matter where the game was — here in Denver or on the road in Oakland, and now, as fate would have it, in Las Vegas, of all places — fans for both sides show up expecting to win. The passion of each fan base is a beautiful thing, and represents the best of our sport.
But maybe it's just me — there is one sound that doesn't belong at Empower Field, and that's the eerie quiet of disappointed Broncos fans, burying their heads in their hands while a smattering of silver and black-clad super-fans chant "Rrrrrraiders!" in unison and high five each other across the aisles.
Fingernails on a chalkboard.
If things go according to plan this weekend, on Steve Foley's and Riley Odoms' Ring of Fame induction day, there won't be a chalkboard anywhere in sight.
About the Author: Former NFL wide receiver and tight end Nate Jackson played six seasons for the Broncos and is the author of the New York Times Best Selling book "Slow Getting Up."
