The autumn wind is an out of market pirate
The costly misadventure of watching Raiders football in Los Angeles
Autumn is subtle in Los Angeles. The weather stays the same. LA’s succulents don’t change colors. Rather than migrate, the birds stay local—so they can shit all over my car until Christmas. But if you look closely, you’ll see hints of autumn in Los Angeles. Gourds—decorative and edible—appear in local markets. Social media erupts into flame wars over pumpkin-spiced lattes (an abomination) and candy corn (a revelation). And throughout the City of Angels, like everywhere else in America, the madness of a new football season begins.
For Christina and me, the madness began in August with the premiere of Hard Knocks. The show, which has been on the air since 2001, is a co-production of NFL Films and HBO. Every week, Hard Knocks chronicles the drama, comedy, and dramedy of an NFL training camp. It’s a masterclass in propaganda. Here’s proof: the only team I dislike more than the New York Giants are the New York Jets, but after five episodes inside this year’s Jets training camp, I’m rooting for them to lose the AFC championship to the Las Vegas Raiders.
Not that I’m a hardcore Raiders fan. Or, even a hardcore football fan. I’m a casual fan, although as I wrote last year, when I took Christina to her first NFL game, there’s nothing casual about football, or the Raiders.
[Football is] America’s official religion. Technically, the Constitution says you have the freedom to abstain from worshipping at the alter of the gridiron, but a much more powerful unwritten law demands that all real Americans pay tribute to the football gods on Sundays, Mondays, Thursdays, and late in the season, on Saturdays too.1
We’re a lot more pious this season, probably because Christina is now a citizen of Raider Nation—with the criminal record to prove it. But don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we’re going to burn down the nearest Broncos bar if the Raiders lose, or sack a zebra at the LA Zoo if the refs screw us like they did in the the 2001 AFC playoffs against Tom “Tuck Rule” Brady and the New England Patriots. And if the Raiders do win the Super Bowl, it’s not like we’re going to commit acts of celebratory mayhem.
But after last season’s pilgrimage to Sin City, we decided to level-up our Raiders fandom by watching as many games as possible. To a heretic, that sounds simple. But the pious know better. NFL faithful know that it ain’t easy, and it certainly ain’t cheap, to worship your team denomination if you live out of market.
Week One: Raiders at Broncos
“What the fuck!” Christina said. “Google says the Raiders game is supposed to be on CBS, but instead they’re playing the stupid Chargers game.”
This was about an hour before kickoff. I was in the kitchen meal-prepping for the week ahead because, as my football coaches taught me, how you practice is how you play. Christina was in the living room with Mortimer. They were getting pumped for Raiders football, because if fandom teaches us anything, it’s this: your team’s victory depends on your devotion.
“Yeah, if you live in the Los Angeles market, you get Chargers and Rams games,” I explained. “But the problem with that, of course, is that you’re watching the Charger and the Rams.”
“Boo! Do people in LA even give a shit about the Chargers and the Rams? This is Raider Nation!”
Christina’s question was a loaded one that goes back decades. In theory, Los Angeles should care about both teams. The Chargers actually began life in Los Angeles as an expansion team in 1959, but after two forgettable seasons, they moved to San Diego. Recently, however, the Chargers came back—like a bad penny. Unlike the Chargers, the Rams aren’t from LA. They were born in Cleveland, but the Rams did play here from 1946 to 1994. That much time in Los Angeles should count for something, but it doesn’t. Here’s why: the Rams blow ass. Seriously, nobody likes the Rams, nobody with any self-respect anyway. Nobody gave a shit when the Rams moved to St. Louis, and nobody gave a shit when they came back. The reason? Los Angeles isn’t a pro football town. When it comes to football, LA cares about:
The USC / UCLA rivalry
Lakers basketball
Dodgers baseball
Taking selfies at the new SoFi Stadium
Pretending to be a lifelong fan of the local team, after they win the Super Bowl, but then distancing yourself from the local team when they lose.
Which brings me to the Raiders. Yes, they played in Los Angeles when I was a kid. But they came to us from Oakland, and to Oakland they returned. But both times in Oakland were just pit stops on the road to the one thing the Raiders organization has always wanted: a brand new stadium with luxury boxes, funded by other people’s money. And that is why they’re the Oakland Los Angeles Las Vegas Raiders. Honestly, Raiders fans who live in Los Angeles have always loved an out-of-market team because even when the Silver & Black played in LA we knew it wouldn’t last. Also, here’s a very cold take: the best years of televised pro football in LA were the years when we didn’t have an NFL team.
Not that I explained this to Christina. With less than an hour to go until kickoff, there was no time to tackle the history of fickle pro football fandom in Los Angeles, public financing for private ventures, the greed-demons who parcel out NFL media rights, the Byzantine logic of NFL blackout rules, and the ways in which those twentieth century clusterfucks have become entangled with a twenty-first century clusterfuck called streaming.
“Is there any way to watch the game?” Christina asked.
“Well, we could go to a Raiders bar,” I said. “But I’m in the middle of meal prep, so we might miss the first half.”
Christina frowned. Real fans don’t put on a Raiders jersey, pre-soak their couch in lighter fluid in anticipation of a victory celebration, and affix an eye-patch to their dog to catch the game from some bar.
“Or, we could pay for NFL Sunday Ticket,” I said.
I thought that would be the end of this tale. Sure, we had vowed to watch as many Raiders games as possible, but NFL Sunday ticket is expensive. And yeah, being shut out of our house of worship on Week One felt shitty, but I reasoned, feeling shitty is a big part of NFL football fandom in general and a common feeling at the end of every season in Raider Nation. Besides, we had already earmarked the cost of NFL Sunday Ticket for Mortimer’s college fund. So as kickoff neared, I finished up in the kitchen and joined Christina in front of the TV to watch the game we didn’t want to watch.
“Who are we rooting for—Chargers or the Dolphins?” I asked. “I say Dolphins. You’re from Florida, and it’ll give me an excuse to say, thanks for all the fish.”
Christina didn’t answer. Instead, she glared at me. I knew that glare. It was a Raiders Nation glare. The glare of a real cosplaying pirate.
“I came here for mayhem and Raiders football,” Christina said, “and right now, I’m out of both.”
Brandishing the remote control as if it was a pirate’s cutlass, Christina jumped up from the couch to led her first-mate (Mortimer) and a lily-livered cook (yours truly) in a raid against the subscription streaming services. They had sold us live network television, only to embargo the treasure that is Raiders football, and now they would pay.
“Arrgh!”
Using a can of Pamplemousse La Croix, Captain Christina christened her ship The Pissed Off Mermaid. On her orders, Mortimer and I unfurled the Black and Silver flag of our people, and we set sail in search of…
The autumn wind…
Paramount+
We had the weather gauge, and so The Pissed Off Mermaid easily overtook Paramount+. On Captain Christina’s orders, Mortimer and I readied the cannons. But as we prepared to blast Paramount+ to smithereens, our Captain thought better of it.
“Thar may be corrupted meta data,” she said.
We held our fire, and waited for the game to start. It was possible, Captain Christina explained, that Paramount+ was flying the flag of the Chargers-Dolphins game as a ruse, and that the real prize, the Raiders-Broncos game, would be ours, if we would just be patient.
But as the broadcast began, we saw that the meta data was true.
“Thar be Dolphins and thar be Chargers, but thar be no Raiders or Broncos here.”
Mortimer wanted to send Paramount+ down to Davy Jones’s locker, but our Captain, who has a soft spot for Yellowstone and the Taylor Sheridan universe, spared Paramount+—much to the relief of the cook, who adores Beavis and Butt-Head.
“So long, and thanks for all the fish,” I said as we sailed away, in search of our next prize.
Hulu
Off the coast of Burbank, California, The Pissed Off Mermaid found a derelict vessel called Hulu. On Captain Christina’s order, Mortimer and I boarded Hulu. At first, we were hopeful that our prize would yield the booty we sought, but Hulu was overrun with mice, and the head mouse, a scoundrel called Mickey, told us their live television option would cost us $70 a month.
“Highway robbery!” Mortimer barked.
“You get all the networks, and as soon as Admiral Bob figures out a viable streaming business model, your subscription will include Disney+ and other assorted media treasures,” Captain Mickey Mouse said.2
“So if we pay you seventy dabloons, we can watch the Raiders game?” I asked.
Captain Mickey Mouse shook his head. Hulu could bring us the bounty of the networks, but it was up to the networks to decide what that bounty be.
“Arrgh…”
“Time to walk the plank, Mouse!” Mortimer said.
“Hold on,” I said. “Thar be Star Wars booty to consider, just as soon as this Mickey Mouse empire gets its shit together.”
“They should be keelhauled for The Book of Boba Fett,” Mortimer growled.
“Agreed. But we need them. They have ESPN, which has the exclusive broadcast rights to Monday Night Football. The Raiders play the Packers on Monday Night this year.”
“Don’t forget,” Captain Mickey Mouse squeaked, “we’re currently embargoing the Charter empire, which means if you want ESPN, you better deal with us directly.”
That comment sent Mortimer into a rage. He pissed all over Hulu’s deck. But seeing that Admiral Bob and his Mickey Mouse fleet played rough, I talked Mortimer out of burning their sails, lest the Disney empire seek revenge by green-lighting a Jar Jar Binks show.
Back Aboard The Pissed Off Mermaid
When Mortimer and I returned to The Pissed Off Mermaid, we found Captain Christina up to her eyeballs in ye olde Google results.
“I’ve done my own research,” she began, “none of our current streaming options allow us to purchase NFL Sunday Ticket.”
“What about Sling?” I asked. “They’re supposed to be the cable bundle for people who cut the cord.”
“Aye, they carry the networks and ESPN,” Captain Christina said. “But they don’t offer NFL Sunday Ticket.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about ESPN,” I said. “Admiral Bob might embargo ESPN at any moment.”
“Be that as it may, Sling doesn’t have the booty we seek. In fact, we’d have to upgrade our account just to get all the networks and ESPN.”
“Slit their throats, and burn their ship!” Mortimer growled. “Or, maybe rub their bellies with a rusty razor.”
“Stand fast,” Captain Christina ordered. “We’ll deal with Sling later, and when we do, thar asses will be slung.”
“What about that hobo named Max?” I asked. “Maybe he took all those Game of Thrones profits and bought a stake in the NFL media rights racket.”
“Alas, he did not,” Christina said. “According to the pirate trades, their new admiral has a plan to confuse their customers into submission.”
“It’s working,” I said. “I don’t know the name of the ship that carries the Hard Knocks booty, and the ship isn’t exactly sea-worthy because the navigation sucks, and the user interface is like trying to juggle kelp, and sometimes when you pause an episode, the app takes a monster Kraken shit, and then you have to go back to the start of the episode for some reason, which be super-annoying.”
“Aye,” Mortimer growled, “the new admiral be walkin’ the plank with the old hobo.”
“Maybe the new admiral will run his ships aground,” Christina said, “but he’ll get safe passage from us, as long as his fleet of confusion carries the best booty content on these rough streaming seas.”
We Surrender
With the Raiders game already underway, Captain Christina brought The Pissed Off Mermaid back to its home port in Chatsworth. The first mate was angry. He had been promised booty and blood, but he settled for a piece of string cheese and a belly rub. The cook was relieved, for while promise of booty appealed to him, the promise of blood did not. He calmed his nerves with a Coke Zero and baby carrots dipped in vegan tzatziki procured from a Trader named Joe.
“I hate to say this,” Captain Christina began, “but we’re going to have purchase a new streaming service.”
Upon hearing the grim news, the crew grumbled about a mutiny. But the cook, being a man who appreciates a woman who brings home the turkey bacon so that he may microwave it, hesitated. The first mate, a four-legged rapscallion who is more bark than bite, lost his nerve.
“It’s the same price on all platforms,” Captain Christina explained, “but if we buy NFL Sunday Ticket from the cable company, or Direct TV, or YouTube TV we have to pay for those services too. So, instead, we’re buying it from YouTube.”
“Sheesh,” I said. “Everyone was so excited to cut the cord and give the cable company the old heave-ho, but I think we created an even bigger, nastier streaming sea monster in the legacy model’s wake.”
“Aye,” Captain Christina said. “The streaming seas be rougher than we thought. ‘Tis the unintended, yet entirely predictable consequences of ye olde disruption.”
Game Recap
After missing most of the first quarter, we purchased NFL Sunday Ticket via YouTube. We paid $400, or $25 to watch each of the sixteen Raiders games this season. When weighed against the estimated cost of a pilgrimage to a local Raiders bar, the price almost seemed fair, especially when you consider that the lily-livered cook and the bloody-thirty first mate have never said no to more buffalo wings.
But when we compared the total cost of streaming to the old days of the cable bundle, when there was but one middleman between Raiders Nation and whatever game the broadcast networks thought the fickle pro football fans of Los Angeles would like to watch, the situation felt like a loss. The true pirates, we realized, were the streamers—a colony of privateers out of Silicon Valley, who had lured us in with the promise of disintermediated treasure, only to, eventually, make us walk one plank, then another, and then another.
That revelation stung, but it would’ve been worse, had not the Silver & Black delivered unto the Raider faithful a miraculous Week One victory over the Broncos.
Big Jets Coda
Hours before the first Monday Night Football broadcast, Admiral Bob made peace with Charter.3 Christina and I watched the Jets take on the Bills. Our hearts sank when Jets quarterback Aaron Rodgers went down in the first few minutes with a season-ending injury. But as faithful Hard Knocks viewers, we knew what would come next.
“They’re gonna send in the goofy kid with the head band,” Christina said.
Sure enough, the Jets sent in Zach “This Head Band Isn’t a Fashion Statement, It Literally Keeps the Sweat Out of My Eyes Because I Sweat A Lot, OK Fellas?” Wilson. Was it the best performance of Zach Wilson’s career? No, it was not. But if we’ve learned anything listening to Liev Schreiber narrate Hard Knocks, it’s this: to win in the NFL, you don’t have to play your best game, you just have to play better than the other team.
Led by Zack Wilson, the Jets kept the game close, then pulled ahead by a field goal with minutes to go. Unfortunately, the Bills—a franchise with a troubled kicking history, to say the least—tied the game with a field goal. The game went to overtime, where the Jets defense stopped the Bills cold on their first possession. It looked like the game was Zack Wilson’s to win, but first the Bills had to punt. And like I said, the Bills have a troubled history with the kicking game.
As Christina and I yelled our asses off, an un-drafted rookie named Xavier Gipson returned the Bills punt 65 yards for a game-winning touchdown. It was a sweet moment, made all the more sweet, thanks to the jokers on the Jets coaching staff and the eagle-eyed documentarians on the Hard Knocks production team, for they had given us the human dramedy from training camp that made Gipson’s moment of glory so poignant.
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Huddle up and chat!
You know the two-minute drill. I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers.
Have you ever felt like a company used your fandom against you to make obscene profits? Tell your tale!
If you’re a member of the NFL faithful, what’s your
teamdenomination? If you’re a heretic, how do you spend your Sundays?For all the excitement about cutting the cord and ditching the cable bundle, it seems like we’re returning to an app-based bundle. Have you met the new boss, aren’t they basically just the same as the old boss?
I told a small lie in this story about the Rams. Although they always blew ass when I was a kid, I actually rooted for them, especially Eric Dickerson, Kevin Greene, and Willie “Flipper” Anderson. Have you ever lied about sports? Dish!
I’m an American, and I’m a football fan. But I agree with the rest of the sports-loving world that the game we call soccer should probably be called football because our game makes only limited use of feet as offensive weapons. Trouble is, I don’t know what we should call American football. Do you have any suggestions? Share your ideas!
Aren’t you glad Tom “Tuck Rule” Brady finally retired? Discuss.
The autumn wind…
is a pirate, and a real poem! The full poem is reprinted here without the express written (or implied oral) consent of the NFL:
The Autumn Wind is a pirate
Blustering in from sea,
With a rollicking song, he sweeps along,
Swaggering boisterously.
His face is weather beaten.
He wears a hooded sash,
With a silver hat about his head,
And a bristling black mustache.
He growls as he storms the country,
A villain big and bold.
And the trees all shake and quiver and quake,
As he robs them of their gold.
The Autumn Wind is a raider,
Pillaging just for fun.
He'll knock you 'round and upside down,
And laugh when he's conquered and won.
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Ride/Share: Micro Stories of Soul, Wit and Wisdom from the Backseat is a collection of my Lyft driver stories🚗🗣
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See “Disney+ to Add Hulu Content in ‘One-App Experience’ Later in 2023, Prices for Disney+ to Increase” https://variety.com/2023/digital/news/disney-hulu-one-app-experience-later-in-2023-1235609003/
See “Disney, Charter settle cable dispute hours before ‘Monday Night Football’ season opener” https://apnews.com/article/disney-spectrum-deal-espn-football-755eb8d71ba619a3494490efa26cdbbb
I agree, what we in the US call soccer should really be “football.” What we call football should be called “hacky sack,” as in hack-down and sack the opposing team. And hacky sack should be called “soccer,” as in “sock that bean bag over here.”
I grew up as a Bears fan, with our family going to all the home games. But, over the years I became an NFL heretic because I found watching games on TV had too many distractions and wasn't the same as sitting in freezing weather to watch football the way it was meant to be seen. Now, Sunday afternoons are for the LA Times crossword puzzle and doing laundry.