As Al Davis did his AV Club-turned-HR-department-spokesman-turned-charmer-turned-do-not-adjust-your-sets-prop midterm report Tuesday on the firing of Lane Kiffin, observers couldn't help but be struck by one thing above all others, namely:
This is the fresh new face for all those pro football TV shows. This is the pundit of choice for an angry and more destitute audience. This is the gift to all those TV producers who, while trying to find the new Charles Barkley, have come up instead with a bunch of ex-players who are all trying to be the next Katie Couric.
OK, the next Dan Dierdorf. I often get those two confused.
Anyway, Al. The man whose last press conference was remembered mostly for that one wire photo of him leaning over toward a questioner with a look that made him seem like he was reaching to devour an infant, the one who kept turning off one reporter's tape recorder and accused a Japanese-American of being unaware of his Chinese heritage, was more fascinating, more forthcoming, less slogan-bound and more quasi-charming than he's been in years.
Of course, he was also firing a coach he'd learned to hate in near-record time, calling him a flat-out liar, insubordinate, unethical, a serial leaker and everything up to but not including a bomb-hurling Bolshevik, and vowing not to pay him the $3.5 million he still owes him, and calling ESPN's Chris Mortensen a "professional liar," which is a clear creative upgrade from when he called the NFL Network's Adam Schefter "a rumormonger." He was even cooperative and even light-hearted with the local reporters upon whom he has often declared jihad, engaging one of his more persistent critics in an extended discussion about the good old days in Brooklyn.
In other words, he was having the time of his life. What's not to enjoy?
Now I grant you, his is not really your classically chiseled TV face. His wardrobe still has that monochromatic feel to it, and he will wander a bit on a subject.
But we know that the NFL shows have so much wasted time, and so much dimwitted pseudo-analysis, and so many idiotic polls that all sound like "Vote now – Is Brett Favre the Jet The Long-Awaited Return Of Jesus Christ The Savior? Text 12345 on your mobile phone for Yes, 12346 for Absolutely, and 12347 for Without Question." The genre cries out for something new.
And while the massive array of talking heads seems never to run dry, it is made up of two distinct sets of people -- ex-players who were nice to a TV producer once, and ex-coaches who are angling for their next coaching job. There has never been an owner as a regular feature, let alone one who remembers more than most people have the capacity to forget, let alone one who understands the big issues, let alone someone who has no problem with touchy issues like slander.
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| Al Davis was in rare form dismantling the coach he just fired. (Getty Images) |
Al, though, recognizes no commands, and wears no earpiece connecting him to the truck. He would sic a Rottweiler on a producer, and make sure the dog had a magnetic collar to collect stray coins or keys. He would say anything to anyone, he would take as much time as he wanted to say it, and nobody would escape.
Al Davis is the new Barkley, I tell you. The new face of a tiring genre.
But only the Al Davis we saw Tuesday. He was at his Al-ian best as he threw fragmentation grenade after fragmentation grenade at Kiffin (and at Mortensen, whose particular crime this day was answering Kiffin's calls). He didn't want to just fire Kiffin, he wanted to discredit him, humiliate him, kill him, gut him, flour him, fry him and eat him.
And admit it, you've all seen worse on your favorite network four times a week.
Of course, sometimes Al isn't in quite the same giddy mood. Sometimes he might drop one, two or 63 F-bombs, and then threaten to fire the entire FCC if they want to make a thing of it. And the man is 79, and few people have their fastball every day at that stage of life.
But he did two hours Tuesday with only a 10-minute break, and every minute was as riveting as it was weird. With so much television that out-and-out sucks ice chips, this was the best unscripted one-man show since the Mark Fuhrman cross-examination. He can do this again, trust us. He reminded us that his mother lived to be 103, so he's got miles to go.
The producers just have to give him a reason to get excited enough. Maybe they could let him fire someone every week -- a coach, a media guy, maybe even the President. They could call the segment "Al The Reaper."
Unless you like the kind of clever programming that has given us, "Here's our poll question for today -- Does Tom Brady Have Nicer Teeth Than Peyton Manning?" Text 12345 for Shut The Hell Up, 12346 for Get Out Of My Brain, and 12347 for I Swear To God I'll Slit Your Throat And Burn Your Home If You Don't Stop.
With that as the daily alternative, who couldn't want Al instead?
Ray Ratto is a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle.
