11. That Baby’s Going to Canton

Working for the Raiders was a privilege I never took for granted – not for one day. Even when I was exasperated or angry or both, I considered it a privilege.

I didn’t love everything about my job, but I loved my job. I hated certain things about my job, but I loved my job. I disagreed with Al; I argued with Al; I wanted to change things that I was not allowed to change, but I loved my job.

There were times that I was particularly exasperated and angry. One of those was what is known as the overhead projector press conference.

On a number of occasions over the years, I told Al that I disagreed with his propensity to make coaching changes. In this instance, I also vehemently disagreed with him about the manner in which he was handling a prospective coaching change, and we had been arguing about this for months.

I was furious in large part because of the deleterious effect this was having on the organization and Al was furious with me because I did not support his position and because I continuously expressed my anger to him. We were at one another’s throats. I actually quit my job over this.

Al and Lane Kiffin had been angry with each other for some time. They disagreed with one another on a number of football matters – particularly with respect to player personnel and assistant coaches. Of course, Lane wasn’t the only Raiders head coach who disagreed with Al about such matters, but he was less surreptitious in the manner in which he expressed his disagreement. As their disagreements escalated in number and intensity, Al engaged in behavior that struck me as his way of saying “fuck you” to Lane. What differentiated Lane from most men with whom Al interacted over many years was that Lane engaged in behavior that I considered his way of saying, “No, fuck you.” Despite the fact that all of this was playing out publicly and harming the organization, I begrudgingly respected that Lane was not cowed by Al.

I wanted them to work together and I urged Al repeatedly to try to find a way to do so. Those conversations didn’t go well. I pointed out to Al that he and Lane shared a number of traits in common. Unfortunately, it seemed those commonalities did not strengthen their relationship, but worsened it. It was like trying to push together the same polar end of two magnets – the magnets don’t attract one another; they repel one another.

I didn’t attend the overhead projector press conference. I was mad at Al and I did not want to be there. Al was mad at me and I had the sense that he did not want me there. Neither of us was acting particularly maturely. Should I have nonetheless attended so that we appeared to be united and so that I could help if possible? I probably should have. As it turned out, other than racing to the outlet into which the projector was plugged and ripping the cord from it or finding the power source to the building or the fuse box and killing power in the auditorium, I could not have helped. Had I been there, I think I would have considered going to any lengths to disable that overhead projector, even if to do so I had to bite through its cord with my teeth. In any event, I didn’t attend. I stayed in my office. Two of my coworkers joined me and we turned on the television to watch.

The minute the press conference began, I noticed that Al wasn’t sitting in front of our logoed backdrop, which always hung behind the speaker or speakers during press conferences, and I said, “Hey, where’s the backdrop? Why isn’t the sponsor backdrop up? Why does it look whited-out?” We looked at one another, but none of us knew. When we realized that a white screen had been set up behind Al, obscuring the backdrop, we looked quizzically at one another, as we didn’t know why that was the case. I will never forget the look on the face of one of my coworkers as the cameras pulled back and we saw the overhead projector. I imagine the look on my face was the same. I didn’t even know we had an overhead projector.

We soon understood why the overhead projector was there: Al had instructed someone to project on the screen a copy of a letter he and another employee had drafted and which they had sent to Lane. Al then led the assembled media through a thorough, line-by-line analysis of the letter, which detailed what Al believed to be each and every one of Lane’s transgressions.

I remember saying to my coworkers with whom I was watching the press conference: “If we’re going to do something this insane, can’t we at least use modern technology?” I understood, of course, that the technology we employed was the least of our problems.

As we watched the press conference, I was speechless. The three of us were speechless. We sat there in silence, looking at one another. I am sure that the look on my face was the same as the look I saw on their faces – a mixture of horror and anger and despair. I knew that our phones would already be ringing off the hook – fans, ticket holders, sponsors, suite holders, and business partners would already be calling. And they were. I knew that it would take extraordinary effort to do any sort of damage control and that, really, even extraordinary efforts might not work.

I gathered myself as best I could. I knew that I needed – and I wanted – to be a calming presence with our employees and others. But I wasn’t calm; I was infuriated and I was disheartened.

I went down and spoke to the women who handled our front desk and our main phone lines. I will never forget the looks on their faces. The phones were, indeed, already ringing incessantly. I then went and spoke with our customer service department, our sponsorship and marketing departments, our ticket personnel, and every other employee I could find. I will never forget the look on the face of a senior ticket executive. He was ashen, and his expression said all that I was thinking and all that I understood others were thinking.

We lost ticket holders, we lost club seat holders, we lost suite holders, we lost sponsors, and we lost business partners. One of my greatest frustrations over the course of my career was that I believed Al was intellectually dishonest about things of this nature. He chose to act without regard to consequences that were both predictable and predicted, but then complained about those consequences. Even when I explained in advance precisely what consequences would flow from his actions, he denied that they would and then complained that they did. Of course things like this would impact revenues. Al didn’t believe they should or they would, but of course they did and when that happened, he was angry that revenues were down. You can’t have it both ways, I would tell him – you can’t act as you wish, without concern or regard for the consequences of your actions, and yet be annoyed by those very consequences. We argued about this for decades.

A few nights after the infamous overhead projector press conference, after several wretched days during which I did my best to calm and reassure everyone, during which we all worked together to calm and reassure ticket holders and fans and suite holders and sponsors and business partners, I went home and had a bit of a meltdown. Just as we were about to go to sleep, I announced to my husband: “I am going to find that overhead projector. I am going to find where it’s stored. I am going to pull it out and I am going to smash it with an axe. I am going to smash it into itty bitty pieces and there will never be another overhead projector conference again.”

When I was done, my husband said: “Oh no, that baby’s going to Canton.”

I actually laughed.

* * *

As I mentioned, no matter the challenges, no matter the arguments, no matter the stress, I never wavered in my belief that it was a tremendous privilege to work for the organization and for Al, and I regularly expressed this view.

As the years went on, I sensed that fewer and fewer employees believed that working for the Raiders was the privilege or the dream come true it was for me, and that fewer and fewer employees cared as deeply about the organization as did I. Of course, there were some other employees who felt privileged to work for and who cared deeply about the Raiders; I was not alone in that belief, but we sensed that we were a dwindling breed.

I discussed this topic from time to time with one of my coworkers. We agreed that when we took our jobs, we did not do so because we viewed them as good jobs, or because they offered good benefits, or because they provided a path to future opportunities; we did so because we wanted to be Raiders. We also agreed that we were in what was becoming an ever-shrinking minority.

I don’t believe that what I have described is unique to the Raiders; I believe it is a phenomenon affecting many businesses. I also believe it is at least somewhat generational. I observed a metamorphosis over my career – applicants and new employees viewed jobs as just that: jobs.

I was often told by my coworkers that my inability to shut off (both literally and figuratively) when I left the office was a tremendous failing on my part. I was told that I needed to leave work at the office. I was told that I needed to learn not to make myself available to Al every moment of every day and every night. I never did shut off, I never did leave work at the office, and I never did make myself unavailable to Al. I never tried, I didn’t want to, and I don’t believe that to be a failing. I never considered my job to be a job.

Al and I agreed about that: it wasn’t a job. Early in my career, while in his office, I noticed that he was looking at me as if he was studying me. The expression on his face was both curious and warm and when I asked him why he was staring at me, he told me that he recognized that he and I shared something in common that he had not seen in many others: I didn’t consider my job to be a job but, rather, a way of life. He was right.

I joined the organization not knowing or contemplating what my future with it might be. I only knew that I was deliriously happy to be a part of it. I didn’t care what my role was or my responsibilities were. I simply wanted to contribute. There is nothing I could have been asked to do that I would have considered too menial or unimportant. I could have been told that my responsibilities included picking up used paper cups on the sideline or counting the rolls of ankle tape, and I would have done so to the best of my ability and felt fortunate and proud to do so.

Just as over the course of my career, I observed that job candidates and new employees were increasingly focused on what might be their next position rather than the one for which they were interviewing or had been hired, I noticed another evolution: an entitlement mentality.

This also wasn’t unique to the Raiders; it too was a societal trend. I was elated when I read an article in which a writer described and discussed the issue of entitlement. In this story, he recounted a story of a preschool where the words to the children’s song “Frere Jacques” had been changed to: “I am special, I am special, look at me, look at me…I am very special, I am very special, look at me.” Well that explains a lot, I thought.

* * *

There are many misconceptions about Al, the biggest of which is that he did not tolerate disagreement from employees. If that were the case, I would have been fired roughly two weeks after I joined the Raiders as a full-time employee. It was then that we had our first argument. It was big, loud, and profanity-packed.

I was sharing an office with another employee and after practice Al entered the room. He was furious. After listening to him berate the other employee for roughly ten minutes, I realized something: he was wrong.

So, two weeks into my job, I interrupted Al and said: “Excuse me, you’re wrong.”

Al was standing a few feet from my desk, behind which I was sitting. When I uttered those words, he stopped speaking, and slowly turned towards me. He looked at me in a manner that’s difficult to describe. It was a mixture of utter dismay, incredulity, surprise, and anger.

As he stood there looking at me, I again said in a respectful, matter-of-fact tone of voice, “You’re wrong.” Before I could offer my reasoning for that conclusion or say anything else, he spoke, and he did so in a raised voice. So I raised my voice. He shouted. I shouted back. He yelled. I yelled back. On it went. We yelled, shouted, and hollered at one another. He swore. I did not. I was only about two weeks into my job, after all; I wasn’t yet swearing at him.

Finally, after quite a bit of this back-and-forth, in a quiet, calm, relaxed tone, he said: “Okay, I got it, I got it, I understand.” The argument was over.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but our voices had carried throughout the entire second floor of the building. I later learned that many employees had heard us arguing, that a few had emerged from their offices to find out what was going on, and that some thought that I would be fired. One coworker even brought me boxes and offered to help me pack my things.

I didn’t plan to tell Al that he was wrong. It wasn’t premeditated or in any way calculated. I didn’t tell him that I thought he was wrong in order to assert myself or to establish a paradigm for our working relationship. I gave no thought to the fact that I was about to tell Al Davis that he was wrong. I was just being myself. I thought he was wrong. I told him so. We argued. He agreed with me. It was over.

This interaction may well have set the tone for an almost-three-decade working relationship in which I never hesitated to disagree with Al and in which he knew that I would not hesitate to do so. Over the course of my career, I disagreed with him far more than I agreed with him, and I always let him know when I did. Most of our disagreements were loud and fierce. We swore, we yelled, we argued, we hung up on one another, and we often acted obnoxiously. We sometimes behaved like children. On a few occasions, we went days without speaking to one another – notable because we routinely spoke daily.

I knew from that first argument that if I was going to disagree with Al, I would arm myself with facts. If I disagreed, I would let him know why I disagreed and offer support for my argument. I believed that if I did, he would engage in a discussion, a debate, or an argument, but that if I did not, he would not do so. He certainly did in that first instance. But just because I disagreed with him didn’t mean I could convince him I was right. That was rare.

* * *

Al knew that if he wanted someone to agree with him without question, I wasn’t that person. That bothered him and wore on him at times. I bothered him and wore on him at times.

Al and I reached extraordinary levels of frustration with one another. We had ferocious arguments. I think that demonstrated to Al that I would not capitulate because it was the path of least resistance. Al shared with me that there were times when he appreciated that.

He seemed pleased and proud as he told me that another owner said to him after I presented our position in an owners’ meeting, “Boy, she isn’t scared.”

He seemed pleased and proud when he said to me, “You’re tough.” Other times, he said that in resignation, often after he had failed to convince me to agree with him.

He seemed pleased and proud when he said of me to others while I was in his presence,“ She doesn’t back down.” He was right: I wasn’t scared and I didn’t back down. That certainly didn’t work to my benefit within some circles. But my job wasn’t to advance my own interests or to promote myself at the expense of the club.

As much as Al may have for the most part liked that I didn’t get scared or back down and that I was tough, I know that this frustrated and angered him at times.

* * *

Al often told me that I was a “P.I.T.A.” He never pronounced the word (like the bread) – he spelled it out each time: P.I.T.A. “You’re a real P.I.T.A.” The first time he called me a P.I.T.A. he explained to me that the initials stood for “pain in the ass.”

“Yes,” I told him, “I’m well aware of what the initials stand for.” He was right, I can be a P.I.T.A.

* * *

Periodically, Al told me that he wanted to kill me. I knew he was joking.

He once said: “The next time you do that, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” (I’m not the only employee to whom he said that, by the way. I recall one incident in particular, involving a free agent we lost, in which he told another employee that he’d “fuckin’ kill” him if he ever did that again.) A few times over the years I told Al that I wasn’t worried – noting that he could fire me, but he couldn’t kill me. He once dryly responded: “You seem rather sure of that.”

While Al would not have killed me, it would have been very easy for him to fire me. At no time while employed by the organization did I ever have a contract. For the entirety of my career with the Raiders, I was an at-will employee, which means, in essence, that the organization could terminate me with no outstanding contractual obligations on its part. When Al and I were bickering, I would remind him that I was an at-will employee, to which he would respond, “Yes, you are,” to which I would respond, “At will goes both ways.”

An interesting point about me never having a contract is that while the league requires clubs to submit for its approval contracts for certain employees – head coaches, general managers, and the ultimate decision maker in the business area (president, CEO) – it never required us to submit one for me. I wondered over the years whether the league would ever instruct us to do so, but it never did. I can think of three reasons that might be the case: (a) it never realized that we hadn’t filed one; (b) it knew that even if it demanded that we file one, we would not comply; or (c) it understood that my title notwithstanding, I was not the ultimate decision maker, Al was. I am confident that it was (c), perhaps with a dose of (b) mixed in.

* * *

During my first year with the organization, I made an affirmative decision that for as long as I had my job, I would do it as I believed best without giving consideration to whether I might be fired and with the knowledge that I could and would walk away at any time I wished. I told my husband that at some point, when Al said to me “fuck you,” I would reply, “No, fuck you.” At that point, I explained, one of two things would happen: either I would be fired, or I would quit. It was important to me that my husband understood that. Not only did he understand, he was in absolute agreement with this approach and we agreed to structure our lifestyle as best we could so that I had the freedom to conduct myself as I wished, fully aware that so doing might result in my termination or my resignation. So, we created a bank account which we named the “fuck you fund.” We took a bit of money from each paycheck and deposited it in that account. Doing this gave me the freedom to conduct myself as I believed best, without regard to consequences. I understand that not everyone has the luxury to structure one’s lifestyle such that he or she can act as he or she believes best, without concern about job security and so that he or she can walk away as desired, but it sure is optimal. Our decision and ability to do so gave me the freedom to do just that. We maintained that account throughout my entire career with the Raiders and I always did as I believed best without regard to economic consequences. Now, we maintain it for sentimental reasons.

* * *

As noted earlier, no one could control Al. It was also almost impossible to change his mind. As a general rule, Al was always absolutely confident that he was right. When someone didn’t agree with him on a business or legal issue, Al would say, “I’ll get him in a room.” Al was sure that if he “got him in a room” he could convince that person that he was right. “Okay,” I would respond sarcastically and somewhat rudely, “you get him in a room; I’m sure that will solve everything.”

I found it fascinating that Al was absolutely convinced that he could get anyone in a room and change that person’s mind when it was almost impossible for anyone to change Al’s mind.

Actually, few people were willing to try to change Al’s mind. I witnessed time and again people boldly state their disagreement with him from the privacy of their own offices, but fail or refuse to express their disagreement to him face-to-face. One of my coworkers coined an expression I believe best describes this behavior – it was rude, but perfectly fitting: “little mouse balls.” We used that rude expression from time to time.

I always wondered whether it was a deliberate choice on Al’s part to surround himself with people who agreed with him or whether the people he surrounded himself with learned not to disagree with him (at least in front of him) because it was easier and it served them well. I think it was more of the latter.

Given Al’s knowledge of and interest in history, I raised the issue of Watergate with him on a few occasions to make this point: surrounding himself with men who did not disagree with him didn’t work out so well for Richard Nixon.

While there were definitely occasions on which Al would actively look for people to support his position or to undertake a project for him and while there were plenty around him who were more than willing to do so without question or objection, it is unfair to say that Al refused to work with people who disagreed with him or who told him when they thought he was wrong. After all, I did that for the first time just two weeks into my job and continued to do so for almost three decades.

* * *

Some people have remarked that Al held grudges. I don’t know that I would articulate it in that precise manner; I might say instead that Al harbored resentment and held tightly to his anger. No matter the word or phrase one chooses to describe it, Al was steadfast in his positions and he rarely moved from them. As noted earlier, when Al believed he was right, it was hard to convince him he wasn’t. When Al believed someone else was wrong, it was hard to convince him to evaluate the situation from a different perspective or to simply let things go.

I am often asked about what caused the rift between Al and Marcus Allen and why it was so deep and longstanding. I really don’t know. That surprises people and some don’t believe me, but it’s true. Obviously, I know that there was a deep divide between these men, but I never understood all of the underlying issues that caused it or nuances with respect thereto, and I don’t know why it was so lasting.

The argument that set this in motion occurred early in my career on what I believe was a Saturday morning. I was in my office and I heard very loud voices – shouting – coming from Al’s office, which was located directly across the hall from mine. I didn’t know at that time who was in Al’s office (I later learned that it was Marcus). I didn’t know what they were discussing, but it sounded like they were having a very heated exchange. I didn’t think too much about the raised voices – after all, people have disagreements, they argue, they shout.

In the days and weeks that followed, it became clear that this disagreement – whatever its genesis – was significant.

I suggested to Al many times over the years that he let it go and move forward. Marcus was, I reminded him, a true Raider legend. No history of the Raiders would be complete without reference to Marcus, I told Al. Sometimes, I would simply say: 17 Bob Trey O. That was the play call when Marcus reversed direction and ran 74 yards for a touchdown in Super Bowl XVIII. It remains one of the greatest plays in Raiders and in Super Bowl history.

In my attempts to resolve this and to convince Al to bridge the divide, I referenced world history and current world events, thinking that Al’s affinity for such things might help me persuade him.

I sure got “motherfucked” when I raised this issue, but I never stopped trying. I also never succeeded.

I am also often asked about what transpired between Al and Jon Gruden such that Al decided to trade him. I certainly know more about that situation than I do about what occurred between Al and Marcus, but I don’t know everything.

Al had been growing increasingly annoyed with Jon. That certainly wasn’t a secret and it wasn’t unusual; Al grew annoyed with coaches. I don’t know whether Al’s increasing disenchantment with Jon was the result of an isolated event or disagreement, whether it was due to an accumulation of events, or whether their relationship had simply run its course. Al’s relationships with coaches often ran their course and deteriorated. It was clear in the building that Jon was also growing increasingly annoyed with Al. I don’t know whether Jon’s increasing frustration with Al was the result of a particular issue or argument, or whether he was simply weary of the way Al did business. I think, though, that it was more the latter.

Although I had recommended that we hire Bill Belichick and Al opted to hire Jon instead, I absolutely understood that Jon was also a good choice and would be good for the organization. I thought that we should do whatever we could to retain him and that failing to do so would be a mistake. I tried to convince Al to find a way to work through whatever issues existed between them. I failed.

I was involved in only two meetings at which Jon’s future with the team was discussed. In each of those two meetings with Al and two of my coworkers, and in a number of private conversations with Al, I explained the reasons I thought it important that we keep Jon and I prevailed upon him to do so. I told him that no matter the issues that existed, he needed to find a way to work things out. My coworkers in those meetings did not join me in urging Al to do this. One of those coworkers said only that Al should do what he believed right. The other coworker, who worked very closely with Jon, said nothing.

Throughout this, the coworker who worked closely with Jon was attempting to negotiate a new contract (or an extension of the existing one) with Jon’s agent in hopes of retaining him. That employee asked yet another coworker to handle the drafting of such contract. It struck me that the whole manner in which this was being handled was convoluted and goofy, even for us.

I learned of the trade after it occurred. It was one night in February 2002. I don’t remember the exact time. My husband and I had been out and as we were walking in from the garage, I heard the phone ringing and I rushed to answer it. “Amy, this is Al,” he began, as he always did. I was juggling things in my arms; I was distracted. I heard him reference Jon and I heard the word trade. I interrupted and said, “I really don’t think this is a good idea; I really don’t think we should do this.” Al responded by saying “You didn’t hear me; I just told you I did it.”

* * *

Other areas in which I failed to convince Al that his approach – and thus the organization’s approach – was wrong involved media and public relations.

I tried for years to convince Al that we should be more professional and courteous in our dealings with the media. I explained that comporting ourselves professionally and courteously did not mean we had to share information that he did not want to share. It simply meant that we should, at a minimum, be professional and, hopefully, even polite when declining to comment. Certainly, we didn’t need to be rude, abrasive, and obnoxious. The media had a job to do, I explained, noting that while that job often conflicted with his desire to maintain confidentiality, we needed to find a better method of expressing ourselves. I failed.

Throughout my years with the organization – on more occasions than I can recount – Al would say to me, “You’re runnin’ it” or “Aw fuck, you’re runnin’ it.” Only, I really wasn’t “runnin it,” if “it” meant the organization. Oh sure, I might have been overseeing many of our business relationships, our banking relationships, our relationship with the league office, and some other relationships and matters, I might have been “runnin’” certain aspects of the business, but I wasn’t “runnin’” the organization, as Al suggested.

So, although I was dismayed and mortified by our approach to media and public relations, I was unable to make many discernible changes. I was horrified by some of the things we did, many of which I learned of in ways many people find surprising.

On one occasion, Al decided that he wanted the organization to call a prominent, well-respected member of the media a rumor monger. Al didn’t share with me that he planned to do this, just as he often didn’t share with me things he believed that I’d object to and thus argue with him about. Instead, he took a path of lesser or no resistance. In this instance, he contacted someone on our public relations staff, and together they crafted a statement calling this journalist a “rumormongerer.” So, to be clear: he wanted to call someone a rumor monger and we couldn’t even do that right – we used a word that really wasn’t a word.

I learned of this when I saw it online. I was horrified and I was furious. I printed out what I had seen and stormed into Al’s office with a copy of the comment in my hand, which was shaking, I was so angry. The first thing that I sputtered was: “Mongerer isn’t even a word.”

Then I just exploded: “You guys came up with this deranged statement…and no one even used spell check…what is this, third grade?…we issue a ranting statement…and we don’t even use real words, we invent one…the least we could have done was to use spell check.”

“Mongerer isn’t even a word!” I shouted again and then stomped out. Yes, stomped.

On another occasion, while I was out of the office at a meeting, there had been quite a scene in our media workroom. I didn’t learn about this until I arrived home much later that evening and saw it all over the Internet – it looked like a scene right out of a movie. The video showed a Raiders employee shouting at and gesticulating toward a member of the media – pointing at him and accusing him of things – and then accusing another member of the media of something else. I watched the video and was speechless. I had no idea what to do in the aftermath of this incident. I just knew that I had to do what I could to ease the coming backlash. I contacted the employee who instigated the confrontation. I thought he’d be upset and would want to work together to try to resolve the issue, but he actually seemed to be proud of the manner in which he handled this and he made a point of telling me that Al thought he handled it well. It’s possible my impression was wrong – that he was being defensive or that he was trying to calm me down – but it certainly struck me that he believed that he had acted appropriately.

On a number of occasions over the course of my career, I shared with a coworker that I sometimes felt like the good fairy in Sleeping Beauty. She was the fairy who hid behind the curtain and who, after the bad fairy had cast her evil spell on Sleeping Beauty (about the prick on the spinning wheel), emerged and cast her own spell, to minimize as best she could the repercussions of the bad spell. The good fairy could not undo the spell cast by the bad fairy; she could only try to do something to mitigate the effects of it.

My coworker’s response: “Yup.”

As bad as I believed those instances were, they weren’t even atop the list of terrible things said of the media internally by many who worked closely with Al. In some instances, when Al was launching a diatribe about a particular member of the media or the media as a whole, these employees would concur and offer their own invective. In other instances, they initiated such commentary. What fascinated and bothered me is that the employee who offered the most invective internally was the most gracious when he interacted with the media, and the most well liked by them.

Another public relations issue about which I nagged Al involved the use of modern technology and social media. “News moves fast,” I regularly told him. “It won’t help to issue a statement two or three days from now – the story will be dead by then. We need to act quickly.” I failed. We’d get killed for something and it would be all over the place – print, radio, television, the Internet — and we’d say nothing. Three days later, Al would want to issue a statement, but by then no one cared.

I also wanted us to break our own news – not always, but sometimes. I wanted to periodically share information on our own properties first (our website, our Twitter account, our Facebook page).

I presented to Al what I believed was a persuasive case that it was intellectually dishonest for him to refuse to allow us to be first with at least some information, or to maintain at least some information for proprietary use, all the while complaining that our dominance in these areas (page hits and followers) was not strong as it should be. If we wished to be prominent and dominant in this space, if we wished to maximize revenues (from our website, for example), then he had to stop prohibiting us from doing things designed to increase revenues.

I also told him that I couldn’t fathom why he prohibited us from breaking news, thereby allowing people for whom he had such contempt to do so. When mentioning this to him over and over again, I even resorted to using the word he loved – ludicrous – to explain the absurdity of hindering our growth while fostering the growth of those for whom he had such disdain. They were able to attract more viewers, more readers, more followers, and more visitors to their sites by breaking news about us, I explained. “This makes no sense,” I would groan. And it didn’t.

“You can’t stand this guy,” I would remind him repeatedly of any number of members of the media, “but you allow him to earn more respect and more credibility when he breaks news about us – he is first, he is accurate – and you’re facilitating this.”

Trying to explain Twitter and social media to Al was a challenge, but it could be fun. (Not as much fun as trying to explain to him who Beavis and Butt-head were and why they were referenced in a league memo, however.)

Once – and only once – did Al make a point of acquiescing to my requests to share something newsworthy on one of our own platforms. We had been arguing about something entirely unrelated to this topic and in an effort to both mollify and apologize to me, he announced to everyone gathered in his office: “Don’t let anyone know about this yet – Amy will want to twit this.” And so, that once, we were able to “twit” something before anyone else did.

Al adjusted many words. Tweet became twit and Google became oogle. On a number of occasions, when Al and I were discussing something, I would say, “I’ll Google that.” He’d respond by saying, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Soon, though, he knew well enough, and he’d periodically say to me: “Oogle that, will you?” I giggled each time.

I giggled a lot at things Al said. The first time I did so, he looked at me and said, “Are you laughing at me?” I admitted that I was. He really and truly seemed surprised that I was laughing at him. I think he was also surprised that I admitted I was.

I was never able to teach Al to use the word tweet instead of twit or Google instead of oogle.

* * *

All of my desires to improve the manner in which the organization dealt with the media aside, I know that I did a really poor job of interacting with the media throughout my career.

I was never able to relax when I spoke with the media as a group and, really, I wasn’t able to relax even when I spoke with most members of the media on an individual basis. Of course, there were a few exceptions to that, but for the most part, I was never at ease working with the media. I believe that there were a few reasons for that.

I knew that Al did not want me to speak with the media and that certainly added to my stress and discomfort when I did.

Also, as a general rule, I am a precise and measured speaker, careful and deliberate in my selection of words. I don’t do this for legal reasons as some surmised, or really for any particular reason. It’s just the way I speak. My precise manner of speaking is noticeable, and it was often brought to my attention by some members of the media, and that added to my discomfort.

I was also very cognizant that when speaking with the media or speaking publicly, I wasn’t simply representing myself – I was representing Al and the Raiders organization and my words reflected on the league as a whole. Were I only representing myself, it would have been easier, and I might have learned to relax. It took me a considerable period of time after I began working on television to realize that when I now share my views, I represent only myself. Once I realized that, I began to relax. I’m just now learning that it can actually be fun.

I am also not good at witty banter. Oh, sure, I may eventually think of a witty rejoinder to something, but when I do, it’s typically many hours or days after the fact. I also don’t like sarcasm, particularly when it is used in an effort to disguise or soften mean remarks. I find sarcasm in a business setting particularly discomfiting. So I was ill at ease even in what were intended to be and should have been relaxed, casual interactions with the media.

I understood that members of the media didn’t engage in lighthearted or sarcastic banter with me to make me uncomfortable. I understood that they were simply interacting with me in the same manner in which they interacted with one another. I understood that they may even have been doing so in an effort to be friendly. It wasn’t their fault that I was uncomfortable; I was uncomfortable because I am socially awkward in such instances.

I also offended some members of the media. I didn’t mean to do so and I wasn’t aware at the time that I had had done so, but I later learned that I did. An incident that stands out occurred at a game in Kansas City. It was just before kickoff of our game, and the televisions in the press box were showing the early games. One of those was the 49ers game, which was reaching an exciting conclusion. Some of the media were watching and commenting aloud, as the anthem preceding our game began. Without thinking, I shushed one of those members of the media. I did it instinctively – the anthem had begun and I said, “Shhh.” I didn’t do so with the intent to be rude – and I didn’t think I did so loudly – but I said “shhh” – and I thought nothing of it.

Over a decade later, I was told by a several other members of the media that I had deeply offended the writer to whom I said “shhh.” I was flabbergasted. It had never occurred to me that I had offended this person. I then reflected upon that situation and realized that although I didn’t intend to be rude, I could and should have handled the situation much better. I should have said nothing or, at a minimum, politely and privately whispered that the anthem had begun. More than a decade after this incident, I apologized and the person to whom I apologized could not have been more gracious when I did.

Was this the only time I offended someone in the media? I’m quite confident that it was not. I reference it, though, because it’s another example of growing up and learning on the job and carrying with me the residue of my mistakes as I did so.

My affirmative decision not to cultivate media relationships for my own benefit also impacted me adversely. When I did interact with the media, I did so for one reason: what I believed to be the good of the organization. I was relatively young when I started with the Raiders and I had no idea that people who worked for teams or for the league office cultivated relationships with the media for their own good, rather than for the good of their employers. It just never occurred to me. Some would say that had nothing to do with my age, that I was simply naïve. But either way – whether due to my youth or naiveté – it was quite a few years before I understood that people did this. No matter, though, as I wouldn’t have done so anyway as it’s not the right thing to do – even if I had I wanted to, I probably would have sucked at it.