But I know I speak for lots of residents here when I say that I don’t intend to be too cheerful a host to the so-called “Raider Nation.” Tampa Bay fan? Sure! Come on over! Have some cheese dip! Let me fluff up that pillow for you! Can I buy you a beer?
Raider fan? Fugedaboutit!
San Diegans take great pride in our civility and in being gracious hosts to people of all stripes who visit our destination spot. But we resent having to be cordial to Raider fans. It’s just too great an indignity for many of us to suffer.
You see, the rivalry between the San Diego Chargers and the Oakland Raiders is beyond bitter, it’s malignant, and it goes beyond football. Sociological phenomenons, Charger-Raider games at Qualcomm Stadium are studies in ugliness, brutal survival tests in which the hostility is palpable, the violence abundant. And I’m talking about what goes on off the field.
My parents taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt, look for the good in everyone, and be a congenial host. But my parents never went to a Raider-Charger game. Simply put, Raider fans are the guests from hell. President Bush should have attached Raider Nation to his Axis of Evil.
A couple of years ago, there were more than 65 bleacher brawls at the Raider-Charger game here, according to police, including one incident not far from where I was sitting in which one Raider fan pulled out a knife and, in front of cops, security guards, women, kids and ice cream vendors, stabbed a Chargers fan, who, fortunately, survived.
If you think I’m exaggerating, if you think these are isolated incidents that don’t reflect the typical Raider fan at these games, you haven’t been to one of these games, which attract every gang-banging, low-life jerk you can imagine. I’ve been to every Raider-Charger game since 1984, and I wonder the same thing each year as I enter the stadium: how did so many people get paroled on the same weekend?
Last year, a Raider fan directly in front of me stood for the entire game making faces and flashing obscene gestures at me and at other Charger fans in my section, just trying to incite us. I really wanted to punch the guy, but didn’t. I’m not a pacifist by nature, but I’m not suicidal, either. He was dressed in all black, weighed at least 280 pounds, had arms the size of tree trunks, and had this glazed/crazed look in his eyes. I’m pretty sure he was armed and drugged; I’m very sure he was dangerous.
Now look, I know there are decent folks who are Raider fans. My brother-in-law, for instance. He’s a great guy, a family man, a good man. He grew up in Los Angeles and, understandably, was a big Raider fan when they were in L.A. He remains a fan even though the team has moved back to Oakland and he’s moved to San Diego. But he’s an all-too rare exception.
Most Raider fans who come to the games here are people I don’t want anywhere near me, my wife, or my daughter. So why should I be welcoming them to my city? As a long-time San Diegan (20 years) and a longtime Chargers season ticket holder (16 years), I know that what I’m saying reflects what tens of thousands of San Diegans are feeling at this moment.
The Raiders are just a football team, but they’ve come to represent an entire thug culture. It no longer has much to do with what takes place on the field. Of course, I have nothing against Raider fans like my brother-in-law, who just want to support their team and don’t want to hurt anybody. Nor do I have anything against most of the Raider players like Tim Brown, who’s a class act, or Rich Gannon or Jerry Rice. But the majority of Raider fans I’ ve encountered in San Diego represent the flip side, the dark side of sports. They do their best to ruin what is supposed to be a fun, healthy experience for everyone.
It’s sad, because one of the most remarkable things about sports is how they bring together people from all walks of life. On game day, there are folks of all races and types in my section at the “Q,” and we’re all color- and class-blind as we watch our team compete. We got white guys, black guys, Latinos, Asians, old women, young kids. The only prejudice we have is against the obnoxious punks in silver and black who are picking fights throughout the crowd.
So, if you think I’m going to be an affable host to this motley crew this week, think again. I’ll be out there among them, and I’ll be civil. But that’s as far as I’ll go. And I won’t hesitate to remind them of that sweet moment up in Oakland earlier this season when, in overtime, Chargers Pro Bowl running back LaDainian Tomlinson broke through the Raiders line and flew past the secondary on his way to scoring the winning touchdown.
Of course, he was subsequently pelted in the end zone by bottles and debris from the Raider faithful in the so-called Black Hole. But in a symbolically defiant gesture that San Diegans appreciated, L.T. bravely stayed in the corner of that end zone and weathered the storm of garbage. He didn’t smile. He didn’t strut. He didn’t incite. He just stood proud.
That’s what I’ll be doing as we approach Super Bowl XXXVII: standing proud, while Raider fans transform my beautiful city into their Black Hole Away From Home.
