John Madden...

Former players full of praise for Madden


By Jim Gehman


(July 27, 2006) -- Before becoming "Madden," the broadcasting and video game icon, he was known as John Madden, the head coach of the Oakland Raiders. On Aug. 5, however, he'll become known as a member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame as well.

During the 10 seasons he patrolled the sideline from 1969-78, the Silver and Black compiled a 103-32-7 record, advanced to seven AFL or AFC Championship Games and earned the Super Bowl XI title. Upon hearing the news last February that he would be enshrined, Madden attributed his success to the men who wore the uniforms.


"The game isn't about a lot of stuff on the outside," he said. "It's about players and I had great players. They all made this possible. As a coach, if you ever start to think any other way than that, you're off base."

"I think John's just being honest. That's the way he felt," former Raiders running back Pete Banaszak said. "You know, he was hard on us. He wasn't easy. You've got to keep in mind that the guys he had to work with were some of the strangest guys that came down the pike in pro football. They weren't all normal. I guess that's the easy way to put it. But he worked with us. He didn't give us many rules, but the rules he had, we had to keep. One of those rules was you'd better play like hell on Sunday or your ass is out of there."

"John understands that it's the players that do it and has always been quick to recognize that," says former Raiders offensive tackle John Vella. "I think some coaches and some commentators and some writers sometimes forget that. They give way too much credit to coaches. And some coaches get carried away with themselves and think they're the show. You could draw up all the X's and O's that you want, but you'd better have people to execute them or you're not going to be such a genius and you're not going to be considered a great coach."

Given that Madden's bust will be displayed in the Canton, Ohio, shrine, it's fair to say that he was a great coach. But why? What made him so remarkable?

"John was a players' coach because he made your life easy," said former Raiders linebacker Phil Villapiano. "Pro football is so hard mentally and physically. It's just such a battle to stay healthy and stay focused and stay everything. Unless you're a player, you don't know that. John helped you. He made it fun. He made it challenging. Rewarding. All the good things. He didn't bog you down with how to wear a tie and jacket. How to eat the same food. All the bull---- things that add more stress to the experience. We didn't have any of those bull---- things.

"John Madden was pretty much the way he is on TV when he coached. So what you see is what you get. But if there is a thing that people from the outside didn't know, it's that John was such a good psychiatrist. He could feel when you needed the pat on the back or when you needed the kick in the a--. He's a lot of fun on TV, but John knew sometimes he needed to turn up the juice and he wasn't so much fun. John handled everybody individually and then he handled us all as the Raiders."


John Madden has earned the respect of many of his former players, including current Raiders coach Art Shell.

Former Raiders quarterback Ken Stabler agrees: "It really wasn't the X's and the O's or offense or defense or the kicking game, although he understood that. He knew all phases of the game very well and he knew how to coach all phases of the game, but I always thought that his strong suit on our team was the way that he handled the entire team. John just had a knack of being able to handle the whole group and keep us focused. He was just a perfect personality and perfect demeanor to handle our team and get the most out of us, which he did. We really appreciated the way that he gave us an awful lot of room on the field and off the field to be whatever we wanted to be. We respected him for that and played really hard for him."

"John's a very serious person. He took football real serious, but he's got another side to him that a lot of people don't know," adds Banaszak. "He's got empathy for people. He treats people like he would like to be treated. He wanted the best for us. And we had the best of everything. That was his part of the deal. And what he just asked in return was 100 percent out of us. He demanded that.

"He always told us that you've got to play football with emotion, with enthusiasm. And he was very emotional. There were a lot of times in the locker room where we went through some tough things: 'The Immaculate Reception,' the fumble in Denver, the lateral against the New York Jets. A lot of times, I don't know if a coach can find anything to say to a team after that in the locker room, but he found something to say. His voice cracked up a lot of times, but he always kept his composure. He was a leader. He was our leader."

While Madden was instrumental to his players' on-field success, he was also influential with some of their post-playing careers.

"John was a great, great, great players' coach," said former Raiders running back Terry Robiskie, Cleveland's receivers coach and one-time head coach of the Washington Redskins. "If John Madden said to me, 'Terry, I need you to stand on the top post of the Golden Gate Bridge and jump!' I was going to jump. I wasn't going to ask him why. I was going to say, 'Are you going to give me a ride to the bridge?'

"John taught me that it was great to be a coach, it was great to be tough, but it was also wonderful to love your players and have them love you back. He also taught me that it was great to make sure that your players understood you were a man and you were going to treat them like a man. You had dignity and you were going to treat them with dignity. He made me understand that we're all going to succeed together, we're all going to fail together, but however we go, we're going together."
 
MADDEN CANTON-IZED
Legend excited about imminent Hall induction

Bill Soliday



IT MAY BE hard to fathom, but at one time John Madden might not have felt like the football guy the world seems to love.

Thirty years ago on the evening of Jan. 4, 1976, the Oakland Raiders were returning from a 16-10 championship-game loss to the hated Steelers in Pittsburgh. There were perhaps a thousand fans crowding the lobby of the Oakland Airport to greet the team.

Long faces were everywhere. It had been the third time in four years the Raiders had been eliminated by the team known as the Steel Curtain.

Slipping through the throng, the Raiders coach was walking next to a reporter. Madden glanced up at fans crowded together on the balcony, then offered a recommendation.

"Uh, I don't think I'd stand too close to me if I were you," he told the reporter.

At the time, Madden could be excused if he felt he was closer to a bullet than the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

"Oh yeah, I remember," he said 30 years later. "But we had great fans. When you lose a playoff game, it's so tough because of the finality of it."

Madden chuckled. Those fans, he said, weren't vicious. Just serious.

Serious about a team that hadyet to win a Super Bowl. That would come a year later. Until it finally happened Madden, as well as his team, were on the spot. Bridesmaids, never the bride.

Madden, the garrulous coach with the red hair and the emotional and fiery personality to match, the local guy from Daly City, the "squire of Pleasanton," as the first of his ghost writers, Walt Hecox, branded him, was supposedly too conservative, may have been a winner but couldn't win the big one.

Until he did. That was in 1977. A beer commercial, two decades in the announcer's booth, a video game with his name on it, a video production company and a litany of good will and family civic largess later, he is a legend, not just in Pleasanton or Canton.

John Madden is now the man everybody would like to stand next to.

He is everyman who made good and made everybody else feel good while he was doing it. He's finally going to a spot reserved for football's best and brightest. Saturday in Canton, Ohio, the legend on the steps of the Hall of Fame receiving long overdue acclaim. There, his bronze bust will reside.

Not even the bad old days of being on the spot waiting to win the big one can diminish that.

"The highs were so many more than the lows when I was coaching," he said.

Crying game


Madden says he's not sure how high his emotions will rise on his big day.

"I think it's going to hit the hell out of me," he said with a laugh. "I've felt excited, I've felt passionate. Nervous was never one of them."

Then, six weeks ago, he was watching the NFL Network on TV. The induction of Dan Marino and Steve Young was being replayed.

"I thought 'oh shoot, in a month I am going to be up there doing this,'" Madden said, acknowledging a knocking of his knees. "(At) a party Art Shell and Willie Brown (former Madden players who are already in the Hall of Fame and now are head and assistant coaches with the team) were kidding me about it. They always have a bet on who cries when they are speaking at the thing.

"Well, I admit I am going to. Who'd bet against it? That's a battle I know I can't win. When you know you can't win a battle, you may as well admit it, go along with it and enjoy it."

Madden has a backup plan.

"Jackie Slater (another Raiders assistant coach and Hall of Famer) told me he didn't break down," Madden said. "He had allergies. So I don't know. I may have allergy problems back there in Ohio."

The country knows Madden. He's not just a pitch man for beer, a likable color commentator or the face on a computer game. When he coached, nobody won as regularly.

His coaching career was short, just 10 years. But that decade was epoch. His record remains the best in NFL history — 103-32-7, a winning percentage of .759. There were seven AFC Western Division titles and a Super Bowl win

following the 1976 season.

Given that record, why did it take 27 years for Madden to reach Canton? Madden shrugs and insists he's not sure. He says he's been approached by people who said they thought he was already in the Hall.

"I was a finalist 27 years ago," he said. "At that time, people said they didn't know if I was going to come back (and coach) or not. They didn't want to put me in the Hall of Fame, then have me come back and coach again."

He retired from coaching in 1979 due to illness. He was sick of airplane travel.

He played his college ball at Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo and was an assistant coach there when the Mustangs' plane went down in 1960, killing 22 of 46 passengers, 16 of them players.

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Madden wasn't on board. He had stayed behind to coach a JV game at Hancock College. But 10 years flying in the NFL was all he could take.

Trains, bus the way to go


To make it through Raiders flights, he would sit in misery in the front seat of first class on the team charter, often with a towel draped over his head, a futile effort to make it all go away. Trains and his personal bus, the "Madden Cruiser," worked better for him.

He hasn't been on a plane since the Sunday after Thanksgiving in






1979.

"It was the third time I had a panic attack," he said. "The flight attendant closed the door and that feeling came over me. I said, 'If I get through this, I'll never get on another airplane as long as I live.' I got to Houston, got off the plane, took a train home and haven't been on a plane since."

His coaching record is

second to none, but his work as an announcer also has been studded with success. He has won an unprecedented 15 Emmy Awards for Outstanding Sports Analyst/Personality. He was, after Howard Cosell, Mr. Monday Night Football.

Madden may be one person the world has come to know and love, almost like a neighbor. But it isn't just because of the TV recognition. When he retired, he said some of the nicest letters he received came from Pittsburgh and Kansas City, where he had been soundly booed.

His announcing legacy is such that Madden has struggled with his own feelings. He told this paper five years ago he did not want to be inducted because of his media work — as a pro football "contributor."

"I don't even know what that is," he said. "Do they get a special wing?"

He said as far as he was concerned, he would go in as a coach or not at all. As it worked out, he is going in as a coach.

"It wasn't a big thing, I just didn't want to get things separated," he said. "I just felt I fit in the category of coach or player."

His patience paid off


Madden said he never threw up his hands in frustration at not being inducted.

"I said to myself, 'you can't control it.' There is nothing you can do about it, so just don't think about it. Don't get excited every year. If it is going to happen, it will and if it doesn't, it won't. You live with that. You just hang in there."

For the last 10 years, Madden wasn't even on the list of finalists. However, retired San Francisco Chronicle football writer Ira Miller, a Hall of Fame selector and a media wing Hall member himself, went to bat for Madden in the selection meeting last February in Detroit. Another Bay Area-based selector, Frank Cooney, had been fighting a losing battle on Madden's behalf for years.

"After a while they stop listening," Cooney said. "They needed to hear a new voice. Ira picked up the ball. He gets the credit."

Madden says the fact that coaching was his vehicle for entry is huge.

"Everything that has gone on in my life has been because of coaching," he said. "Even in all the broadcasting years, I've always considered myself a coach who broadcasts, not a broadcaster who used to be a coach."

Madden may have best summed up his feelings headed for Canton.

"If a guy my size can float, I am floating," he said.

Madden's former players rank among those happiest to see it finally happen. Hall of Fame receiver Fred Biletnikoff says it goes beyond the team's dominance. He says Madden was a unique coach — more a people person than a manipulator.

"He legitimately cared about people," he said. "He knew how to handle people. They weren't just football players, they were human beings, too. He was able to get something out of every player (because) he understood what every guy was like. That was a big asset that we all appreciated. He took time to know each one of us, knew all our little idiosyncrasies."

The MVP of Madden's Super Bowl winning team, Biletnikoff concedes that as a player, he was no walk in the park.

"I really wasn't," he said. "There were times I gave John a lot of hard problems. Thank God I had somebody like John to coach me because he really handled me well through tough times and through my little tirades. And I apologize for them, John. I know it wasn't easy."

Next Saturday, those allergies will probably hit John Madden, who says his life has been one big blessing.

"I've never worked a day in my life," he said. "I just had fun. I've been in recess all my life. I'll tell you, life doesn't get any better than this."

Consider: In east Dublin, several miles from his Pleasanton residence, there is a new street called Madden Way.

"That was Mike's doing," Madden said, referring to one of his two sons. "Mike and Guy Houston, (former) mayor of Dublin, were involved in the Kaleidoscope program, an after-school thing for kids in Dublin. It was part of that, a donation, naming streets.

"Virginia (Madden's wife) and I went looking for it and couldn't find it. But I see that on Madden Way, a home sold for like $1.3 million. Gee, it must be a pretty fancy street."

Graced with the name of a man who may not be fancy himself but who next week joins some pretty fancy company.
 
Raiders remember that Madden magic

Ron Kroichick
Sunday, July 30, 2006


Long before he slapped his name on video games, long before he offered his candid and entertaining analysis from the broadcast booth, John Madden was a wildly successful football coach.

Madden, 70, will be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame on Aug. 5 because he guided the Raiders on a prosperous, decade-long journey. He served as Oakland's head coach from 1969-78, a 10-year stretch during which the Raiders never had a losing season, reached the playoffs eight times and won one Super Bowl.

Those seasons did not always end on an upbeat note: Madden's teams lost in the AFL or AFC Championship Game six times. But the Raiders had a regular-season record of 103-32-7 under Madden, a .759 winning percentage that still ranks as the highest ever among coaches with at least 100 victories.

Video clips from those long-ago days often show Madden animatedly raging along the sideline, an enduring image that tells only part of his story. As Madden's coronation in Canton, Ohio, draws near, The Chronicle contacted several former Raiders to collect their memories of playing for Madden.

What emerged was the portrait of a passionate, demonstrative, straightforward coach who clearly connected with his players.

Phil Villapiano (linebacker, 1971-79): "John Madden was the f -- ing best, man. If you want to play in the NFL, you want to play for John. Everyone else was Little League. He loved outrageousness and he appreciated it when you worked your ass off. It was the job you always wanted, because you just had to do the job. No BS. No politics. No backstabbing. That's why I loved playing for him. He just let me play football. I always felt like I could play forever with the Raiders, as long as I played well."

Ken Stabler (quarterback, 1970-79): "I've always said John's strong suit as a coach was how he handled players. He knew football, of course, but we had such a group of free spirits, with different egos and different lifestyles. He acknowledged the fact it was a diverse group. ... I always remember John's two rules: Be on time and play hard. There were no dress codes, no haircut rules. Because he treated us that way, nobody abused it."

Raymond Chester (tight end, 1970-72 and 1978-81): "I feel like I had a very special relationship with John, both professionally and personally. The trick is, most players on our team felt like they had a special relationship with him. That's a bit of magic, when every player feels like they have the connection."

Fred Biletnikoff (wide receiver, 1965-78): "He was really aware of each one of us -- our personalities, what got us motivated, our temperaments, our egos. He was unique, because a lot of head coaches don't go to that point. He created an easy atmosphere to play in."

Willie Brown (cornerback, 1967-78): "When you have a good team, as we did, a good coach gives the players a little freedom. John liked for us to be in before curfew, but he also knew certain players would probably be out after curfew. He didn't want to know about it; he'd say, 'Just don't tell me.' He wasn't as concerned as much as the players thought he would be concerned."

Lester Hayes (cornerback, 1977-86): "There are men who can speak to you on Sunday mornings and your pulse rate rises. That's a very unique gift coach Madden had. The pregame speeches were so powerful I thought I could run through a brick wall. ... He would speak about war, and it would sound so good I thought I was listening to the second coming of General George S. Patton. It was like that every week. Coach Madden could speak to us in such a positive fashion, we thought we could not be beaten."

Villapiano: "John always found something to hate. I loved it when he hated the other team's coach. He would get us fired up in his pregame speech, like he took it personally, and then we'd go out and kick their ass. One of the worst things for me was when I started going to the Pro Bowl and I found out I kind of liked these guys (on other teams). Madden had me hating all these players, and they were actually pretty nice guys."

Cliff Branch (wide receiver, 1972-85): "John would say some of the funniest things. I remember one time in Kansas City, they had a horse called War Paint who would run around the field every time the Chiefs scored a touchdown. We went there and they beat us something like 42-10. We came back Monday to watch film, and John came storming through the door and said, 'Damn, we tried to kill that horse!' "

Dave Casper (tight end, 1974-80): "John probably spoke less to the team than most head coaches I've had. He really only talked to us (as a team) twice a week. He limited his presentations to important things, so he had a great ability to focus people on what was important. ... The coach has two customers, the players and the fans. Some coaches get it backward and try to entertain the players and coach the fans. John got it right -- he coached the players and entertained the fans."

Jim Otto (center, 1960-74): "John was very intense. He got up in front of us and told us where we were going and what we were doing. He also inspired us to the point where we knew how to win, and we should just get out there and do it. John came on as a very young coach -- he was only a year and a half older than I was -- but he was a leader and he was taking us places."

Art Shell (offensive tackle, 1968-82): "We were getting ready to play Denver one week, and anybody knows if you walk around in Denver, you feel it (given the altitude). So John was jumping on us about, 'You guys gotta take care of yourselves, I expect you to be in much better shape than you have been.' ... So we talked about getting in shape and all of a sudden during the game John starts hyperventilating. He got excited about something and the next thing you know, the players come off the field and who's on the oxygen tank? It's big John. We gave him a hard time. 'You talk about us being in shape, look at you. We can't even get to the oxygen tank because of you.' "

Brown: "One game against Pittsburgh, we were behind at halftime and John was trying to find a way to motivate us. He came into the locker room, and there was this big old trash barrel in the middle of the room. He slammed his hand on it and his watch broke into pieces. He just picked up his watch and kept walking. He went into the training room, because he had hurt his hand."

Stabler: "He was so young, he was almost like one of the guys. It was like playing for your big brother. I think his age helped a lot -- that and the fact he had so much confidence in us. He let us be the people we wanted to be off the field, and he let us be the players we wanted to be on the field."

Jim Plunkett (quarterback, 1978-86): "John's a much more serious guy than he comes across. He was a yeller and screamer during practices and games, and that's the image everybody has of him. But he's very articulate, very smart, and he's very serious a lot of the time."

Villapiano: "John's greatest attribute was as a psychologist. He knew exactly what to tell you. I'll never forget when they brought in Ted Hendricks from Green Bay. Back then, the compensation for a free agent was usually another player. I read in the paper that morning that I was going to Green Bay as compensation for Ted. I was really depressed. I get to practice and John puts his arm around me and says, 'I read the story this morning, and I just want you to know, Don't worry about it.' It made me feel like a million bucks. I don't know if every head coach would have done that."

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cont'd...

Jack Tatum (safety, 1971-79): "I remember when I had knee surgery and rehabbed over the offseason. About the second day of training camp, I twisted my knee again. John told me to come out early in the morning, do my rehab and lift weights, and then disappear (before practice). He realized my knee wasn't ready for my style of play. So for the next four or five weeks, I'd lift and everything and then I'd disappear. I think he let me play a quarter in the last exhibition game, and then I started in the regular season opener. Everything worked out, and I appreciated John giving me the time to recover."

Mark van Eeghen (running back, 1974-81): "We didn't like the Broncos, and we lost to them in the AFC title game after the '77 season and again in the '78 opener. We were watching film the next day in Alameda, and those were the days of reel-to-reel film, click-click-click. I completely screwed up this one play, totally missed my block, and it led to a fumble. John must have clicked 12 times showing that play. Then he takes the reel off the projector, throws it across the room and shouts, 'Get on the (bleeping) field and practice!' He was very angry. On the field, John took me aside and thanked me for playing one of my better games. Then he said, 'That one play sucked. I took advantage of it to motivate the team.' He told me why he did it, and he knew I wouldn't hold a grudge. He went out of his way to square things with me. That spoke volumes."

Hayes: "In 1977, I was almost in tears begging Coach Madden to allow me to play strong safety. I said, 'Please, I cannot play cornerback.' And he stood there besides the bench biting on a towel, laughing. Coach tells me, 'Son, your 40-yard dash time is 4.38, you can play bump-and-run.' There are men who tell you that you can do something and you believe it. I believed it because it was Coach Madden who told me I could play cornerback. He planted the positive seed."

Casper: "One time we had a guy on the practice field who was not going to make the team, this guy was acting like a real jerk. I remember thinking it might be cool to cut him right in front of the team, because he was such a jerk. I told John, 'You should cut the guy right here.' He said, 'Everybody deserves some respect and dignity.' Even though there might have been the urge (for the player) to pay in public, John wanted to do it in a way that was not belittling. That kind of taught me something."

Brown: "A couple of times, he would chew a player out and then he'd wink at me and say, 'How'd I do?' He was just trying to get guys motivated."

Villapiano: "I remember one game against New England in 1978, I had a (bad) game. John looked at me square in the eye the next day and said, 'You lost it.' He knew. I hadn't played that bad since Pop Warner. I'll never forget him saying that to me. He knew when a player (messed) up and he confronted you. He knew every position better than the players themselves."

Chester: "John was brilliant as a field general. We rarely, if ever, made a mental or technical mistake under John Madden. We didn't lose track of field position and we didn't lose track of timeouts. He was a guy totally into the game and totally in control of what was happening."

Casper: "I don't think John's skill was outmaneuvering the other team. It was getting his team to do what we did very well. His strategy was not to confuse his own team and make sure our players did their jobs. We didn't have a complex system. But we made very few fundamental mistakes. That was his style -- don't make mistakes, play hard and don't give in. We did the right things at critical times."

Stabler: "He knew all phases of the game: offense, defense, special teams. He understood all the Xs and Os and he understood matchups -- how to get Cliff Branch's speed on people, how to get (Raymond) Chester and Casper in the middle of the field. ... I learned a hell of a lot from John. He was just a guy you wanted to win for."

Otto: "It just seemed if we were having problems in the first half, we came out of the locker room in the second half and knew exactly what we were doing. That's why we won so many times late in the game. We had the confidence we could go out in the second half, with what the coaches told us at halftime, and beat anybody. We'd play five or six quarters if we had to, but we were going to win."

Plunkett: "When I first came to the Raiders, we always had Wednesday night quarterback meetings, me and David Humm and Kenny Stabler. It was supposed to last from seven (o'clock) to nine or whatever, and it invariably lasted 35 to 40 minutes. We'd watch some film, John would talk about the game, talk about a few things, and then he'd get up and say, 'Ah, screw it. Just block, tackle, catch the ball, win. Now go home.' "

Otto: "When John retired from the game, I talked to him a little about what he was going to do. He mentioned he hoped to do a little announcing, a little of this, a little of that. The first game he announced, I remember hearing him and thinking, 'He's not going anyplace else.' "

Biletnikoff: "He's very deserving of going into the Hall of Fame. We were always contenders, every year, and that was largely because of him. I'm very proud I played for him for so many years. He had great passion for the Raiders, and he did a hell of a job to get us motivated. It was just fun playing for him. He handled crises that came up; a lot of times he bit his tongue and waited for us to cool down."

Hayes: "When coach Madden led the Raiders, the Raiders always won. That legacy was a beautiful thing. The players knew there was a 99.9 chance of us being victorious, and it was a great feeling."
 
Madden's Long Journey To Hall Nearly Complete

IRA KAUFMAN

Published: Jul 30, 2006


John Madden is used to taking the long way home, but this is ridiculous.

Twenty-eight years after Madden's final season lumbering along the Oakland sidelines - chest heaving and shirttail flapping - he finally has made it to pro football's shrine of excellence.

As part of the Pro Football Hall of Fame's Class of 2006, Madden will be presented in Canton on Saturday by Al Davis, the 77-year-old architect of the silver and black. In 1992, it was Madden who was chosen by Davis to introduce the Raiders owner on his long overdue enshrinement day.

During his golden decade as Raiders coach (1969-78), Madden went 103-32-7 during the regular season and 9-7 in the playoffs. The 1976 club earned Davis the first of his three Super Bowl rings and Madden's .759 career winning percentage in the regular season is the best for any NFL coach with at least 100 wins.

That's right, better than Shula, Noll, Landry and Walsh.

So what took so long for the man who will not fly to land among the giants?

Madden, who turned 70 in April, was a Hall of Fame finalist in 1985, then waited more than two decades to make the final 15 list again, courtesy of the Senior Committee.

As Tampa Bay's representative on the Hall of Fame Committee, I was surprised to hear much opposition to Madden's nomination when the 39-member panel met the morning before Super Bowl XL in Detroit.

Only his accomplishments as an NFL coach were considered, although Madden also has sturdy credentials to make it to Canton as a contributor, considering his announcing career and the role of the Madden football game in popularizing the sport.

Some voters were turned off by Madden's relatively brief career as a head coach. Others felt he should have won more than one championship.

If the '76 Raiders hadn't won it all, thumping Noll's Steelers along the way, Madden's circuitous journey to Canton would have been even tougher to complete.

"The next week, I was at a banquet and Roger Staubach was there," Madden said of that 32-14 Super Bowl romp against the Vikings in Pasadena, Calif. "He came up and shook my hand and said, 'They can never say you can't win the big one again for the rest of your life.' When you win the Super Bowl, that eliminates all your 'Yeah, but's.'"

Now, coaches like Marty Schottenheimer and Tony Dungy are hearing the whispers and the "Yeah, but" remarks that Madden faced heading into his eighth Oakland season. It surely helped that Madden coached six Hall of Fame players in 1976 - Fred Biletnikoff, Willie Brown, Dave Casper, Ted Hendricks, Art Shell and Gene Upshaw.

Madden expects a large contingent of family and friends Saturday when Davis approaches the podium and inducts a beloved Raider.

"If a guy my size can float, I'm floating," Madden said. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I've never really had a job. Pro football has been my life since 1967 and I've enjoyed every part of it. Never once did it ever feel like work."

When a narrow loss to the Jets in the 1968 AFL title game sealed John Rauch's fate in Oakland, Davis tabbed an obscure 32-year-old assistant as the new Raider coach.

Madden's inaugural season ended with a 17-7 home loss to the Chiefs in the final game ever played in the American Football League. There would be more playoff disappointments ahead before Davis and Madden brandished that elusive Vince Lombardi Trophy.

When Madden found out he was heading to Canton, he never thought twice about an appropriate presenter.

"Al Davis and I have been together for 40 years," said Madden, who will team with Al Michaels this fall on NBC's slate of Sunday night broadcasts. "He stood behind me for 10 years. He's just the guy it has to be."

One thing we know for sure is that Madden won't be flying into Ohio next weekend. He may declare himself to be floating, but in reality Madden hasn't been airborne since November 1979, when he boarded a flight after working a game at Tampa Stadium with Pat Summerall.

"I had a flight from Tampa to Houston to San Francisco," he said. "It was the third time I had a panic attack. I got to Houston, got off the plane and took a train home. I haven't been on a plane since."

On Saturday, he won't need one to touch the sky.
 
Madden to Go Into Hall of Fame As Coach

CONNOR ENNIS


NEW YORK -- Before the video games, the athlete's foot commercials, the announcing booth and the six-legged Thanksgiving turkeys, John Madden was a football coach.

And, as Madden the announcer might put it, he was a pretty darn good one.


On Saturday, Madden will enter the Pro Football Hall of Fame 28 years after coaching his final game, recognition some might say is long overdue for a man that has become, especially for PlayStation lovers, the face and voice of the NFL.

"It means everything to me," said Madden, who was elected by the Seniors Committee. "It's just something that humbles you and excites you more than you've ever been excited."

Madden was only 32 when Al Davis hired him to coach the Oakland Raiders in 1969. Before leaving the sideline for the announcing booth in 1978, Madden led Oakland to a 103-32-7 regular-season record and a victory in the 1977 Super Bowl. Oakland never had a losing record under Madden, winning seven division titles and making the playoffs eight times.

Current broadcast partner Al Michaels likens Madden's short career as a coach to that of Hall of Fame pitcher Sandy Koufax. Only Hall of Fame coaches George Halas and Curly Lambeau reached 100 wins faster than Madden. His .759 regular-season winning percentage stands as the highest ever among coaches with 100 career victories.

And his Raiders teams stand as some of the most successful, and colorful, in league history.

With players such as Ken Stabler, Fred Biletnikoff, Gene Upshaw, Art Shell and Willie Brown, the Silver and Black had plenty of talent -- and maybe even more attitude. Even Davis, the team's owner, was brash, proclaiming his mantra to "Just win, baby."

While some coaches Madden's age -- he was one of the youngest head coaches in league history when he was hired -- may have been intimidated by the cast of characters, it played right into Madden's strength.

"I always thought his strong suit was his style of coaching," said Stabler, the team's quarterback. "John just had a great knack for letting us be what we wanted to be, on the field and off the field. ... How do you repay him for being that way? You win for him."

Madden was never revered as a master tactician. Stabler said "he basically pitched me the playbook and said go play," letting the quarterback lead the offense. But he was at his best when relating to his players, often seeming more like a friend than a coach as a result of his age and demeanor.

"Players loved playing for him," said Shell, now in his second stint as Raiders coach. "He made it fun for us in camp and fun for us in the regular season. All he asked is that we be on time and play like hell when it was time to play."

Said Madden: "Sometimes guys were disciplinarians in things that didn't make any difference. I was a disciplinarian in jumping offsides, I hated that. Being in bad position and missing tackles, those things. I wasn't 'Your hair has to be combed.'"

But what his players saw as a coach letting them be themselves, some observers saw as a young coach simply trying to not mess with a formidable collection of talent.

It may be one of the reasons Madden had to wait nearly three decades to enter the Hall. Another, at least in the beginning, was the possibility he could return to coaching, which he left in part because of a fear of flying. That led to the Madden Cruiser becoming part of modern sports lexicon.

"It was one of those things that you cannot control so you try not to worry about it," Madden said of the long delay before he was elected. "But to say you don't think about it would be a bunch of baloney. Twenty-seven years ago I was a finalist and one of the reasons they said I didn't make it was because they said they were afraid that I was going to go back into coaching and not stay retired, so they wanted to make sure."

Apparently they're sure now.
 

Few Could Play With Oakland
Tuesday, August 1, 2006

JOSH WEIR



Oakland Raiders Head Coach John Madden argues with an official during the 1975 season as quarterback Kenny Stabler (12) relaxes nearby. Madden’s emotional demeanor blended well with a team full of talented, yet rebellious, misfits.


They were football’s version of Motley Crue, a band of renegades who played and partied with equal ferocity.

Even to this day, the legend of the 1970s Oakland Raiders lives on, a “Behind the Music” episode NFL-style.

“I don’t know. Some of it may be exaggerated,” said former quarterback Kenny “The Snake” Stabler, ringleader of the Raiders circus.

“Then again, some of it may not be exaggerated enough.”

At the center of this madness was John Madden, Oakland’s head coach for 10 seasons starting in 1969. Madden manned the asylum for a decade and produced eight playoff appearances, seven division titles and a Super Bowl XI win.

For Madden, it always came down to playing on Sunday. He liked the guys who were a little different — as long as they were ready on game day.

“You don’t want characters just because they’re characters — ‘Boy I got a whole bunch of characters, none of them can play football, but they’re funnier than hell,’ ” Madden said. “I got Ted Hendricks, who was a great player, a Hall of Fame player. Now, he’s a character. I liked that, too.”

Madden had characters of all kinds.

In a series of stories he wrote for ESPN.com’s Page 2, former Raider defensive lineman Pat Toomay said, “The joke was that you didn’t have to be a convicted felon to play for the Raiders, but it helped.”

A bunch of choir boys, these guys weren’t.

There was “The Assassin” Jack Tatum, who Toomay said, looked like “Genghis Kahn with an afro.” Tatum is considered one of the most vicious hitters in football history. He was joined in the defensive backfield by George Atkinson, whom Pittsburgh coach Chuck Noll said was “part of the criminal element” after a brutal shot on receiver Lynn Swann.

Tatum and Atkinson used to put money into a pot. First person to knock someone out took home the cash.

“They had some late-hitters, no question,” Kansas City Hall of Famer and Alliance native Len Dawson said. “They would take their late shots at quarterbacks, in particular me.”

Whether it was Ben Davidson spearing him in the back or Otis Sistrunk punching him in the jaw, Dawson knew to be ready. If he threw an interception, Dawson expected three Raiders to be coming at him for a free shot.

The game wasn’t just about skill and strategy; it was about survival.

“We were going into the trenches,” Dawson said. “Bring your brass knuckles and billy club.

“Even for (Chiefs coach Hank) Stram it was different. On Tuesday, he’d say, ‘It’s Raider week.’ He never said it was ‘Jet week’ or ‘Charger week.’ This was something special. It was Raider week.”

The Raiders did some brutal things on the field and some crazy things off of it.

At cornerback there was “Dr. Death” Skip Thomas, who Madden found at training camp one year ready to jump a fence on his motorcycle. For safety purposes, Thomas was wearing his Raiders helmet.

Hendricks came to the Raiders in 1975. He showed up at practice on Halloween one year with a pumpkin on his head. Another time, he rode to practice on a horse.

There was 6-foot-8, 300-pound defensive lineman John Matuszak, who Toomay said was “wasted” for the 1977 AFC championship game in Denver. When asked why he cut Matuszak from Washington prior to the 1976 season, coach George Allen replied, “Vodka and Valium, the breakfast of champions.”

Many believe Madden was the perfect coach. He let men be who they were. He didn’t weigh them down with a ton of rules, saying, “The fewer rules a coach has, the fewer rules there are for players to break.”

As a result, Oakland had a chemistry that was matched by few teams in pro football.

“We never felt like we had character issues. That was from people on the outside,” tackle Art Shell said. “We felt like everything was normal. When a player from another team came in (who) was considered a renegade, we welcomed him in as one of the guys.”

Jim Otto, last of the original Raiders from their 1960 team, put it a different way.

“However you were labeled,” he said, “you were loved when you became a Raider.”

Lost in the insanity was the foundation of the team. Madden pointed to Shell and Otto, along with Gene Upshaw, Willie Brown, Dave Casper and Fred Biletnikoff — all Hall of Famers — as stabilizing forces.

“When a character would come in, he didn’t lead the band,” Madden said. “The band was being led by a pretty solid group of guys.”

Ron Wolf, a scout for the Raiders from 1963-75, maintains owner Al Davis let people believe the outlaw legend.

“The Raiders had a lot of class on that team,” Wolf said. “Sure, they had a few rogues running around in the locker room, but they also had some really solid people in there. The loose cannons didn’t affect the team.”

Most of those characters will get together at Skyland Pines this weekend to celebrate their coach’s induction. Maybe time has settled them down.

“I’m in charge of curfew,” Stabler said with a laugh. “It’s my job to kick the bushes and make sure everyone gets in at a decent hour.”
 
Former Mustang Madden on way to Hall of Fame
Madden at the top of his game

Cam Inman

It’s early November 1966 and John Madden sits on a bench outside San Diego State’s noisy locker room.

He’s scheming in peace, a young defensive coordinator plotting the perfect formula to outsmart top-ranked North Dakota State.

"So I’m sitting on the bench, and Al Davis comes up. He was there scouting for the Raiders," Madden recently recalled in an exclusive interview with the Contra Costa Times. "He sat down next to me and started off asking, `What are you doing?’"

For the next hour, Madden and Davis talked football, throwing out terms such as "split T" and "hit the gap."

So it began, a relationship that blossomed into Super Bowl bliss, a Raiders coaching career that will vault Madden into the Pro Football Hall of Fame on Saturday in Canton, Ohio.

"He’s deserving," said Davis, who will present Madden at the enshrinement ceremony. "It’s so (expletive) unfair that it’s happening now. But what the hell, it’s happening."

Madden’s induction comes almost 30 years since his last game with the Raiders in 1978. Almost 40 years since his San Diego State defense shut out North Dakota State in a 36-0 victory by the Aztecs, who finished undefeated in 1966. Almost 45 years since he first stepped on a field as a coach and told his wife, "Someday I’m going to make money coaching."

How did Madden do it? He had stepping stones, like most anyone else, and by turning over those stones, you will truly discover the relatively untold path he took to coaching immortality.

"He’s a Hall of Fame coach," former Raiders center Jim Otto said, "and I’d fight anybody who didn’t say so."

Madden’s coaching roots still run deep in his soul, even while he’s branched out in so many other directions – Emmy Award-winning broadcaster; video-game icon; radio-show storyteller; real estate developer; a pitchman for a steakhouse chain, beer, hardware and anti-foot fungus medicine; bus-riding legend; budding winemaker and boccie ball enthusiast.

He turned 70 on April 10, long removed from when Davis entrusted him with the Raiders’ head-coaching duties in 1969, a lofty promotion for a 32-year-old who spent the two previous years as the Raiders’ first linebackers coach.

One decade. That’s all he served as the Raiders head coach, all the time he needed to produce one of the finest records ever in pro football. He had 103 wins and seven ties in 142 regular-season games, giving him a .759 winning percentage that ranks No. 1 among coaches with at least 100 victories.

"His records are unparalleled," Davis said. "He had 10 years of greatness."

Madden didn’t even have 10 years of coaching experience when Davis anointed him John Rauch’s replacement.

If not for a knee injury, Madden might have been lining up at offensive tackle back then for the Philadelphia Eagles. Selected in the 21st round of the 1958 NFL draft with the 244th overall pick, Madden saw his playing career come to an abrupt end when he tore knee ligaments in a rookie camp. "But I made a good block," Madden said, chuckling. "I blocked my guy."

His rehabilitation sessions at the Eagles’ facility introduced him to a side of football that sparked his interest in coaching. Hall of Fame quarterback Norm Van Brocklin would be in the locker room every morning watching game film and often called over Madden to sit with him after physical therapy.

"The longer that season went, the more I knew that I better start getting serious on this coaching thing because it doesn’t look like I’d ever be playing again," Madden said.

He didn’t play again and instead returned to where he played his final games – Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo.

Go there today and you’ll see subtle reminders of his Cal Poly days. Upstairs in the tired Mott Gym, his plaque hangs just above baseball great Ozzie Smith’s in a conference room that doubles as the Cal Poly Athletic Hall of Fame. Downtown at the Firestone Grill, his green No. 74 football jersey is framed and on display next to big-screen televisions.

A right tackle for the football team in 1957 and `58 – he also played catcher on the baseball squad – Madden came back to Cal Poly in 1960 to obtain his master’s degree and teaching credential.

He did his student teaching at San Luis Obispo High School, where he debuted as a coach. He ran the spring football program until a new coach arrived. The Tigers won the Southern Section championship that fall.

"The athletic director, Phil Prijatel, asked me if I would coach the high school team in spring football," Madden said. "I had a hell of a lot more confidence than I had talent. So I said yes."

Said Prijatel: "I remember the squint in his eye when he was coaching there. You’re talking 50 years ago, but I remember him as the most unpretentious person I’d ever seen. He just blended in with the woodwork."

That same spring, Madden volunteered to coach in the Cal Poly alumni game. His side won, and he told his young wife, Virginia, he’d someday earn a living as a coach. "She just laughed," recalled Madden, who will celebrate his 47th wedding anniversary Dec. 26.

His first paid coaching job came 30 miles down the Central Coast at Allan Hancock College in Santa Maria, Calif. Go by there today and you will be hard-pressed to find any Madden memorabilia or even any sign of the 1960 state title the Bulldogs won in his first season as the line coach under Al Baldock.

"He was almost shy," Baldock said. "I don’t yell, swear and jump, nor did our whole staff. I don’t believe in being boisterous, swearing, yelling."

Madden, of course, was the opposite by the time he landed on the sideline with the Raiders. "I was emotional and passionate, just because I loved the game. I coached that way," Madden said of his Raiders days. "I never coached mad."

During Hancock’s 1960 championship season, tragedy struck. A plane carrying the Cal Poly football team, which included relatives of some Hancock players, crashed in Toledo, Ohio, after the Mustangs’ 50-6 loss to Bowling Green. Twenty-two people died.

As the Hancock players got dressed and headed to the field to play West Hills College in Coalinga, Calif., news arrived about the plane crash. "We won the game," Baldock recalled, "but no one was enthused."

Madden, of course, no longer flies, citing claustrophobia as the reason rather than any direct link to the Cal Poly tragedy. He last flew on Thanksgiving weekend 1979, his first year as a television analyst. Instead of flying from Tampa to Houston to San Francisco, he got off in Houston after enduring his third panic attack on a plane.

"The flight attendant closed the door, that feeling came over me," Madden recalled. "I said, `If I get through this, if I get to Houston, I’ll never get on another airplane as long as I live.’"

He did fly during his days with the Raiders, but things weren’t so luxurious at Hancock, where he had no full-time assistants.

Madden became the head coach at Hancock in 1962 after two years as Baldock’s assistant. He posted a record of 4-5 his first season and 8-1 in 1963.

While living up U.S. Highway 101 in Shell Beach, he opened his door to college coaches passing through on recruiting trips, including San Diego State’s Don Coryell, whom he first met at a coaching seminar on the "I" formation. Coryell would later win 114 games in his NFL career as head coach of the St. Louis Cardinals and San Diego Chargers.

"We’d sit at the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey and talk football," Madden said.

Madden left Hancock to become Coryell’s defensive coordinator at San Diego State in 1964, but not because of his open-door hospitality. Coryell remembers scouting a community college game in Riverside when the opposing defense made him take notice.

"They were playing all over the field, knocking the heck out of anybody," Coryell said. When he needed a new defensive coordinator, Coryell hired Madden, the designer of that menacing defense.

"He was great with the players. They loved him, and he loved them. Everything worked mutually," Coryell said. "He was easy to work with, no problem. He proved to be a great, great coach. I knew I’d lose him sooner or later."

cont'd...
 
cont'd...

Before Madden left San Diego State after three seasons, he made an all-time classic move. He threatened to fire Joe Gibbs from his defensive staff. The same Gibbs who was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame 10 years ago. Madden and Gibbs were coaching against each other in a spring alumni game, and Gibbs refused to let Madden know what plays he might run.

"So I said, `Look, if you don’t give them to me, you’ll never coach with me again for the rest of my life.’ I figured that would get him," Madden said. "He said OK and never gave them to me. But I was an assistant coach. I didn’t have the right to fire him. I was bluffing."

Madden’s team won, and Gibbs thought he was unemployed, at least until Coryell promptly moved him to the offensive staff.

San Diego State was a national powerhouse back then, and Madden used to visit the campus office of former Aztecs coach Paul Governali, who, unbeknownst to Madden, was a close friend of Al Davis.

Madden figures Governali recommended him to Davis when the Raiders went searching for a linebackers coach. His one-hour chat on the bench with Davis helped, too.

"I didn’t think anything of it. I went home thinking I’d probably never talk to him again," Madden said. "... I didn’t know I was being interviewed when I was putting in the defense against North Dakota State."

In his first season as the Raiders linebackers coach, Madden found himself coaching against his idol, Vince Lombardi. It was Super Bowl II in Miami, and although the Raiders fell 33-14 to the Green Bay Packers, Madden couldn’t believe where his career had taken him.

Said Madden: "I look across the field at Vince Lombardi, who was always my idol, and I’m thinking, `I’m telling defensive guys what to call against Vince Lombardi. Holy (cow). This is pretty good.’"

After the Raiders lost the following season in the AFL championship game to the New York Jets, Rauch resigned, headed for the Buffalo Bills and asked Madden if he wanted to come. Not long after, the Pittsburgh Steelers hired Chuck Noll to be their coach, and he asked Madden to become his defensive coordinator.

Madden’s loyalty rested with the Raiders.

"Talk about a fork in the road and how things could have changed," Madden said of Noll’s offer. "I said (to Noll) that I’ve got to take a shot at being a head coach here."

When it came to replacing Rauch, Davis said his two candidates were Noll, his roommate when they were assistants with the San Diego Chargers, and Madden.

"I knew Chuck could get the Pittsburgh job, and I knew John would not have a head (coaching) job," Davis said. "John said to me – he was bluffing – he said, `If you’re ever going to name me a head coach, you better do it now. Why am I going to be any better in two years than now?’

"I was trying to tell him he’s growing and all of that," Davis added. "The more I talked to him, the more I said (the heck with) it."

Said Madden: "My point was, `Hell, I can do it. If I can’t do it now, if I can’t be a head coach, I’ll never be a head coach.’ It’s a skill set, a talent; it’s who you are and what you are."

Davis loved Madden’s people skills, not to mention his educated background, his understanding of "the whole total picture," his grasp of defensive schemes and his willingness to learn.

But something else also made Madden the right fit.

"There’s no one who did more for racial diversity than the Raiders of Oakland, and John Madden, because of his position, was in the middle of the fight, and he saw no color," Davis said. "He was the perfect representative of my thinking with players. He became the head coach in `69, and `68 was when Martin Luther King Jr. was killed."

Davis said he never worried that Madden might be too young, and linebacker Dan Conners said Madden’s age "never entered my mind because everyone else was young."

"He knew his defense, because at that time, there was no room for error," Conners added. "If he made a mistake, (the players) would be on him. He was like a teacher. He drove into our heads that you don’t make mistakes."

That era’s Raiders were known as much, if not more, for their cast of renegades as they were for their victories.

"To him, we were all normal. To other people, we were characters," said Art Shell, a Hall of Fame left tackle under Madden and now the Raiders coach. "He’s a great coach. John understood his players. He knew exactly what buttons to push on each individual on that football team. He could get people to play for him."

Said Otto, one of nine Hall of Famers to play for Madden: "He’s a winner, and he was able to lead us in that way. He set the intensity and made us go. There aren’t many like that. He’s special."

He also was an innovator. Madden claims he was the first coach to hold spring minicamps, film practices and send extra men into huddles during games (a practice that later was outlawed). His practices were long, and fundamentals weren’t forgotten, but "we used to laugh at practice," Madden said.

"The nature of his team reflected his personality – aggressive, almost over-the-top aggressive," former Denver Broncos linebacker Tom Jackson said. "In terms of execution, they were going to be almost flawless."

Madden steered the Raiders to AFC Western Division titles in 1970 and `72-`76.

During the Broncos’ surge to division and AFC titles in 1977, Jackson yelled to Madden on the sideline in an October matchup, "It’s all over, fat man." Jackson attributes the remark to his pent-up frustration from past losses to the Raiders.

"He was a tremendous game-day coach," former Raiders scout Ron Wolf said of Madden. "As a head coach, the Raiders won a lot of games with his decision-making at the end of a game."

Madden’s defining game came in the 1976 season, the first to end with a Super Bowl trophy for the Raiders.

On the Thursday before that Super Bowl XI victory over the Minnesota Vikings at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, Calif., the Raiders worked out on a rain-soaked UC Irvine field and produced "as perfect a practice" as Madden said he’d ever seen. Only one of quarterback Ken Stabler’s passes hit the ground.

Two nights later, on the eve of the Super Bowl, Madden told Davis on the phone from his hotel room: "Al, we’re going to kill them."

Madden recalled Davis’ reaction: "Don’t say that! Don’t say that!"

"I thought we could do it," Davis said of the Raiders’ 32-14 win over the Vikings. "I thought personally we were going to win some other championship games. We just didn’t get it done."

The 1969 Raiders lost the final AFL championship game in Madden’s first season. They also dropped AFC championship games in the 1970 season (at Baltimore), 1973 (at Miami), `74 (vs. Pittsburgh) and `75 (at Pittsburgh). The 1972 campaign ended with Franco Harris’ "Immaculate Reception" in a playoff loss at Pittsburgh.

"We were fighting this thing together, we would break through," Davis said of the mentality he and Madden had during that stretch of postseason defeats.

Madden said Davis never turned down any request he had for the team. But that didn’t mean they always agreed.

"I used to love sitting around at night at training camp and just have arguments," Madden said. "We’d start it off – it was always a trade – `Would you take ... ‘"

After the 1978 season, Madden debated whether to retire. He had a Super Bowl ring and although he wanted one more, the only other ring he got was from his wife to commemorate his 100th win.

Lombardi coached for only 10 years, so Madden, with an ulcer flaring up, figured a decade would suffice for him. He couldn’t see himself preparing again for the draft, minicamps and training camp.

"So I thought I’d get out and do something else," said Madden, who had a winning record against each of the 10 Hall of Fame coaches he faced. "Had I not got into broadcasting and enjoyed it ... broadcasting was not the same as coaching, but it filled the void."

His "Boom, Boom!" broadcasting career – from CBS to Fox, ABC and now NBC – has lasted longer than his coaching days. But it’s "not close, not close" to the joy he felt coaching the Raiders.

"Don’t you know," Davis said, "we were kids living in the candy store."

Come Saturday, Madden’s legacy will be alive and well in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
 
Dave Albee: Madden braces for wild weekend

NAPA

AS ART SHELL finally walked off the Raiders summer training camp practice field Monday after a lengthy morning workout capped by interview obligations with the media, he offered John Madden some advice, one fellow Hall of Famer to another.

Get your rest in the Madden Cruiser this week, big fella. Madden is going to feel like he's done wind sprints by the time he is inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame on Saturday. He will be running on fumes not 'Booms!'

"It's a very tiring weekend. I told John, 'When you leave there, you're going to be tired. You'll be looking forward to resting your body,'" said Shell, the Raiders head coach who played for Madden when he was head coach. "They're going to be knocking on your door at six in the morning and you're going to be running around until late at night.

"Then he's got to do the game, too?"

The Raiders-Philadelphia Eagles exhibition Sunday - which will mark NBC's debut of Madden and partner Al Michaels - should be a breeze for Madden because it might be the first

Broadcaster and former coach John Madden celebrates his selection to the NFL Hall of Fame earlier this year. (Getty Images/Jonathan Daniel)

time during the Hall of Fame weekend that he will have stayed still. Steve Young, the 49ers quarterback who was enshrined in Canton last season, recently told Madden that preparing for the Hall of Fame weekend is like preparing for three weddings.

First of all, you must get family and friends to Canton and situated in time for the big ceremony. You naturally feel responsible for entertaining them and spending quality time with them, but there is a whirlwind of events pulling you in another direction.

On Friday, the new inductees will be guests of honor at a private lunch with as many as 80 surviving members of the Hall of Fame, who will be present with forks, spoons and verbal knives. Madden will be grilled at this lunch, which is more like a Friar's roast.

"That took me by surprise," said Raiders assistant coach Willie Brown, who was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1984. "All the former inductees are there and they're talking (trash) and you can't say a word. All you can do is sit there. They talk about you and say whatever they want to say about you. You can't say anything. That's the rules. No matter how much you want to defend yourself and say something, you can't."

Out of respect to the company, if anything. The gala gridiron get-together is a who's who of pro football. It's a power lunch per se.

"That, to me, besides being inducted is probably the highlight of the whole weekend," said Shell, who was inducted into the HOF in 1989. "When I was in there, I was in awe of the people who were in that room - Marion Motley, Doug Atkins. Wow. These guys I watched on TV. Geez."

Madden's been on TV for years and that's probably the primary reason his big bust is going to be bronzed in the Hall of Fame. He had a highly successful 10-year run as head coach of the Raiders, but he really jumped into public consciousness first as an animated pitch man in the famed "Tastes Great, Less Filling" Miller Lite beer commercials then as Pat Summerall's Turducken-and-telestrating partner in the NFL broadcast booth.

Eventually Madden's mug landed him on the cover


of his own wildly popular football video game. His face is one of the most recognizable in corporate America, as is his booming voice, which might quiver during his acceptance speech Saturday afternoon.

Madden told the Oakland Tribune's Bill Soliday that he recently attended a party in his honor where Shell and Brown revealed to him that each year they place friendly wagers as to whom will break down and cry during their HOF speech. It's a boo-hoo bet, if you will.

"Well, I admit I'm going to cry. Who'd bet against it?" Madden said. "That's a battle I know I can't win."

Madden also will battle for mic time. He will be one of six HOF inductees, the largest class in Canton since 2001. Thus, it will take a long time just to introduce the honorees then hear their individual speeches, which don't always go as planned.

"It could be confusing because, as you go over your notes and try to put an outline together, you're thinking about everybody who's ever been a part of your life. You want to make sure everybody gets their due," said former Raiders center Jim Otto, who was enshrined in Canton in 1980. "I wrote a speech and never used it. É I got confused and tried to put it all together because I wanted to thank everyone and finally I just said the heck with it. I'm just going to do it from my heart and everybody will know that."

Madden, after attending the lunch on Friday then the enshrinees cocktail party and civic dinner on Friday night then the grand parade on Saturday morning, ought to be physically spent by the time he approaches the podium on the steps of the Pro Football Hall of Fame on Saturday afternoon. He's not one to follow a script come big speech-time.

"You don't want to look like you're reading then you lose your place and then you just start talking," Shell said. "I know that's going to happen to John."

Fortunately Madden knows how to talk off the top of his head and from his heart. He's still very good at communicating now and he was a master at it motivating the Raiders as their young head coach when his regular-season winning percentage was .759, one of the best of all-time. Madden coached 10 Hall of Famers with the Raiders who preceded him in enshrinement in Canton.

"He's a people's person," Shell said, "and we all love John because of the way he treated us like men."

Even if Madden was to succumb Saturday and cry like a baby.
 
ARMY OF ONE

Mark Purdy

What makes a Hall of Famer?

You can argue that question deep into the peanut shells on the floor of any sports bar in America.

But from here, the answer is very simple:

Without that person, the sport would not be the same. And the game's history would be significantly altered.

John Madden, who will be inducted Saturday into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, is the consummate example.

Think about it. Think about what the NFL would be like if Madden had never existed. Think about how America's football culture would be -- boom -- so different.

For just one example, when talking about the sport, people would not use the word ``boom'' as much.

From field to game room

Also:

The Raiders would probably own one fewer Super Bowl trophy.

Kenny Stabler might not have been given the chance to quarterback the Raiders to so many great comebacks.

Art Shell might never have received a confidence boost to think he could become the NFL's first African-American head coach in the modern era.

Spring mini-camps might not exist, because Madden believes he was the first coach to hold them.

NFL Films would have far less entertaining footage from the 1970s.

Miller Lite beer commercials during NFL broadcasts would be rare or non-existent -- because the brand never would have been so successfully launched without a marketing campaign largely built around Madden.

Pat Summerall might have had to announce bowling instead of becoming Madden's ubiquitous Sunday sidekick.

Jefferson High School's football field in Daly City might not have the lights he donated to his alma mater.

And this month, Xbox jockeys from coast to coast would be buying the new Dierdorf '07 video game -- or more likely, not buying it.

You get the point. If you believe that all of the above has made football a more fun experience over the past 35 years or so, then Madden might be the most slam-dunk Hall of Famer inducted in the 21st century.

Of course, as Madden would remind you, he is entering the Hall strictly as a coach. Which makes sense. None of the other stuff associated with his name would have happened unless he had accumulated his impressive 112-39-7 record in 10 years as Raiders coach.

But that is where, if you wish, you can play another what-if game.

In reviewing any man's life, there are subtle turning points that, in retrospect, sent him on the path toward his destiny. For Madden, those turning points began in his hometown, a few blocks away from Daly City's small but lively Marchbank Park. During the late 1940s, it became a pocket paradise for Madden and his childhood pal John Robinson.

``We were kind of degenerate sports kids, I guess you could say,'' Robinson said during a phone interview. ``In football, we pretended to be the 49ers and in baseball, the Yankees. We'd play there until dark and then go home.''

The two boys, however, did not just play the games. They helped organize the games. Robinson, who would go on to coach at USC and with the Los Angeles Rams, said that even in those days, the pals showed signs that coaching might be in their future. By the time they reached high school, they were even talking about it. They would visit 49ers training camp at Menlo College, or try sneaking into games at Kezar Stadium.

But Madden, perhaps even to his own surprise, turned out to be a very decent college tackle at Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo. This led to a few more twists of fate: The Philadelphia Eagles drafted Madden (in the 21st round), but in a rookie camp, he mangled knee ligaments and spent the 1959 season rehabbing the injury. The Eagles' 1959 roster featured four future Hall of Famer players -- Norm Van Brocklin, Sonny Jurgensen, Tommy McDonald and Chuck Bednarik -- so the big kid from California sat around and soaked up knowledge.

Coaching takes root

``I knew I wasn't going to play that year,'' Madden said last month. ``But I stayed the whole season. . . . I went in early for treatment and after treatment, the only guy there was Van Brocklin, in the locker room. In those days, we didn't have meeting rooms. He was watching film in there. I would sit in the back and watch film. Then he invited me up to the front.''

That, said Madden, was the first time he realized the intricacies of pro football's big picture, and started ``getting serious on this coaching thing.'' He never played again, but returned to California and in succession coached at San Luis Obispo High, Hancock Junior College and San Diego State.

It was there when, in November 1966, Madden met Raiders owner Al Davis, who was scouting the Aztecs. Another subtle turning point? No, a big one. Madden, the team's defensive coordinator, sat and chatted with Davis for an hour about football.

Soon thereafter, Davis hired Madden as a Raiders assistant -- and just two years later, named him coach. Madden was only 32. But he and Davis, though they didn't agree on everything, developed as synchronized a relationship as any owner and coach had during that era.

The partnership resulted in seven trips to the AFC championship game, plus a Super Bowl victory over Minnesota. Madden was especially adroit at handling Stabler, a fractious character who didn't fit Davis' model of the bomb-throwing quarterback and once sarcastically referred to Davis as ``the genius.'' Madden served as a buffer, stuck with Stabler and put him in position to lead one of the NFL's most legendary teams.

Shell bears Madden mark

Along the way, Madden was also creating his own legacy. Art Shell, the Raiders' current coach, was an All-Pro tackle for Madden and often worked with younger players after practice. Madden noticed.

``I had always wanted to be a coach, thinking it would probably be in high school or college,'' Shell said this week. ``But . . . one day, I'm walking off the field and John says, `Hey, Coach, how you doing?' We both laughed. But John told me, `You know, if you weren't playing, I would hire you on my staff because I think you can be a heckuva coach one day.' Bells went off for me. And I thought to myself, `You know, rather than high school or college, maybe I can do it at this level.' It was the first time I'd had that thought.''

Davis would later hire Shell as the first black NFL head coach of the modern era. Madden would quit coaching because of ulcers and stress, then make himself a brand name on many levels. All three men will be in Canton, Ohio, on Saturday to pose at Madden's induction ceremony. Try picturing NFL history without that picture. It's hard. In fact, it's damn near unthinkable.
 
Davis looks forward to Madden’s call to Hall
Raiders owner addresses own health, Porter’s status with club

RANDY JOHNSON
Wednesday, August 2, 2006 1:15 AM PDT

Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis made it perfectly clear Tuesday that he believes former coach and TV personality John Madden’s Hall of Fame induction is long overdue.

Davis will present Madden at induction ceremonies Saturday in Canton, Ohio, the day before the Raiders open the preseason with the Hall of Fame game against Philadelphia.

“His records are unparalleled. It’s amazing that it comes now, his recognition and his enshrinement in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. It should have been done a long time ago,” said Davis from the Napa Valley Marriott, where the Raiders are staying during training camp at nearby Redwood Middle School.

“He competed in what I call the golden era of coaches, ten coaches who are in the Hall of Fame. Don Shula, Tom Landry, Weeb Ewbank, Hank Stram, and we can go on and on, Bud Grant, and there’s a myriad of them, Chuck Noll, and he competed against every one of them.


Oakland Raiders’ owner Al Davis speaks during a news conference at football training camp in Napa on Tuesday. AP


“He had a better record against every one of them than they had against him. Mind you, ten coaches in the Hall of Fame, and he had to wait this long.”

Madden has been such a beloved commentator on NFL telecasts for so long that many people overlook his success as the Raiders’ head coach.

From 1969-1978, Madden posted a 103-32-7 record, good for the highest winning percentage ever among NFL coaches with at least 100 victories.

With Madden at the helm, the Raiders won Super Bowl XI, a 32-14 victory over Minnesota.

“He took his place in the sun,” said Davis of the Super Bowl victory. “He had reached the pinnacle of what he wanted to do, and he did it. He got his team to do it. I was excited for him, and I was excited for all of us,” said Davis with a smile.

Besides his prowess as a coach and his reputation for “treating players like they wanted to be treated,” Davis credited Madden for his part in the organization’s commitment to diversity.

“One of the great characteristics of John Madden, beside his coaching ability — great — was he saw no color. To me, that was tremendously important.”

Davis specifically mentioned Hall of Fame offensive linemen Art Shell — now the Raider coach for the second time around — and Gene Upshaw as examples of African-Americans who prospered under Madden.

“Those players, Upshaw and Shell, didn’t get where they got based on just having ability. They had to have someone who believed in them, and it was important to me to have someone like that,” said Davis of Madden.

Davis said Madden is proud of his impending enshrinement.

“To John, being in the Hall of Fame is tremendous. It’s a lifelong dream. Not everyone puts that much stock in being in the Hall of Fame, but John certainly does.”

Davis holds a special place in his heart for Madden.

“When I came to Oakland, I always said I wanted to build the finest organization in professional sports. I wanted to have the greatest coaches, the greatest players, play in the greatest games. He gets his turn in the sun again this week.”

Davis also touched on the re-hiring of Shell, who coached the team from 1989-1994 and posted a 54-38 record.

“I know who he is. I know what he wants. I know his drive and his determination,” said Davis. “I’m really excited about it. When he walks in he can dominate a room, if he wants to. He has an attitude about him. He was a truly great player and he knows the right way to do things. He is a special person.”

When asked about wide receiver Jerry Porter’s recent trade request and its potentially negative affect on the team, Davis was very direct.

“If you think the locker room (atmosphere) is that important, I don’t. But, we’re talking about one guy and I don’t think it will make any impression whatsoever,” Davis said.

“He’s a good guy. He’s lost his way a little bit. He knows, his agents have known this for a long while, that if someone offers us the (draft) choice that we want, or a representative player, and the four-million dollar bonus he took from us this year, we’ll respond.”

After the Hall of Fame events this weekend, Davis will be in Chicago next week as a member of the committee to appoint a new NFL commissioner.

As for Davis himself, the venerable owner walked in to the conference room slowly with the help of a walker. He attributed his gait to a troublesome quadriceps muscle.

“I feel great, and if we win I’ll feel even better.”

Raiders Notebook

Wide receiver Randy Moss, despite sitting out most of the reps in Tuesday morning’s practice, had quite an active session on the sideline.

He let second-year cornerback Stanford Routt pick his brain about route running shortly before slapping teammate Doug Gabriel on the back of the calf.

Gabriel went down in mock pain, drawing laughter from fellow receivers Porter and Alvis Whitted.

• The defense looked sharp at times Tuesday, as cornerback Duane Starks picked off a pass.

Safety Jarrod Cooper kidded Starks about his pick, however.

“That one don’t count. (Number) 8 threw it,” said Cooper of backup quarterback Marques Tuiasosopo.

Defensive end Derrick Burgess shut down another play by powering off the edge and collapsing the pocket around quarterback Aaron Brooks.

• As for the offense, rookie free agent John Madsen of Utah made several nice grabs, including a tip-toe catch on the far sideline as well as a couple of short scoring tosses in the red zone.

The nicest catch of the day, however, went to veteran guard Barry Sims — no misprint.

Oakland lined up in extra-point formation, but placeholder Tuiasosopo picked the ball up on a fake, rolled right and found Sims for a nice over-the-shoulder scoring grab. His teammates erupted in cheers on the sidelines.
 
Not much here except Turner being there on Raider day...

Subplot in Canton: Norv center stage in Raiders' pomp

Carl Steward



SANTA CLARA — Offering evidence that Dame Fate could be a mischievous lady who gets her jollies by putting folks in awkward situations, Al Davis and Norv Turner will share a stage this weekend.
Davis and Turner will both be presenters at the Pro Football Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Canton, Ohio.

Davis will deliver up John Madden to gridiron immortality, while Turner does likewise for former Dallas quarterback Troy Aikman.

Beautiful. If the old bag is working overtime, she'll have Al and Norv next to each other on the presenters' seating chart.

Once they get to the microphone, of course, we know who will win the battle of electrically charged elocution. Davis is a gifted, experienced public speaker and a veteran of the Hall of Fame dais. Turner? Well, as everyone seems to agree, he's a damned fine assistant coach.

Turner, now the San Francisco 49ers offensive coordinator, discussed his speaking assignment Wednesday and was lamenting the fact that presenters only get about 21/2-3 minutes to give their presentation. Someone asked him if he thought Davis would keep it to that time limit, but he wouldn't take a rip at

that softball lobbed right into hiswheelhouse.

"He (Davis) is talking about one of the all-time greats," Turner said, face twisting like he'd just bit into some unripe fruit. "It's like me. It's hard to narrow it down when you're talking about John Madden, and you're talking about Troy Aikman."

Ah well, maybe Norv's saving his best licks for later. After all, this won't be the last time the deposed Raiders coach and his ex-boss cross paths this year.

Nobody's talked much about it just yet, but the 49ers and Raiders (who play an Aug.20 exhibition game in Oakland) will also meet this year in the regular season. And not only is it a regular-season game, it also comes at an important time for both clubs.

Sunday, Oct.8, at Monster Park. Circle it on the calendar, because that's the Bay Area's best shot at Super Bowl-type hype this year. It'll be the fourth game for the Raiders and the fifth for the Niners.

In short, it sets up as a veritable on-the-field referendum for both teams that will go a long way toward telling us which franchise is closer to getting back to respectability.

To be perfectly blunt, you can't tell a thing right now. Sure, the training camps are upbeat, and everybody's happy and optimistic. Everybody but Jerry Porter, that is. The reality is we're talking about two 4-12 clubs — each 13-35 over the past three years — which were statistically among the worst on both sides of the ball in 2004 and 2005. In an era of adjusted expectations, 8-8 for either club might be considered a successful season.

It was amusing to hear Davis' latest dissertation on dominance Tuesday at his press conference in Napa. Can we start holding our own first, Al? Yes, there is much to be hopeful about the way Art Shell is trying to right the S.S. Silver and Black, but even the veteran owner let slip the formidable task ahead amid all the usual bravado.

"It's going to be tough putting it all together real quickly and getting going," Davis confessed in a brief lapse into brutal honesty.

That statement certainly said a lot more than the "the idea is not to be in the playoffs, the idea is to be in the Super Bowl." Believe it, if the Raiders just go to the playoffs this year, they'll be dancing in the parking lot at 1220 Harbor Bay Parkway.

It took Jon Gruden three years to get Oakland back on the map as a postseason contender. Shell's rebuild may require at least that long, and that's if a lot of things go right, such as Tom Walsh's offense working in today's NFL, Aaron Brooks rediscovering himself, Randy Moss playing like the old Randy Moss and the young defense jelling and finding its niche.

The 49ers, meanwhile, actually look as if they have a little bit of talent for a change.

Vernon Davis is a specimen, Antonio Bryant might be their best receiver since Terrell Owens, and Alex Smith looks significantly more self-assured. But can he ignite a Turner offense that never got off the runway in Oakland?

Do the Niners have the personnel to pound the ball on the ground? And is Bryant Young really still the most reliable player on defense?

Again, it's tough to gauge anything presently, but the talk is good. In lauding his budding relationship with Turner, Smith was effusive about what may be in store this year for the 49ers in terms of taking a substantial competitive leap.

"If we really get this going, mesh and come together and get some momentum going, why not, why can't we?" the young quarterback said.

That momentum could come by beating the Raiders on Oct.8. Of course, it's a game that's going to be huge for Oakland's credibility, too. Add the subplot of Turner-Davis II, and, well, get a ticket now, if you can. We're sure to learn more on that one day than we will throughout the rest of August, and maybe September, too.
 
Boom' into HOF


By Tom Reed

August 03, 2006 Al Davis has been the biggest influence in my professional football life Imagine if the NFL held a dinner party this weekend in Canton and put at the head table place settings for the following people:

** Coach with the best winning percentage in NFL history, minimum of 100 victories.

** Football television analyst with 15 Emmy awards in 28 seasons.

** Creator of a popular video football game that has introduced countless kids to the NFL.

** Pop culture icon, recognized television pitchman, author of four football-related books that have reached the New York Times best seller list.

Would this confluence of talent not represent a cross section of what has made the NFL so influential the past 40 years?

John Madden: party of one, your table is ready. John Madden: party of one, your table is ready.

Madden has arrived in Canton aboard his fabled Outback Madden Cruiser for induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He will be enshrined Saturday as the Super Bowl-winning coach of the iconoclastic Oakland Raiders.

Millions of football fans, however, know him better as the face of the popular Madden video game and as the excitable and plain-spoken NFL commentator.

Madden is the Forrest Gump of pro football. He has been an eyewitness to many of the sport's most indelible moments. The Heidi Game. The Immaculate Reception. The Holy Roller. Madden coached in all of them.

As a broadcaster he has seemingly called every big game for the past three decades, awarding six-legged turkeys on Thanksgiving and seasoning his syntax with 'Boom' back when Emeril was still playing with Easy Bake Ovens.

'John is a very unique character in football,' said hall of fame tight end Dave Casper, who played for Madden's Super Bowl Raiders of 1976. 'He deserves to go into the hall under his own category -- the All-Madden category.'

After Madden accepts his place in the Canton shrine, he will make TV broadcast history on Sunday by becoming the first man to have worked for all four 'major networks' as he calls the Hall of Fame Game for NBC.

His broadcast partner, Al Michaels, considers Madden 'the best analyst who ever lived.' His best friend and a fellow coach, John Robinson, says Madden's popularity transcends generations.

'My wife's parents think John is the greatest human being going,' Robinson said. 'My 9-year-old grandson (Johnny) is so impressed I know `John Madden from the video game.' '

Madden reportedly is paid $40 million a year from all his endeavors. He owns a home in northern California and an apartment in New York's famous Dakota, once the Central Park address of John Lennon.

The 70-year-old grandfather hardly looks the part of American affluence, which explains a lot of his appeal.

Madden almost is as uncomfortable in a suit and tie as he is in an airplane. (He hasn't flown since suffering his third panic attack in 1979.) He is more at home in a coffee shop than a country club.

'I'm the luckiest guy in the world,' Madden said. 'I never really had a job. I was a football player, then a football coach, then a football broadcaster. It's been my life.'

Humble beginning

Madden grew up as the son of an auto mechanic outside of San Francisco in Daly City, Calif. He rode freight train cars and sneaked into pro sporting events with Robinson.

Sports were at the center of their daily existence in the 1940s, and a young Madden played football and baseball. He blossomed into a solid offensive tackle at Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo and was selected by the Philadelphia Eagles in the 21st round of the 1958 draft.

A knee injury prevented him from ever playing a pro game, but his rookie season proved invaluable for his coaching career.

He spent each morning sidled up to Eagles coach and future hall of famer Norm Van Brocklin, watching film and studying the game at a big-picture level. 'The longer that season went, the more I knew that I better start getting serious on this coaching thing because it doesn't look like I'll ever be playing again,' Madden said.

His rise through the coaching ranks was swift. San Luis Obispo High. Allan Hancock Junior College. San Diego State. It was in November 1966 that Madden, while serving as San Diego State's defensive coordinator, met Raiders' owner Al Davis.

Davis hired Madden as a Raiders' linebackers coach the next season and in 1969 shocked the football world by naming him head coach at age 32.

'Al Davis has been the biggest influence in my professional football life,' Madden said. 'During the time, the 10 years I was head coach, he gave me everything. I was never turned down for one thing.'

Nickname central

Davis and Madden assembled a team filled with character and characters. The Raiders became known as 'the NFL's middle finger.'

They hit hard. They played rough. They gained a reputation for dirty tactics. They boasted players with electric nicknames: Snake (Ken Stabler), the Assassin (Jack Tatum), Mad Stork (Ted Hendricks) and The Tooz (John Matuszak).

The Raiders training camp hotel, the El Rancho Tropicana in Santa Rosa, Calif., was reputed as a haven for alcohol, guns and motorcycles. Hall of fame offensive tackle Bob Brown said he fired off between 50 and 100 rounds of ammunition just to 'settle in' for camp.

'If I told you off the record some of the stuff that went on, you would say, `Bob, you've got to be kidding,' ' he said. 'And I would have to take the next space shuttle off the planet.'

Brown said Madden was the perfect coach for the dysfunctional Raiders. Madden was an excellent communicator and he treated everyone like men. He didn't get caught up with disciplinary measures that lacked football practicality.

He had three rules: be on time, pay attention and 'play like hell when I tell you to.'

The Raiders never had a losing season under Madden. He finished with a 103-32-7 record and won seven division titles. 'I've said before, John had a great asset of understanding people,' hall of fame lineman and new Raiders coach Art Shell said. 'He understood that this is a people game. He allowed the players to be themselves.'

Madden said despite the franchise's outlaw image, core players such as Jim Otto, Gene Upshaw, Shell, Willie Brown and Casper were quality people.

'When a character would come in, he didn't lead the band; the band was being led by pretty solid guys,' Madden said.

Some believe the Raiders should have made more Super Bowl appearances under Madden, but the franchise had the misfortune of playing during the dynastic era of the Pittsburgh Steelers and Miami Dolphins.

Robinson became head coach at USC in 1976 and predicted both men would wins titles at the Rose Bowl that year. Robinson delivered a national championship and Madden followed with a Super Bowl victory over the Minnesota Vikings.

'John came out and looked at me and said, `Two doofuses from Daly City -- who would have thunk it?' '

Madden retired after the 1978 season, citing ulcers and burnout. How all-consuming had the job become? He said he once thought his soon-to-be 16-year-old son, Mike, was turning 12.

Michaels likens Madden's relatively brief 10-year coaching run to the stellar pitching career of Sandy Koufax. Some hall voters were reluctant to elect Madden in the early 1980s, assuming he would leave the broadcast booth and return to coaching.

Oops.

Madden has becoming a broadcasting giant. He has gone from a ranting, referee-baiting coach of the renegade Raiders to a witty, insightful commentator whose delivery seems as genuine as the guy on the next bar stool.

Perhaps the only thing more unlikely has been his metamorphosis into a video-game icon. Madden was teaching a football-related course at the University of California in 1979 when he was approached about lending his name to a computer game.

'It came out in a computer version,' Madden said. 'Then, boom, lo and behold, boom, here comes the hardware for video games and we already have the software.'

Madden finds difficulty summing up a career as varied as it is successful. Joe Horrigan, the hall vice president of communications, might supply the best observation.

'Most people in the sports world are lucky if they can make one transition -- from player to coach or from coach to broadcaster. John has made three or four,' Horrigan said. 'His greatest legacy is that he's known on so many levels.'
 
I am all smiles with all the love given to Madden. It is awesome to hear the love between Al and John.
 
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