| | | Editor's note: When we got to work today, we found another e-mail from that bartending, skateboarding buddy of ours in California. We decided to pass it along again. A word of warning: always wear a helmet.
Chapter 35
... in which our hero nearly buys the Oakland Raiders
Here is the way me and Puker imagine the Raiders when it's time to start football training camp:
They show up in the parking lot at Oakland-Alameda Stadium, and then Al Davis turns to the team and says, 'C'mon ..." and they maraud all the way to Napa. Robbing armored cars. Stealing Jeeps. Caving in the sides of banks. Hijacking ships. Setting fires. They only eat what terrorized citizens run out of their houses to offer them at the side of the road.
Me and Puker love the Raiders.
|  | | Al Davis shows his masterful negotiating skills once again. |
Me and Puker want to buy the Raiders.
Me and Puker want to move the Raiders.
We want to move them to a special stadium Puker has designed: Wheeler War Memorial Stadium will be built in Long Beach.
Me and Puker like Long Beach.
The Stadium is called "Wheeler" for obvious reasons. It's also called "War," because that's what we're talking about. Plus, the words "war" and "memorial" just seem to belong together. Like nachos and cheese.
Unlike most owners, me and Puker have decided we most definitely will get involved in all aspects of team operations. Puker wants to be managing general partner for cheerleader voyeur-cam operations.
The thing is, before any of this happens, we have to be able to buy the Raiders.
To me, the difference between me now, just a bartender at Lore's, and me owning the Raiders is merely a matter of money.
A matter of money and one other thing -- meeting Al Davis.
I figure when Al Davis walks into Lore's last night, I'm halfway toward attending next year's NFL owners' meeting.
Stu Getzler's got this promotional idea -- actually it's my idea, but I don't mind him taking the credit -- for having a Southern California Raiders Fans Day the week that camp opens. He invites a few Raiders, and we serve nachos with anchovies curled into the shape of pirates. The reason I don't mind letting Stu take credit for this is that it allows me to keep telling the jerk he's a genius, in return for which this year we've got Al Davis and Jerry Rice at Lore's.
My definition of a jerk is the guy who gets called "genius" the most often.
Anyway, Lore's is filled with huffing and puffing Raiders fans and here comes Al Davis. When Al Davis walks through a room he always looks like a man walking on skulls.
Next to him is Jerry Rice.
Lore's is going crazy. I mean, it's like people are chewing and swallowing their beer mugs. Puker hands Al the honorary key to Lore's and makes a welcoming speech.
You might wonder why a cold-hearted businessman like Stu Getzler would bestow such an honor on a nonemployee like Puker. But this is part of a two-pronged deal. The first prong is we give Stu Getzler and Lore's the concession rights at Wheeler War Memorial Stadium in Long Beach. In return -- here's the other prong -- Puker gets to hand Al Davis and Jerry Rice the honorary key to Lore's and can make a welcoming speech of no longer than two words.
Puker hands the key, saying, "Here you go," and I'm not sure if he is just carried away by excitement or too dumb to count.
Al turns to me. There are some people who especially enjoy turning their back to a room, and Al is one of them. Anyway, he asks for something to drink. While I serve him, we both listen to Jerry Rice tell the crowd how pleased he is to be with the Raiders. What great shape he's coming to camp in. He's ready to have a Jerry Rice season and take the Raiders to the Super Bowl.
"Listen to him," Al mutters to me, "I wish he'd stop it already with that running up the mountain crap. You don't get six points for running up a mountain. I don't pay people to run up mountains. I pay people to inflict pain and humiliation on other people. Like I do. Just win, baby!"
At the other end of the bar Puker is giving me the signal to swing into action with our plan to buy the Raiders and move them to Long Beach, where we will each have private luxury boxes at Wheeler War Memorial Stadium, plus a third luxury box in between when we want to hang out together or practice long snaps.
I casually ask Al about all the lawsuits he keeps losing, as well as all the games he's been losing.
Funny enough, Al beats me to the punch. Before I can get the words, "Would you like a refill?" out of my mouth, Al says, "Hey, you wouldn't be enticing me to break my lease and move to Southern California with an offer of a brand new, state-of-the-art facility I wouldn't have to pay a nickel for, would you?"
This kind of opens the door, so I take a deep breath and I show Al an artist's rendering of Wheeler War Memorial Stadium. Me and Puker call it an artist's rendering, but it is really an eyebrow pencil drawing on a cocktail napkin. Janine lent us the pencil.
I tell Al about me and Puker's dream of moving the Raiders back to Southern California and owning the team.
"You want to buy me out of the Raiders," Al grunts. For a second, he's looking like he thinks this is funny. Then, he surprises me. "OK, kid -- I'll sell you the Raiders."
|  | | New Raider receiver Jerry Rice needs a lesson from Davis in how to inflict pain. |
"What's the price?" I ask.
"Ten dollars," he says. "Only you have 10 seconds to come up with it. Then the deal's off."
Suddenly he grabs my wrist and plants it on the bar. With all his weight, so my arm is pinned. And he starts counting to 10.
I've got like $7 in my pocket. Plus a ton of change.
There's at least a couple thousand in the cash register over near the wall a few feet away. But I can't reach it. Not with Al Davis clamping down on my arm. I try to wrench free. And he's counting ... five ... six ... and I'm spilling all my money out of my pocket onto the bar hoping it adds up to 10 bucks, then flailing backward trying to open the register ...
" ... seven ... eight ..."
But I can't quite reach it. Al Davis is sneering at me. His teeth are bared. Then he hits 10 and lets go.
Then he slowly totals what I've dumped on the bar.
"Eight dollars and 16 cents, Wheeler," he says. "Guess you don't buy the team."
Davis laughs in my face and leaves.
At first, I can't look Puker in the eye and tell him how I messed up and lost our chance at owning an NFL franchise that played all its home games at Wheeler War Memorial Stadium in Long Beach right by the Queen Mary.
We're both hanging our heads. But then we look up to watch Al Davis go out the door.
"We're not yet worthy," I tell Puker. And he has to agree.
Next week: In Chapter 36, our hero is cast on a new "reality" TV series, and gets to play a practical joke on Barry Bonds.
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