Screen Gem

"God, the things I learned from him," Jaworski says. "If I could remember one tenth of what he taught me, I'd be a genius myself. It was like talking to the guy who invented football.

"Anything he told you, you know he'd been through a hundred, a thousand times. But as much as he was progressive, he was fundamental, too. You wanted to see a crossing pattern off a three-step drop? He'd put on one of his cut-up reels of all the great quarterbacks doing it. Something like the proper position of a quarterback's hand under center? Well, he'd tape it and we'd spend hours watching it. The center-quarterback exchange? Mike Dougherty, our film man, would be lying on his back filming the exchange."

Gillman has the current quarterbacks grouped into classes. There are his absolute blue-chippers, "guys who can sustain an offense for you": John Elway, Joe Montana, Randall Cunningham, Warren Moon ("a beautiful passer; I don't like the run-and-shoot, but with that guy running it, it's so pretty to watch"), Jim Kelly and Dan Marino, who drives Sid nuts. "Totally undisciplined," Gillman says of the Miami Dolphin passer, "but, my god, what a talent: what a quick drop, quick hands. But when he takes his drop, he's all over the place."

And then there's his favorite, Boomer Esiason. "Technically the most perfect," Gillman says. "He does all the things I tried to get my quarterbacks to do—bouncing in place to let the pattern develop, ball always held high. You see so many of them bring the ball down and around and all over. I just love watching the guy play."

Gillman has a class that he calls tough old vets: Phil Simms, Steve DeBerg ("the courage that guy's shown"). And a group of future stars: Timm Rosenbach, Troy Aikman, Steve Walsh, Jeff Hostetler, Jim Harbaugh, Steve Young ("Yeah, I know, he's been around, but I still think he'll be a Super Bowl quarterback someday") and Jeff George, whom he rates a "super talent...great delivery, strong arm, good size, can move around and avoid the rush. But I question his accuracy on long balls, and then you have to ask, 'Is he smart? Is he a leader?' I don't know yet."

There are some quarterbacks he won't evaluate until he sees more film, such as Don Majkowski and Chris Miller, and some who frankly puzzle him, such as Dave Krieg and Jim Everett, who he says "regressed completely" in 1990. And then there are a few who cause him to scowl. "Oh, hell, I don't want to get into that," he says. "You know who they are."

The alltime greatest? "Well, you have John Unitas, who's in a class by himself," Gillman says. "You're talking about alltime alltime, but"—and he pauses—"I kind of had a thing about Joe Namath, kind of gave me goose bumps every time he went back to pass."

He puts another game tape into the VCR and starts the machine. It's the Raiders, the one organization that has never snapped the cord with Gillman.

"Sid, geez, you're talking about my father now," says Al Davis, an end coach on Gillman's first three Charger teams. In Davis's office, ready to be wrapped and shipped, is a Sony TV—for Sid. The Raiders supply Gillman with tapes, invite him on trips, occasionally call for his opinion.

"He still thinks he's coaching me," Davis says. "He's still dominating me. He doesn't know I've grown up. He'll say, 'You can't win that way,' and I'll say, 'Hell, Sid, we're winning.'