Al Davis

George Anderson, the longtime athletic trainer for the Oakland and Los Angeles Raiders who devised an innovative knee brace that became standard for football players, died Thursday in Santa Fe, N.M., his daughter Kristi Anderson Ornstein said. He was 82 and had Parkinson's disease and diabetes. FOR THE RECORD: George Anderson: The obituary of former Raiders athletic trainer George Anderson in the April 1 California section gave his age as 82. Anderson was born Jan. 23, 1929, and was 83 when he died March 29. The obituary also omitted his wife, Gailey Vollmer, from the list of survivors.

George Anderson, the longtime athletic trainer for the Oakland and Los Angeles Raiders who devised an innovative knee brace that became standard for football players, died Thursday in Santa Fe, N.M., his daughter Kristi Anderson Ornstein said. He was 82 and had Parkinson's disease and diabetes. FOR THE RECORD: George Anderson: The obituary of former Raiders athletic trainer George Anderson in the April 1 California section gave his age as 82. Anderson was born Jan. 23, 1929, and was 83 when he died March 29. The obituary also omitted his wife, Gailey Vollmer, from the list of survivors.

An hour before the game, Al Davis stands at the 50-yard line of the silent Coliseum, surveying the field through his sunglasses darkly, as if the world's fate were to be decided upon it. His bodyguards, two off-duty Los Angeles policemen dressed like assistant coaches, watch from a discreet distance. A small retinue of close friends from Oakland, who fly down faithfully for games, walks up to shake hands. Sometimes, Sam Bercovich, a kindly, spindly 73-year-old retired furniture dealer, actually runs onto the field for warmups with the defensive backs, a commitment to excellence in the geriatric extreme.

The Raiders have long been considered a candidate to relocate back to Los Angeles, and Tuesday new owner Mark Davis officially put them in play. Davis, son of late owner Al Davis, said it's essential that the Raiders get a new stadium and that the organization has had conversations with L.A. stadium groups. "The timetable is yesterday. So that's where it is. We've got to get a stadium. We've got to get that done," Davis said Tuesday at a news conference to introduce Reggie McKenzie as Raiders general manager.

Al Davis is like a bad drug habit. First he wants $30 million to keep the Raiders in Los Angeles. Now he wants us to destroy our nice old Colisuem. Tomorrow maybe he'll want $50 million and our firstborn. I say let him walk. JOSHUA ALPER Los Angeles

It's hard to think of Al Davis wearing anything but his all white or all black track suits and carrying a white towel. Years ago a group of reporters were waiting in the lobby of a Chicago hotel for NFL owners to emerge from one of their meetings. Several important issues were up for discussion. When Davis came out he was immediately surrounded, no one saying anything, as is often the case when the media sits back a little intimidated waiting for someone else to begin the questioning.

Al Davis was an early bloomer and a late riser. The NFL icon, who became the Oakland Raiders' head coach at 33, was known for keeping very late hours and making middle-of-the-night phone calls to football confidants and team employees. Agent Leigh Steinberg remembers getting those calls. "If my home phone would ring after midnight, I knew it would be Al," Steinberg said Saturday, hours after learning that Davis, 82, had died. "He would ask questions about every player I represented, every other team in the league, every college player I knew anything about.

Al Davis, the tough-minded owner of the Oakland Raiders who transformed a failing team into a three-time Super Bowl champion and one of the most successful franchises in professional football only to preside over its dramatic decline in recent years, died Saturday. He was 82. On their website, the Raiders confirmed the death of Davis, whose "Just win, baby!" motto underscored his desire to emerge victorious in every battle, whether it was on the field or in the courtroom. He had been ailing in recent years and did not travel to a Raiders game in Buffalo last month, only the second game he had missed since the team returned to Oakland in 1995.

So Al Davis is now suing the city of Oakland for $1 billion. This is the same Al Davis who let Jon Gruden leave for Tampa Bay after the 2001 season and saw Gruden's current team embarrass Davis' Raiders in the Super Bowl this year. I will say there is one thing that Al Davis did that turned out to be great for die-hard Denver Bronco fans like myself. If he hadn't fired Mike Shanahan as the Raider coach during the 1988 season, there's a very good chance that the Broncos may never have won the two Super Bowls that Shanahan's leadership helped us win. Michael Lipofsky Simi Valley

When Al Davis lets it fly, he really lets it fly. Morning Briefing moves aside like a San Diego safety today to make room for the Raider owner taking off on a variety of subjects Thursday. Coach-in-a-box: The 1988 hiring of Mike Shanahan, now coaching at Denver, was probably not his greatest decision, Davis admitted. "When he was here, he was just overwhelmed. "He's grown up now. He was so insecure when he was here (addressing the team), he made them put a box here so he'd seem taller."

Reporting from Alameda — Almost three decades before becoming coach of the Raiders, Hue Jackson turned his back on NFL football. And he was paid to do so. Jackson, a tough but levelheaded kid from South Los Angeles, was one of those yellow-jacketed security guards at L.A. Raiders games in the 1980s. His job was to stand at field level at the Coliseum, facing away from the game, and scan the stands for unruly fans. There were plenty of those, although he concedes he was a bit halfhearted in carrying out his assignment.

Reporting from Alameda, Calif. — It's obviously an off week for the Oakland Raiders because Coach Hue Jackson was wearing a maroon sweat suit Thursday when meeting up with a reporter at team headquarters. That's not standard attire in the land of Silver & Black. "Sorry about the outfit," Jackson said. "Just grabbed the first thing out of my closet. " The colors aren't changing, but the Raiders undeniably are a franchise in flux. They have a new owner — the late Al Davis has been replaced by his son, Mark — a first-year coach, and a just-acquired quarterback in Carson Palmer.

Westward whoa! The four teams from the left-hand coast found themselves in the left-hand column Sunday, as Oakland, San Francisco, San Diego and Seattle put up big victories in locales all over the NFL map. The Raiders, a day after the death of owner Al Davis, beat the first-place Texans in Houston, 25-20, and now have a winning record. Oakland hasn't been above .500 this late in the season since 2002. In a battle of 3-1 teams, the 49ers crushed Tampa Bay, 48-3.

Al Davis, the tough-minded owner of the Oakland Raiders who transformed a failing team into a three-time Super Bowl champion and one of the most successful franchises in professional football only to preside over its dramatic decline in recent years, died Saturday. He was 82. On their website, the Raiders confirmed the death of Davis, whose "Just win, baby!" motto underscored his desire to emerge victorious in every battle, whether it was on the field or in the courtroom. He had been ailing in recent years and did not travel to a Raiders game in Buffalo last month, only the second game he had missed since the team returned to Oakland in 1995.

Al Davis was an early bloomer and a late riser. The NFL icon, who became the Oakland Raiders' head coach at 33, was known for keeping very late hours and making middle-of-the-night phone calls to football confidants and team employees. Agent Leigh Steinberg remembers getting those calls. "If my home phone would ring after midnight, I knew it would be Al," Steinberg said Saturday, hours after learning that Davis, 82, had died. "He would ask questions about every player I represented, every other team in the league, every college player I knew anything about.

It's hard to think of Al Davis wearing anything but his all white or all black track suits and carrying a white towel. Years ago a group of reporters were waiting in the lobby of a Chicago hotel for NFL owners to emerge from one of their meetings. Several important issues were up for discussion. When Davis came out he was immediately surrounded, no one saying anything, as is often the case when the media sits back a little intimidated waiting for someone else to begin the questioning.

The question has lingered in the air for years: What happens to the Raiders when Al Davis dies? Because the organization is so shrouded in secrecy, we can only piece together a partial picture, though Davis has said for years that his succession plan will keep the team in his family — with his wife, Carol, and son, Mark. In 2006, when asked who might run the team when he was gone, Davis said Amy Trask, Raiders chief executive, would certainly have a role and that Hall of Fame coach John Madden might be involved too. "That's if I don't outlive them…," Davis said, changing the subject.

Al Davis is dead? It can't be true. I know the Oakland Raiders confirmed it Saturday morning, but you know how Davis loved to deceive, so anything is possible. It would not be surprising to see him show up Sunday in Houston, glaring down at his raucous team from behind press-box glass, wringing his bony hands, tightening his taut jaw, the emperor of black football and white satin. Or maybe he will just appear next week in Oakland, shuffling in front of a camera to fire an offensive coordinator, sign a renegade quarterback or simply rip Lane Kiffin again.