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The Raiders and the rest of the NFL will honor the life and the legacy
of Gene Upshaw during ceremonies this week.
ROCK of tranquility surrounded by a sea of insanity. And he was there,
always there, to containing the insanity, galvanizing it, directing it
into constructive energy.
So it’s appropriate that two weeks after Gene Upshaw’s death, the NFL
will open its season tonight with his widow and their sons at center
stage, performing coin-flip before kickoff. Images of Upshaw will play
on video screens, and his initials will be on the field as the New
York Giants play host to Washington.
The same will occur in San Francisco on Sunday and Oakland on Monday,
as well as the other 13 games this weekend.
Understand, I didn’t always agree with Upshaw’s direction as executive
director of the NFL Players Association — especially as it
relates to the treatment of the ancient warriors. It seems an
injustice that the NFL, which requires more personal risk and
sacrifice than any other major team sport, has a benefits and
retirement package inferior to those of major league baseball and the
NBA.
Given the league’s popularity, the money it mints through tickets and
TV contracts, as well as the role of pre-1980s players in cultivating
the product, it’s a shame the league has so many retirees whose needs
go unmet.
said, Upshaw’s overall impact, as a Raider limping off the field after
games and as a member of the NFL fraternity, facing off with owners in
a boardroom, is without debate.
Upshaw was the most influential Raider ever to suit up. Jim Otto was
the original Oakland Raider, the heart of the offense for 15 years, at
Al Davis’ side for 34 more. John Madden crafted winning and
personality like no other Raiders coach. Tom Flores went from
quarterback to head coach, where he won two Super Bowls. The list of
distinguished Raiders runs dozens deep.
But only Upshaw, drafted on the first round in 1967 from tiny Texas
A&I (now Texas A&M-Kingsville), played in three Super Bowls, in three
different decades. If Shell was Oakland’s quiet conscience during the
glory years, Upshaw was its chief analyst and unifying force. Amid a
colorful band of talented misfits and unfits, he was the respected
leader. He talked a lot, nearly always as the voice of reason.
Those Raiders were richly talented because Davis and personnel ace Ron
Wolf found useful veterans and gifted youngsters in places others
dared to go. Small colleges. Predominantly black colleges. Track
teams. It worked for the better part of 20 years, into the mid-1980s.
There is a reason Upshaw has started more postseason games (24) than
any Raider. Ever.
Yet it was Upshaw’s seamless transition from impact player to impact
executive that illustrated the depth of what he had to offer.
His post-career ambitions were evident during his playing days. He
invested in real estate. He and his brother, Marvin, owned a
nightspot, Uppy’s, on Jack London Square. These days, they call it
diversifying. Gene also immersed himself into the business end of the
NFL, becoming a member of the bargaining committee for the NFLPA while
still in uniform.
That never changed, because Upshaw’s greatest professional legacy is
the bounty available to today’s NFL players. It was to come with time,
yes, but Upshaw managed to navigate through negotiations and walk away
respected, if not beloved.
He knew it was a tough job. He didn’t care to be loved by anyone
outside his family.
Retired football players leave this planet just about every week.
Their former teams often acknowledge the loss with a moment of
silence. Upshaw gets more than that.
Because he was a star who stayed involved and helped with growth.
Because his death came so suddenly and hit so hard and leaves such a
vacuum.
NFL uniforms this season will adorn a patch with the initials “GU.” If
a player wants to kiss it, I’ll understand.