We’re at the height of the football season in America. Between college football and the National Football League, it’s a great time for the gridiron. Like many a household, these games generate much excitement at the Kengor home with my football-crazy boys. They also generate some nostalgia from their old man. Last week, I caught a halftime tribute to the late, great John Madden that prompted me to wax nostalgic to my boys about the Raiders–Steelers rivalry of the 1970s, and particularly the epic 1975 contest 50 years ago. That battle reached its apex (or low) when Pittsburgh Steelers Coach Chuck Noll referred to Raiders’ safety George Atkinson as representative of the “criminal element” of the NFL. (RELATED: Roger Goodell’s Pagan NFL) The ensuing melee is worth remembering right now, not only because of the rivalry 50 years ago, but given that Atkinson just passed away at age 78. The ‘70s best and second-best The Steelers were the best team in arguably the best decade in the history of pro football. They won four Super Bowls. The only debate is which team would be considered second best. Dallas Cowboys’ fans will make their case, as will aficionados of Don Shula’s superb Miami Dolphins (still the only team to have an undefeated season, in 1972). Some partisans in Minnesota might invoke the terrific Vikings of Fran Tarkenton and crew, though they were essentially the (1990s) Buffalo Bills of the 1970s, having gone to four Super Bowls but never winning one. Cowboys’ and Dolphins’ fans will not like this, but I think a case can be made that the Oakland Raiders were the second-best team. If the Steelers had not prevented them from reaching the Super Bowl more than once, I think the fierce Raiders (who played in six AFC championships between 1971-78) would have dominated the decade, including over the undeniably fantastic Cowboys teams of Tom Landry and Roger Staubach. To be sure, the Cowboys went to seven NFC championship games in the 1970s, winning five of them. They went to five Super Bowls in the decade, winning two. Unfortunately, the Cowboys and Raiders played each other only once in the 1970s, with the Raiders winning 27-23 in 1974. I know the Cowboys were great, but in a head-to-head matchup in the mid-1970s, my money would have been on the Raiders. The only team good enough to knock off the Raiders was the Pittsburgh Steelers, and certainly not always. In fact, of the 11 times the two teams met in the 1970s, the Raiders won six, though the Steelers prevailed in the most significant of the contests — the playoffs. The two battled in the playoffs for five consecutive seasons (1972–76), an NFL record yet to be matched. They bludgeoned each other in three consecutive AFC championship games for the 1974, 1975, and 1976 seasons. The Steelers–Raiders battles were awesome affairs, beginning with the incredible December 23, 1972, Immaculate Reception game in Pittsburgh, where Franco Harris barely grabbed a deflected pass from Terry Bradshaw on fourth and 10 with 30 seconds left in the game and galloped into the endzone at Three Rivers Stadium in what has been named the greatest play in the history of the NFL. The play itself has long remained the subject of heated debate among Raiders and Steelers players. A hilarious documentary film on the play was done by the NFL Network in 2012, with every angle and inch broken down by experts (including from the literal CIA) as if they were watching video footage of the Zapruder film that captured the JFK assassination. The rivalry captured the nation — not just fans in the two host cities. The players on both teams were extraordinary, as both athletes and characters and personalities. Between the two teams, there were close to 30 future Hall of Famers (plus many more All Pros), an astounding number. It was a brutally physical rivalry, captured splendidly in an excellent book on the subject, fittingly titled Hell with the Lid Off: Inside the Fierce Rivalry between the 1970s Oakland Raiders and Pittsburgh Steelers, by Ed Gruver and Jim Campbell. In retrospect, it was fitting that the Immaculate Reception launched the rivalry because the play was made possible when the Raiders’ Jack Tatum, known as “The Assassin” (his autobiography was titled They Call Me Assassin), laid out Steelers’ running back John “Frenchy” Fuqua. Had the ruthless Tatum not characteristically brooded over his prey as a half-dead-looking Fuqua lay on the ground at his feet, he might have seized the ball rather than Franco grabbing it. The game would have been over, with no Immaculate Reception. Tatum spearheaded a vicious defense matched in physicality only by the Steelers’ defense, which included an equally hard-hitting cornerback, Mel Blount, linebackers like Jack Lambert, and the Steel Curtain defensive line anchored by Mean Joe Greene. The 6’3, 205-pound Blount was so dominating that the NFL had to change the rules on how defensive players engage wide receivers after the line of scrimmage. They dubbed it the “Mel Blount Rule.” Receivers today wouldn’t last a game under the old rules, where intense men like Blount and Tatum took them out. Tatum’s list of victims included New England Patriots’ wide receiver Darryl Stingley, who was paralyzed for life — a quadriplegic — after a gruesome hit from The Assassin in an August 1978 preseason game. (RELATED: Reduce the Importance of the Foot in Football) The “criminal element” Jack Tatum’s partner in physicality — if not in “crime” (more on that in a moment) — was George Atkinson. The tandem was particularly unpleasant to Steelers’ receiver Lynn Swann, which brings me to 50 years ago and the 1975 AFC Championship game at a frozen Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, played on Jan. 4, 1976. Atkinson’s repeated antics on the field, but particularly against Swann in that game, led to quite the spectacle both on and off the field. Atkinson was notorious for using his left forearm to level opposing receivers. This time, he uncorked it in the third quarter against Swann’s skull, knocking out cold the Steelers’ star receiver. In a stunning photo from the game, a likewise injured Joe Greene went onto the field and, in a slow limp, helped carry off the concussed Swann, who had to be put on a stretcher and taken to the hospital. It’s revealing that when Swann fumbled the ball and Tatum pounced on it, Steelers players pounced on Tatum. Savoring the opportunity for payback against the punishing defensive back, two Steelers, center Ray Mansfield and the legendary running back Rocky Bleier, drilled Tatum on the ground, inflicting enough pain to injure The Assassin. The Steelers won that game 16-10 and went on to secure the first of two Super Bowl victories against the Cowboys. The Super Bowl would feature an epic performance by the still-recovering Lynn Swann, who was dazzling, producing a highlight reel of leaping, diving catches. Swann was awarded the game’s MVP. But the feud had just begun, especially between Swann and Atkinson. The two teams met again for the September 1976 regular season opener in the Oakland Coliseum. Here again, Atkinson cut loose on his victim. This time, he leveled his forearm against the back of Swann’s helmet, blindsiding the graceful receiver. One of the commentators, former Cowboys quarterback “Dandy Don” Meredith, observed in shock, “They’re picking on Lynn. I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Atkinson gave him a karate chop against the back of the neck!” That prompted his cohort, the legendary Curt Gowdy, to respond sarcastically, “You mean you’re not supposed to take a guy’s head off?” An injured Swann was escorted (once again) off the field. Was Atkinson flagged for unnecessary roughness? Are you kidding? Not in the 1970s. He got away with it. Meanwhile, Swann missed the next two games because of the injury. After the game, an incensed Steelers coach, Chuck Noll, protested to reporters about the non-call against Atkinson. He said it should be illegal, and worse. Why didn’t the referees flag Atkinson? “Maybe they’re waiting for someone to get killed,” observed Noll. “They went after Swann again. People that sick shouldn’t be allowed to play the game.” But Noll was just warming up with his heated criticisms. The next day, in his weekly press conference in Pittsburgh, Noll went considerably further. He referred to George Atkinson as part of a “criminal element” in the NFL. Because of this Raider “intent to maim” (Noll was no doubt also thinking of Jack Tatum), Noll said of the likes of Atkinson: “People like that should be kicked out of the game…. There is a certain criminal element in every aspect of society. Apparently, we have it in the NFL, too.” The wounded Swann backed his coach’s sentiments, saying that Atkinson’s hit was not only illegal but “delivered with what seemed to be some type of malice. It’s our contention that it was basically criminal.” Yes, criminal. With that charge, George Atkinson went ballistic. The wild man on the field went wild off as well. He sued for slander, and the case went to court. The trial began the following summer, July 1977, in the U.S. District Court in San Francisco. Noll and Swann and Atkinson all took the stand, as did Raiders’ coach John Madden, Steelers and Raiders owners Art Rooney and Al Davis, and several other players. It was quite the fiasco. It dominated newspaper headlines and nighttime news shows. The trial went on for almost two weeks before the jury entered a decision of not guilty. However, one might say that a defeated Atkinson got his victory anyway — on the field, where he preferred it. The two teams that had met for that 1976 regular season opener closed it in the AFC Championship game once again, this time in Oakland on Dec. 26, 1976. Unfortunately for the Steelers, they suffered a devastating pre-game injury report, with both Franco Harris and Rocky Bleier unavailable because of injuries. Remarkably, the two backs had both rushed for over 1,000 yards in the regular season, leading an unstoppable running attack. But not on this day. Both were sidelined. The Steelers mustered just one touchdown, and the Raiders humbled the Steel Curtain, winning 24-7. Two weeks later, the Raiders won their first Super Bowl 32-14 over the Minnesota Vikings. The criminal element in the stands George Atkinson might have lost his battle in the courtroom, but he won on the gridiron. He went out a winner, retiring in 1977. He always resented the charge of criminality. As for Raiders’ fans, it must be stated that they seemed to revel in the “criminal element” charge rather than take offense. Like many Raiders’ players, they embraced the bad-boy image — and then some. Many Raiders’ fans were downright scary, donning skulls and bones, spiked shoulder pads, silver-and-black face paint, Darth Vader costumes, and were notorious for beating up visiting fans. Many of them acted criminally in the stands. They had some of the most thuggish fans in America, certainly not happy spectators like what you saw in, say, Buffalo or Green Bay. The Packers’ fans had cheery cheeseheads; the Raiders’ fans looked like the walking dead with spikes and chains. Alas, a sad coda to the Oakland Raiders, and a colossal demerit to those fans — more symptomatic of the larger Bay area — is that they allowed that historic franchise to leave their city, first to Los Angeles and now to Las Vegas. That’s sad and pathetic. Fans in proud football cities like Denver, Chicago, Kansas City, Buffalo, Green Bay, and Pittsburgh would never allow that to happen to their beloved team. (RELATED: The Pittsburgh Steelers’ Pickett Mob) As for those superb Oakland Raiders teams of the ‘70s, so awesome on both defense and offense — the latter including the likes of Ken Stabler, Cliff Branch, Dave Casper, Fred Biletnikoff — it’s hard to conceive that they won only one Super Bowl. But unfortunately for them, the Pittsburgh Steelers were in the way. Authors Ed Gruver and Jim Campbell closed the story on the rivalry this way: “The most ferocious and violent postseason rivalry in the history of North American sports ended with the 1976 AFC Championship game…. [It] was a place no sports rivalry had been before and hasn’t been since. Hell, with the lid off.” That’s quite a statement. But an argument can be made for its validity, especially that “ferocious and violent” (if not quite “criminal”) element. Other rivalries were very intense, including the Steelers–Cowboys of the decade. And if we’re talking sports generally, it’s hard to ignore epic clashes like the Celtics vs. the Lakers in the decade that followed in basketball. But when it came to sheer brutality, it was hard to beat the Raiders–Steelers of the 1970s. May the rivalry — and George Atkinson — rest in peace. 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