If These Walls Could Talk: Raiders: Stories from the Raiders Sideline, Locker Room, and Press Box

By Lincoln Kennedy, Paul Gutierrez and Tim Brown

A behind-the-scenes perspective on Raiders history, from Oakland to Vegas

Having spent eight seasons at offensive tackle for the Oakland Raiders before joining the radio broadcasting team, Lincoln Kennedy knows what it means to live and breathe Silver and Black football.

In If These Walls Could Talk: Raiders, Kennedy provides insight into the team's inner sanctum as only he can, from his experience anchoring the O-line in Super Bowl XXXVII to the current roster in Vegas helmed by Derek Carr, from Jon Gruden to...Jon Gruden.

Featuring conversations with players and coaches past and present as well as off-the-wall anecdotes only Kennedy can tell, this indispensable volume is your ticket to Raiders history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781641257183

Book preview

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I dedicate this book to the Raider Nation. Thank you for loving and supporting me. You are truly family.

—Lincoln

To Amy, Zachary, and Grace: Miiiiimiii!

—Paul

Contents

Foreword by Tim Brown

1. Lincoln Kennedy: Let’s Hear It, Raider Nation!

2. Jim Pops Otto: The Quintessential Raider

3. Lincoln Kennedy: There Are 31 Teams In The NFL, And Then There Are The Raiders

4. Paul Gutierrez: Cutting My Journalistic Teeth On The Raiders

5. Mark Davis: Raiders Custodian

6. Lincoln Kennedy: Straddling Lines

7. Jon Gruden: I Never Wanted To Leave

8. Lincoln Kennedy: Black Sunday

9. Steve Wisniewski: Tenacious, Not Dirty

10. Canton Club: A Hall Of Fame Museum

11. Tom Flores: Trailblazing Ice Man

12. Lighting The Al Davis Torch: An Honor And Privelege

13. Bob Romanski: Keeping It All In The Family

14. Lincoln Kennedy And Paul Gutierrez: Memorable Games We’ve Played In And Covered

15. Marc Badain: From Training Camp Intern To Team President

16. Lincoln Kennedy: A Cast Of Unique Characters

17. Violator: A Hall Of Fame Super Fan

18. Lincoln Kennedy: Gettin’ Tucked

19. Rich Gannon: Red-Ass Raider

20. Paul Gutierrez: Viva Las Vegas

Acknowledgments

Foreword by Tim Brown

It’s not really until you have a chance to either play for another organization or talk to guys in other organizations, that you find out just how different organizations can truly be. The Raiders were really a family. Maybe a dysfunctional family, but they truly were a family. Once you donned that Silver and Black, you were a Raider. You never forget your time there and, having spent 16 of my 17 years there, I only want to be known as a Raider. It’s a special place. But you had to be a very disciplined player to get things done. Maybe rules were a lot more lax at times. But if you were locked in and had a goal in place, there was no better place to accomplish it. You were not going to be treated like you were 18 years old. They were going to treat you like a grown man until you couldn’t be a grown man. If you couldn’t handle it, they’d help you out. Early in my career I told them I didn’t want a roommate in training camp or a roommate on the road. They allowed that to happen. I needed that. I don’t think I could have lasted as long as I did if they had treated me like a kid.

It was in 1996, my ninth year in the league and my ninth year with the Raiders, when Lincoln Kennedy arrived. He was as big as a house, and I connected with him. I liked connecting with all the guys on the line but especially Linc. Look, I could run all the routes in the world and get open, but if my quarterback was not being protected by Big Linc and the rest of the offensive linemen and he was running for his life, I was not going to get the ball. Big Linc was and still is someone I could easily talk to. He’s a very educated guy, not only in football but about life in general, and we had great conversations all the time. He was destined to be a captain, a leader. From that standpoint, that’s why we’ve been able to continue our relationship. Every time I see him, I run and jump in his arms. I don’t know how much longer we can do that because he’s getting older and I’m putting on weight. But those are the relationships you build on a team, and that’s how it is with Big Linc. You just tell them all the time, I love you, man, and I hate the fact that it’s been six, seven months since I’ve seen you. Now, if I can only get him to stop smoking cigars.

Linc’s first year with us was an ugly season. That was the year I had my radio show and we had played so badly the week before this particular show that the fans were booing us. I went off on Raider Nation, putting my life in my own hands. The next week, I could see fans shushing other fans who wanted to boo us. It made me believe that they were really listening to me. It was, to me, even though it was a bad year on the field, showing that we had a loyal and great fan base. Then Jon Gruden showed up in 1998 and everything changed, right? With Linc as an anchor on the offensive line, we were able to do some things. We started winning again.

Raiders wide receiver Tim Brown turns upfield for extra yardage during a game in 1994. Photo courtesy of AP Images

I think Lincoln cemented himself as being a true Raider the night we were playing the Broncos in Denver in 1999 and the fans were throwing snowballs at us. He went up in the stands and knocked somebody out. He was heralded as the hero on the bus and on the plane ride that night. We lost the game, but thanks to Big Guy, we won the fight. I mean, to me, that just solidified who he is, as a warrior and as a Raider. They tell you, when the Raiders come to town, hide the women and children. In this case, I guess that cat should have hid, too, because he took a big right hand to the forehead.

There were a lot of highs and lows, and when we got to the Super Bowl against Gruden and Tampa Bay, we knew we were in a bad position going into the game. Missing our center, the mindset was that if things didn’t go exactly our way, we were in trouble. Then we got an interception early and kicked a field goal, and we were thinking, Maybe they’re not ready, either. After that, the onslaught began. But looking back, I’m happy to be able to say I played in the Super Bowl. Right now, I’m sitting up in my man cave, with all my awards on the shelves. But it sure would be nice to have a Super Bowl trophy mixed in, you know? The majority of the guys did their best, and Linc and I never disagreed on something we wanted to present to the team as team captains.

Looking back on my time as a Raider—I played in the Silver and Black from 1988 to 2003 and spent one year with Gruden and those Buccaneers in 2004—it seems like yesterday and yet, so long ago. I can’t imagine myself playing today, but then I remember a play I had or a certain pass or a block I made where Bo Jackson came off my butt and went 55 yards for a touchdown. But one thing’s for sure—the team wouldn’t have been the same without a guy like Linc. You’ve got to have a big guy whom everyone could respect. And Linc, he could cross over to the defense and say things to those cats to get them going in the right direction, too. When it came to the Big Uglies, as I liked to call them, I left it up to Big Linc. I was grateful to have a big guy like Lincoln. A guy like Lincoln. It was always great to have him on my team.

—Tim Brown

Cedar Hill, Texas

March 2021

1. Lincoln Kennedy: Let’s Hear It, Raider Nation!

In the beginning…no, wait, that’s the start to a different book. As far as my personal greatest story ever told goes, while football just kind of happened for me, it was my destiny to be a Raider. True story. It was before the East-West Shrine Game in January 1993. I had redshirted a year at Washington and played four years there. We were practicing at Stanford. I was the biggest guy on the West team—the game program had me listed at 6’7", 325 pounds. Some of my teammates there included my college quarterback Mark Brunell; a future Pro Bowl fullback in Lorenzo Neal; and linebacker Greg Biekert, who would play a huge role in Raiders history on a snowy New England night years later—though that’s a story for a different chapter. But I was about to feel a little smaller beside a guy who was probably about 5’10", 165, but a giant figure in football.

After one practice, I walked up the hill to the locker room, and there was Al Davis, wearing his white sweatsuit with the towel in his hand, his glasses and the chain and sucking his teeth, off to the side of his mouth. I jogged over to him and said, Mr. Davis, my name is Lincoln Kennedy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, an honor, and I’m a big fan of the Raiders.

He was shaking his head, Yeah, we know who you are. I’m a big fan of yours, too. And we’d love to have you as a Raider, but I don’t think you’re going to be around when we have our pick. You’re going to be off the board by the time we have our pick. But I promise you, one day, you’re going to be a Raider.

And I was like, Yeah! My chest just got three inches broader. I was smiling and walking with a little strut. Al Davis says I’m going to be a Raider one day! I didn’t know anything about the world I was going into, I didn’t know anything about it. All I know now is that it took a few years to come to fruition, after thinking one team would draft me before another did, and that my story neither began nor ended with the Raiders. Though they became and always will be a huge part of my life.

* * *

You know, in all honesty, football just, it truly just happened. It’s kind of funny when I think back because, what are the chances? I was a Navy brat as a kid. We had moved around a lot because my dad, Tamerlane, was in the Navy. But even after my mom and dad divorced, we still moved around a lot. My stepdad, Robert, was in the Navy, too. Up until high school, I never spent more than one year at a school, so I didn’t have a lot of friends. Music was what I fell back on. The arts, the church choir, and stuff like that. Early in third grade, my mother, Hope, came home and said, You’re going to do something with yourself. She gave me a trumpet and said, You’re going to learn to play the trumpet.

Lincoln Kennedy in 1997, his second year with the Raiders. Photo courtesy of AP Images

So I started getting lessons, joined the school bands, then joined the other various groups that I could. I was involved at the church choir. Just trying to do things to keep myself out of trouble. I always wanted to play sports, but I was never in a place long enough or knew where it was. Not being established and moving to new places, I didn’t know where they played sports. It wasn’t like today where you see a sign on a wall—Call This Number! You had to already know where it was. Especially California. It wasn’t until I got into high school, and that was by chance.

By then, we had moved to East San Diego, the La Mesa area. I told my mom, "I’m going to go to this high school, Samuel F.B. Morse High School. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I wanted to stay there more than one year. Could we please just stay in this area more than one year, so I can go to one school?"

She said, I can’t make any promises. You’ve got to get in where you can. So I went to Morse, and they had a pretty reputable marching band. I joined band there.

As a freshman, I wasn’t 6' tall. I did all my growing in high school. I was 5'10 as a ninth-grader. I wasn’t fat, just long. I was always the tallest in my class, so I didn’t know how tall I was supposed to be. I was playing in the high school band, wasn’t thinking much of it. I went out there, and we played a halftime show for the varsity team. I was doing parades and stuff like that, and I was second seat. I was a band geek. But after one high school game, we had just finished band practice, and I was sitting on campus talking to some friends while I was on my bike and the high school football coach, John Shacklett, walked by, though I didn’t know who he was at the time. He was this little gray-haired White guy who had this little waddle about him. He looked at me, and I looked at him and said, How are you doing?"

He stopped. What grade are you in?

Ninth.

What are you doing?

Just finished band practice.

You’re coming out for football next year. And he told me the date, August whatever. You’re going to try football.

Okay.

You know, I look back at it, and you want to belong, right? You want to be a part of something. So you’re a freshman in school and, of course, the juniors and seniors rule the school, and you aspire to be like them in some way. You see the guys walking around with their letterman jackets on and all that stuff. I was like, Dude, we don’t have anything like that for band. So what are you going to do?

So I went out for the football tryouts, and this was for J.V. and varsity, and I immediately got bit by the jock bug. Mind you, I had never played football before, other than pickup games. I mean, I was a Dallas Cowboys fan because I liked the color blue and I liked cowboy movies, but I didn’t really know a whole lot of details about it. Favorite players? Guys like Robert Newhouse and Ed Too Tall Jones, because I related to him, Too Tall!

But I was so uncoordinated and I was so awkward. I didn’t know if it was meant to be. That tryout was awkward because I didn’t have cleats—I was in sneakers. And I was clumsy, I was awkward. But I guess Coach Shacklett saw something in me because he called me into his office shortly after the tryouts and said, I’m going to be honest with you, you’re not that coordinated. You need a lot of work. But I do see something in you, so I’m going to put you on varsity.

So I said, Well, that doesn’t make much sense, Coach. This is my first time playing football. I don’t really know what I’m doing. It doesn’t make sense for me to go to varsity. Wouldn’t it be more useful for me to start at J.V. and get the time, the game? With all due respect, Coach, because you said I’m raw, I don’t want to come up to varsity and just sit and ride the pine. I want to play. I mean, that’s the type of personality I had. I don’t like sitting on the sidelines waiting for things to happen. I want to make them happen.

He looked at me. "I’ve never heard of anybody wanting to play J.V.," he said.

I mean, I wanted to play, but I didn’t know the game so I didn’t want the pressure. It made sense for me to stay with the guys I knew at the junior-varsity level. We did pretty well, and then the next year, my junior year, I moved up to varsity. When I got up to varsity, we were running a wishbone offense. And I still remember the rules because one of the most notorious offensive-line rules that’s hard to forget—first man, head up, inside, on or off the line of scrimmage. Think about it. It accounts for everything. First man, head up, on the inside (depending on where you are), on or off the line of scrimmage. So it came down to, whatever you did, whatever play was called, that was your role. When he said that, I was like, Oh, that’s catchy. I’ve always been an analytical person, so I went to the line, looked up, and went through the saying.

Coach saw me and asked, What are you doing?

I’m just showing who I got.

Why would you show them who you got?

Well, I didn’t know I was supposed to keep it a secret. It’s not like I’m telling, I’m just using your rule as best as I possibly can.

He said, Don’t do that.

Like I said, my first year on varsity, we ran the wishbone. We missed the playoffs that year, fall of 1986.

But then he wanted to change things up. He came to me and said he was going to put me at defensive end and offensive tackle—iron man football, we would play both ways—and he changed offenses. Now he’s got me pulling all over the place. And I’m having fun because by now I’m coordinated and agile enough to pull around the horn to blow fools up. We’re a good football team. But Point Loma had our number. They won our conference, and we lost to them twice, the last time in the CIF title game.

By my junior year, I had got some size. I was 6’4, 6’5. But we didn’t have anybody testing us, so I thought I finished my career in high school at 6’9. I was the tallest in the school. No one ever measured us. You know how it was in the ’hood schools, we didn’t have all these resources. When I got to college, they had me at 6’6¾. I had grown eight inches from my freshman year of high school to the middle of my junior year. So I had tremendous knee pains and stuff like that. And the first thing that grew on me was my feet. When I was 12 years old I used to go to Payless ShoeSource and get Coasters. Coasters only went up to size 13. By the time I had finished eighth grade, my shoe size had gone from size 13 to size 17. Which was one of the reasons I was so clumsy and awkward.

I’d never owned a pair of cleats before. They had to go to the Chargers to get my helmet. I was living in San Diego, so they had to go to the Chargers to get a helmet because I had a huge head. They had to go to one of the colleges to get cleats made for me, because I’d never owned a pair of cleats. I never knew anything about cleats. So I was out there trying to play football in my tennis shoes. The first couple of games, I had regular tennis shoes on trying to play football. But I did not have a challenge with my band uniform because, you know, that was just a pair of black slacks that you got from Nordstrom or wherever and a ruffled shirt that didn’t have to fit you correctly because no one was going to notice or care.

My career in high school kind of took off because of my size. I started getting noticed by a number of colleges, and the team was having success, which also helped. And I grew. I was big. I was bigger than anybody out there on the football field, but I played both ways, on both offense and defense. But coming into the game and learning about the game, my idol was Ed Too Tall Jones, the Dallas Cowboys’ All-Pro defensive end back in the day. No. 72. That’s why I wore 72. Because I could relate to him. I was taller than everyone else. He was taller than everyone else and just looked gargantuan out there on the football field.

You’ve got to keep in mind, I didn’t start playing football until I was in 10th grade, so I didn’t know jack about team sports until high school. You can get your fill of team sports in high school—the camaraderie, the sense of being. And so we had some moderate success in high school We ended up playing for the CIF–San Diego Section Class 3A title my senior year, lost to Point Loma 16–14, but we ended up playing in the Murph, Jack Murphy Stadium, for the title. So that was cool. I’d get back there once a year with the Raiders, and we played in the sport’s biggest game, the Super Bowl. But that’s a story for another chapter. Anyway, high school gave me my first taste of playing championship-caliber football, after going through the playoffs and that type of thing. Morse High, under coach Shacklett, won three of the next five CIF Class 3A titles after I graduated. But before then, the college scouts descended on my life.

* * *

Because I was so overwhelmed by the number of recruiting requests and recruiting letters, I thought, Hey, how about if I simplify this by asking to be recruited as a defensive end or defensive tackle? That cut down on it a lot because most of them wanted me as an offensive lineman.

And I know what I achieved on the offensive line—all-city, all-state, and all the all-star games in high school—so I knew that there was that potential there. In those games, I played a little bit of both. The North-South Shrine game, I was purely offense, but in the L.A. versus San Diego all-stars, I played mostly defense. So I went both ways.

It was overwhelming at times. I mean, my first trip was to the University of Michigan, and growing up in Southeast San Diego, in Southern California, all you used to see on whatever TV was showing—CBS, ABC, or otherwise—was Big Blue. Yeah. Every Saturday you saw Big Blue football. Or Ohio State football. So that was all you really knew. And then of course, USC was sprinkled in there because that was the West Coast power, but that’s all you ever knew. So I got off a plane in Ann Arbor, and it was 17 degrees. I’m from San Diego. I never owned a heavy jacket before.

So I got a windbreaker on, snow was up to my knees, and they were like, We need to get you a coat. So they got me a full-length peacoat or whatever it was just to keep me warm. But the whole Michigan experience was seeing Bo Schembechler (may he rest in peace) in a hospital bed with tubes hooked up to him, and he was like, You want to be a Wolverine?

And I was thinking to myself, Coach, don’t you have other things to be worried about right now? But, yes, it just felt right. It felt so good. But that was my first trip. I went back home to San Diego afterward, and I had the Michigan hat on, had the Michigan scarf. Again, we’re in San Diego, it was 70, 80 degrees and I was wearing a scarf—Go Blue. And my high school coach, John Shacklett, was like, Whoa, whoa, whoa, just pump your brakes. What you’ve got to understand about recruiting is they’re supposed to treat you like you are God and football can’t go on for their program if you don’t join them.

And I said, But Coach, they did this.

He’s like, Yes, I know.

He had been through the process himself, so he was really a big factor in this because I had no idea what I was looking at or getting into. And then the following week I went to ’SC, and, I mean, if you’ve ever been to ’SC during football season or anything football-related, the pomp and circumstance is so great. You have the whole city basically at your feet, and I was just thinking, Whoa, this is kind of cool. This is kind of awesome. So I could come here and be a God just like in Michigan. That was what I was feeling, but the one thing I remember that worried me about my decision toward ’SC was that when we were playing in the California all-star games, I knew a number of guys in those all-star games who had said they committed to ’SC. But then they never got offered a scholarship and had to walk on. I never thought as highly of my football skills as other people did. I didn’t think I was that good. I thought I was all right. But I didn’t know I was as good as people claimed me to be.

And so I didn’t want to commit to ’SC for two reasons: First, it was too close to home, and I really wanted to get away from home. I had so many things that happened during my childhood, during high school and stuff like that, that I just wanted to forget about. I wanted to get as far away as possible. It’s San Diego, it’s like any other city. It’s not all the glamour and glitz that you might see on TV. But I wanted to get away from home. I just didn’t know where I was going to go. And the second reason was, the weekend that I went there, ’SC had brought in 48 or 49 recruits. And they only had 18 scholarships. And so I was thinking, Hey, do the math. If you don’t think that highly of your ability or are not as confident in your ability, who’s to say what will happen if you commit here. This is a private institution. I have no way of paying for college if not for a scholarship. What if they say, Well, you have no scholarship. You have to walk on. That frightened me. Just the football decision weighed heavily. And then on top of that, it was like part of me didn’t want to just ride on the coattails of an already successful program, right? I mean, ’SC was there. They were the talk of the town, talk of the country, they were a football powerhouse.

So I kind of wanted to do my own thing, you know what I mean? I had met Ron Mix when I was younger. Coach Shacklett introduced me to him. So I knew him and Ron Yary. I knew a lot of the famous offensive linemen that came out of ’SC and stuff like that. But part of me was not too keen on that. So that was ’SC. Then came Washington.

* * *

When I showed up in Seattle, the scenery reminded me of something, like I had been there before. I didn’t really remember why at the time, but then a little later my mom told me that when I was young, we lived up at Gig Harbor with the Navy. My dad was stationed there, so I was like, Oh, oh, that’s why it looked familiar. That whole gray and the green and the Emerald City, plus trees and the water, that reminded me. That was the first time I really felt comfortable in a place. Because it just felt like, this is me.

And then on top of that, I was duped. Because when I got to campus, the sun was out. This was in January, mind you, and the sun was out. I could see Mount Rainier from the campus, and it was just lush and beautiful. Oh, my gosh, this is gorgeous. Could you imagine going to school here? And they took me to the quad where all the historical buildings are, and I thought, Man, you know, this is all right. I like it. We went down to the stadium—it’s right there on Lake Washington—and they put your name up on the big scoreboard: Lincoln Kennedy, starting offensive lineman, or whatever. So I thought, Yeah, I can get behind this. I can get behind this. It was fun. I had a great weekend. I think I had five hostesses. They were all beautiful.

When I got there, I was a defensive lineman. First year, my coach was Randy Hart, and he was just a jackal, if you will. In a good way. I mean, he ran the snot out of me. I showed up heavy. I showed up at around 350 as a freshman—mainly because of the summer job they got me. I was a messenger running around from law offices, delivering messages, and in between stopping off at McDonald’s, because I was making like $17 an hour. To do nothing. So this was the first job I really had where I was making good money and I was spending it on fast food. Anyway, I got fat. Redshirted my first year and got my weight down to about 280, which is unusually light for me. Especially for what I had played in high school—290—even though we didn’t have scales and stuff like that, 290, close to 300 pounds. But I played at a big weight.

Lincoln watches his alma mater, Washington, battle Colorado for the Pac-12 title in December 2016. The Huskies won 41–10. Photo courtesy of AP Images

My first year at Washington, in 1988, was really an eye-opener because here I was, 17 years old, on a college campus, living on my own, redshirting because I wasn’t playing. I just rose up to be a star