Hardly a week goes by when some pro isn’t whining about his wretched lot and demanding to be traded from a team that doesn’t sufficiently suck up to his skills and whims. Last year Jay Cutler could no longer stomach the Denver Broncos and by continual harangues orchestrated his way to the Chicago Bears.

Whining about your misfortune seems almost a requirement in the NBA, where a decade ago we had the famous case of Latrell Sprewell trying to strangle coach P.J. Carlissimo of the Golden State Warriors. Sprewell was dealt to the New York Knicks and kept playing. The Warriors, in fact, seem to have more than their share of the tempermental. Chris Webber famously bullied his way off the team in the mid-90s, and this year Stephen Jackson wanted out and got it.

It’s the same in baseball and football, where top college players have turned up their noses at some NFL franchises even before the draft.

Could any of us get away with this kind of behavior in our workplaces or communities?

“Sorry, boss, I don’t want to work evenings.”

“Either I decide my own assignments or you’re going to have to put me in a better job at a better location.”

“I’m sorry, officer, but my husband is asleep and isn’t available to answer your questions about how at 2:30 in the morning he ran over the fire hydrant and crashed into the neighbors’ tree.”

This is the point at which I’d normally conclude by saying “Give me a break.” But I’m not eligible for such. I don’t make enough money.

Thanksgiving Day in America means turkey, cranberries and football, not necessarily in that order. The Detroit Lions and Dallas Cowboys have been featured on national TV for as long as I can remember, and both teams will be in action this year.

I’ll be paying more attention to the Cowboys’ game against the Oakland Raiders, who will start Bruce Gradkowski (at right) at quarterback for the second game in a row.

Living just outside the San Francisco Bay area, I’ve become a student of bad and underperforming football teams in recent years. The Raiders and San Francisco 49ers have introduced high-hype first-round draft picks at QB in that time, and the teams have sputtered. I’ve been drawn to their less-heralded backups, Gradkowski and Shaun Hill for the Niners. When they’re playing, their teams move the ball and, at least in Hill’s case, win more often than not. It’ll take a few more games before we see how the Silver & Black perform with Gradkowski leading the way.

Speaking of the Silver & Black, here’s an unadulterated plug for the Silver & Black blog written by a friend and colleague who’s followed the Raiders for years. He actually knows what he’s talking about when it comes to pro football, as he actually goes to the games. I can only give you the armchair perspective.

We doubted his word. We doubted his motives. But as the Minnesota Vikings have surged to a 4-0 record this season, no one doubts that Brett Favre has the drive and the talent to succeed for his new team. Favre shone again Monday night as the Vikes defeated his old team, the Green Bay Packers, 30-23.

I’m betting the TV ratings for the game were high as curious Americans tuned in to watch Favre attack the Pack. Although he wore his familiar No. 4 jersey, it was purple instead of the usual Packers’ green and gold. Didn’t matter. Favre performed like a man half his 40 39 years of age.

I wasn’t surprised. A week ago, I watched Favre shred the San Francisco secondary on a last-minute drive that he punctuated with a 32-yard touchdown strike to the end zone with 2 seconds left.

I lived in Wisconsin during the Bart Starr coaching era when the Packers were awful. At the time I appreciated the Packers for their heritage but could not fully embrace the team. In recent years the Pack returned to some measure of glory, and Favre deservedly got much of the credit.

The Monday night loss to the rival Vikings will be even more bitter for Packers fans, who rightly felt jilted and betrayed when Favre “retired” only to sign last season with the New York Jets. His outrageous, teasing courtship dance with Vikings over the summer makes his performance with them in this first quarter of the season even more remarkable.

Call him what you will. But Brett Favre has delivered on his promise.

It’s not easy being silver and black. The Oakland Raiders, one of the most intimidating and successful franchises in the history of professional football, are reeling. On so many Sundays the past few years, the Raiders have been outplayed and outclassed. Since 2002, when they last won an AFC title and appeared in the Super Bowl, they haven’t posted a winning record. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I checked the stats — the Raiders haven’t won more than five games in any season since.

With the way the team has played this season, six victories seems like a tall order.  A colleague who has season tickets (and writes a fine Raiders blog) said the fans in the Black Hole at the Oakland Coliseum relentlessly booed quarterback JaMarcus Russell on Sunday as the Broncos embarrassed the Raiders 23-3.

This is pitiful football. My Raiders’ credentials are a bit tenuous, but I have enough of a connection to justify a few observations. Growing up in the snowbound Eastern time zone, I watched a lot of Raiders games from the West Coast after the Browns wrapped up. The Raiders in those days were Daryle Lamonica and Fred Biletnikoff, Ken Stabler and Cliff Branch, not to mention scores of outstanding defensive backs and linemen both sides of the ball.

When the team returned to Oakland from exile in Los Angeles, I lived in Alameda – where Al Davis & Co. set up their corporate home. My kids’ high school manned concession booths at home games as a fund-raiser. While I saw little action on the field, I poured plenty of beers for the fans. The early years in Oakland Phase Two were mediocre, but the team had passionate backers who knew better times lay ahead.

For maddening contrast, today’s Raiders fans need only look across San Francisco Bay to see how the 49ers are resurrecting their program. I wish I had a solution for the Raiders, who for so many years found a way to win. Right now, the fabled “Commitment to Excellence” has a hollow ring to it.

New iPhone in hand, I went to the grocery store with my family the other day to pick up a few provisions for dinner. Near the checkout aisle was  row of Super Bowl caps done up in blue and orange in what is either homage to the Denver Broncos, a jab at them or mere coincidence. In any event, as I got a better look at the photo on my PC this morning I couldn’t help but take delight in how the caps are placed in the perfect setting, surrounded by junk food in a modern American supermarket.

The Thursday night game between the Redskins and Giants notwithstanding, today marks the real kickoff to the 2008 National Football League season. In celebration, I took my natty corduroy Cleveland Browns cap out into the warm California sun for a morning portrait.

Classic Cleveland Browns corduroy cap

I call this a classic Browns cap because it dates not from the present franchise but from the last years of the old Browns, the team that the sinsister Art Modell carted off to Baltimore to become the dead-to-me Ravens.

The original Browns started in the All American Football Conference that was folded into the NFL in the early 1950s. My early childhood centered on baseball, and football didn’t enter my consciousness until early grade school. In fact, my earliest pro football memory is of the day of the 1964 championship game in which the Browns defeated the Baltimore Colts (another team that would ultimately and appallingly be wrenched from the hearts of its fans). The game was blacked out on television in Cleveland, so my dad sent me to the attic to move our antenna around so we could catch the game on a Toledo station.

The demise of the old Browns roughly coincided with my move to California, where I’ve since attached my primary allegiance to the San Francisco 49ers and, given a few beers and the right opponent, the Oakland Raiders. I have not bonded with the new Browns, but should they advance to the playoffs, I’ll be pulling for them hard. And yeah, I want them to crush the Dallas Cowboys today.

In the meantime, I reserve my Browns cap mainly for the winter months, always hoping for the delightful contrast of white snowflakes settling on its rich brown bill.

As my wife heads to Portland, Ore., my thoughts turn to:

1. What am I going to eat for the next five days?
2. Hey, I bought a ballcap near Portland a couple of years ago!

Not just any ballcap. This was a genuine Washington State Cougars cap, an early 21st Century Nike model with stretch-to-fit elastic in the back.

I bought this cap when I joined my wife at a conference she was running at a resort — The Resort, in fact — on Mount Hood. Having lived in Seattle for four years, I should have known to pack a hat for the rainy Pacific Northwest. But no.

Which made for a great opportunity to buy a new cap at the shiny new Fred Meyer department store we passed on our way up the mountain. Freddy’s had lots of choices if you were an Oregon or Oregon State fan. There were several Washington Huskies caps, too, but just one lone Wazzu lid.

In my cap calculus, you score extra points for buying against the grain. So donning a Cougar cap smack in the middle of Duck and Beaver territory made perfect sense. Washington State probably has the smallest fan base of all the Pac-10 schools, and that’s all the more reason to root for the Cougs.

The overwhelming number of U-Dub grads and students in Seattle was often hard to bear during my Seattle years, and I enjoyed my annual visits to the WSU campus immensely. Driving through the hills of the Palouse was always a thrill, so backing the Cougs seems right.

Although this cap is sport-agnostic, I bought it in September and thus consider it a football cap. This post makes three consecutive red caps, and I promise to insert some contrast in the next post.

In the meantime, what the heck am I going to make for dinner?