Will Hall of Fame call 49ers, Raiders legends?

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Will Hall of Fame call 49ers, Raiders legends?

The Pro Football Hall of Fame could take on a decidedly Bay Area tinge come Saturday afternoon if the stars, and votes, align properly.

They wont, but they could.

A field of 17 finalists that includes Tim Brown, Charles Haley, Eddie DeBartolo The Younger, Chris Doleman and Dick Stanfel goes into the selectors room in Indianapolis Saturday morning for several hours of warm coffee, relatively fresh pastries and arguments about whose favorite guys get picked over the other guys favorite guys.

And therein lies the real secret of the Hall of Fame process. Its all about the room.

There is such a backlog of candidates that just getting to be a finalist is a gauntlet few men can handle, so the notion that someone is a sure Hall of Famer is typically a ludicrous statement. Bob Brown was by common agreement the most dominant offensive lineman in the game for a decade, and he had to wait 26 years for induction.

That is the thing to keep in mind when you hear the words, Brown, Haley, DeBartolo and Stanfel are probably not going to get in this time.

Not because they arent worthy candidates lots of players are capable of being a worthy candidate. No, theyll probably miss because the room is a hell for resumes like theirs. Judgments and regional biases are in play, and the strength of a candidacy is often based in great part on the strength of a presenters argument in the room.

Brown has a ton and a half of catches in his time with the Raiders, but the argument against him has always been the same he didnt have any true signature moments for all those catches. Yes, he is being punished in the room for being on a series of mediocre to poor Raider teams, but thats the way it plays in the room.

DeBartolo is upheld as a great owner who lavished money and care on his team, but is also dismissed as a creature of the time. Yes, he found Bill Walsh (or more precisely, Walsh was found for him), but he never had to cope with a salary cap, and his dalliances in Louisiana politics got him in trouble with the law. There are corners of the room that do not hold kindly to that.

Haley was an exemplary player in San Francisco and Dallas, but his mercurial nature (and we cleaned that up) will be used against him in any argument. Also, Cowboys tend to get more spirited arguments for and against because theyre, well, Cowboys, making him a borderline candidate in the room.

Doleman has been a finalist before, but he is known mostly as a Minnesota Viking; he played only his last three years in San Francisco, so he is a 49er in the same way that Eric Dickerson is a Raider. His overall resume is better than Haleys, except for the Super Bowl rings

And Stanfel, the USF grad who played seven years in Detroit and Washington and then compiled a long career as an assistant coach, is a senior nominee with Jack Butler the old 50s Pittsburgh cornerback. Both are mild stretches because most of the people in the room didnt see them as players, and their candidacies depend almost entirely on the presentation.

The most likely enshrinees are believed by amateur sleuths to be Willie Roaf, Dermontti Dawson, Jerome Bettis and Andre Reed, though nobody is a slam-dunk. The room is a cruel place, though, and for the Bay Areas contingent, for at least another year.

Ray Ratto is a columnist for CSNBayArea.com.

Frank Deford's longform storytelling made him worthy of our attention

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AP

Frank Deford's longform storytelling made him worthy of our attention

Frank Deford’s death over the weekend did not mark the end of longform sportswriting as we knew it; he had long ago become part of the electronic commentariat that has reduced longform’s place in the public’s attention span.

But there is still longform writing and storytelling to be found in many places, and it is still worthwhile. It has more production value, as the TV folks like to blather, and the words have to fight for their place between the cracks left by the pictures and the mutated graphics, but longform lives, and it should, lest we all agree as one people to further desiccate that attention span like a grapefruit left in the sun.

Deford’s death, though, reminds of when longform was the zenith of the storytelling art. It could, and still can, give you access and depth and breadth that a TV crew simply could not, and cannot. Even extended TV features are by their very nature so contrived by all the equipment that nothing is natural, nothing is a surprise, and the act of writing is almost an afterthought.

Deford knew this. He more than merely dabbled in TV himself, playing the wizened old raconteur who was as much character in his pieces as storyteller. He was also a star and a starmaker with The National, a daily sports network in newspaper form that was long on talent and ideas but short on delivery and distribution. It lasted 17 months, until mid-1991, but it led to grander attempts decades later, and could if you squint your eyes hard enough be the natural parent of Grantland and The Ringer and Vice and SB Nation and dozens of others – all bigger ideas, positioned in the post-typing world. Some lasted, more didn’t, but capitalism is like that – making fuel to keep the fires burning and the engines churning.

Deford could have thrived in such a world, to be sure. He was not, in the hideous phrase, “a man of his time.” Indeed, he was a crossover figure years ago in ways that other longform writers attempt to resist even now. They want to be Deford at the height of his powers at a time when the instruments for their gift are either dying or veering away from anything that hits the 600-word mark.

But his passing did not kill the art of clever writing and incisive storytelling. There are far too many people who can do that still, even if the market for their gifts is neither as pronounced nor as eager for the product as it once was. It did remind us not only that he was a giant, but that there are still giants among us should we deign to take the time to seek them.

Thus, Deford’s death marked his passing but not the thing that made him worthy of our attention. Storytelling, longform and otherwise, remains the heart of why this is still worthwhile to a culture, and when the generation his work spawned starts to die off, I suspect we’ll still be saying the same thing then. Notebooks are smartphones, photographs are streams, but the human eye and ear and hand still remain pre-eminent.

That is, until the robots take over, at which point reading won’t be worth it.

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

You thought you were done worrying about the Raiders. You thought the votes were in, the moving vans booked for three years down the road, and all gnashing and sharpening of teeth was over. You thought you were free.

Then those buttinsky-come-latelies from St. Louis decided to rear their litigious heads, and now you find yourselves slipping back into that desperate-hope world from which no one escapes.

It seems the city and its regional sports authority has decided to sue the National Football League and its 32 semi-independent duchies over the relocation of the Rams 15 months ago because, and you’ll like this one, the league allegedly did not follow its own relocation rules when it moved the team.

As you know, there is no such thing as a rule if everyone governed by the rule decided unanimously to ignore the rule. This doctrine falls under the general heading of, “We’re billionaires, try and stop us.”

But all lawsuits have a common denominator, and that is that there is money at the end of the rainbow. St. Louis is claiming it is going to miss out on approximately $100 million in net proceeds (read: cash) and has decided that the NFL and especially their good pal Stan Kroenke is going to have to pay for permission to do what they have already done -- specifically, leave.

Because the suit was filed in St. Louis, the benefits of home field advantage apply, and the league is likely to have to reinflate their lawyers for some exciting new billable hours.

As to whether it turns into a windfall for the jilted Missourians, well, as someone who has known lawyers, I would list them as prohibitive underdogs. But there is nuisance value here, which brings us to Oakland.

The city and county, as we know, did not put its best shoe forward in trying to lure the Raiders into staying or the other 31 owners into rejecting the team’s pleas for geographical relief. By that, we mean that the city and county did not fall all over itself to meet the league’s typically extortionate demands.

But they did play angry enough to start snipping about the 2019 part of the Raiders’ 3-More-Coliseum-Years plan, and they are threatening to sue over about $80K in unpaid parking fees, so filing their own breach-of-rules lawsuit might be a possibility.

Because, hey, what’s the point of sounding like a nuisance if you can’t actually become one?

By now, it is clear that everyone in SuitWorld got what it needed out of the Raiders’ move. The city and county could concentrate on guiding the A’s into activity on their own new stadium. The team could go where Mark Davis has been agitating for it to go for at least three years – somewhere else. The state of Nevada could find a place for that $750 million that was burning a hole in its casino vault. And the league went to a market that it, at first reluctantly and then enthusiastically, decided should be its own.

The fans? Oh, please. Who cares about them? To the NFL, and to all corporations in all walks of business, folks are just walking wallets.

But for some cash? Well, climb on board, suckers. The gravy train is pulling out on Track 3.

Nobody is fool enough to think the Raiders would be forced to return. Hell, even St. Louis isn’t asking for the Rams back. They just want to get paid for the money they probably banked on in the good old days before Stan Kroenke decided to head west.

And that would doubtless be Oakland’s stance as well if. Now the circumstances are slightly different, in that St. Louis worked harder to keep the Rams than Oakland did to keep the Raiders. St. Louis scared up $350 million toward new digs for the Rams, well short of what Kroenke would have accepted, while Oakland said it could get its hands on some infrastructure money and no more.

But Mayor Libby Schaaf complained in her relocation post mortem that the league didn’t follow its own guidelines (yay correlation as causation!), maybe with an eye toward throwing a few lawyers into the fire to see how long it would burn.

There is not yet any indication that the city and county are going that route (and the silence may simply mean that they are sick of the Raiders’ saga as everyone else seems to be), but if they do, well, don’t freak out that the team might be forced to return.

Except, of course, in that place where migraines start. Dragging this back up is a bit like the phantom pain amputees feel -- but hey, people will do a lot for a bit of court-ordered cash. Anyone who has ever watched Judge Judy will understand.