I love Al Davis. From the time he became the Oakland Raiders head coach in 1963 until the late 1980s and three Super Bowl titles later, Al was the unchallenged architect and savant of the team’s run to greatness. He was The Genius before Bill Walsh was The Genius. He was, and is, the Raiders and the Raiders were, and are, Al. The present tense is what creates a problem for me.

Sunday mornings used to bring a sense of anticipation and excitement. The Raiders had a game. You just knew they were going kick ass and take names, or die trying. The Raiders were bad, brash and just slightly crazy. Those days seem a long way off.

The team and I have had a long and tumultuous relationship. Born the same year (1960), raised in the blue collar, East Bay environs of Oakland and Richmond, we came of age together. The first professional sporting event that I attended was a Raider game against the Joe Namath-led New York Jets. I was hooked. The crowd and the excitement were intoxicating, not to mention Raiderettes. What can I say?

I felt connected to the team in ways that are hard to imagine today. My trombone teacher was a member of the Raider Band. Yes, they had a band, not recorded music, to entertain the crowd. I recall them playing home games on a little patch of land near Lake Merritt until the Coliseum was opened for business in 1966. The first time I remember crying for a valid reason was when the Raiders lost the American Football League championship game to the Baltimore Colts in 1970.

When the Raiders won their first Super Bowl after many years of being the perennial bridesmaid knocking at the door, I felt validated and exhilarated. I was on top of the world. Even when they moved to Los Angeles, I felt an abiding loyalty to all things Al. And now? Not so much.

The team’s steady decline into mediocrity and dysfunction has been well chronicled. Firing head coach Lane Kiffin is just the latest episode of “As the Raiders Turn.” I’m not here to belabor these facts or to repeat hollow mantras the team has hung onto for so many years [Commitment to what? Excellence? Are you sure?]. No, my purpose is to implore Al Davis to perform one last task in his role as Silver & Black Pontiff for Life. Hand in the keys, Al. It’s not safe for you to be in charge of the Raider Nation any longer. As much as it hurts to say this, it’s the right thing to do.

Much like an elderly parent that needs to be told to park the Buick, Al needs to step aside. He should embrace his role as a founding father of today’s NFL. Enjoy his status as Sir Raider Emeritus and let his chosen successors have a chance. The Raiders may return to glory yet, but not with Al Davis behind the wheel.

I’m sorry Al, but that’s just how I feel.

P.S., I still love you.