Over the years I have been asked to commentate on some events that fall into the category of “not so interesting”. One of them was the Olympic bobsleigh competition. “How do you commentate on a bobsleigh race?” I thought to myself. So I asked an expert who commentated on the sport for German television. He said: “There they come… there they go.” There you have it.

Another time I attended the National Chicken Flying Championships. They stuffed a chicken into a mailbox attached to a six-foot post and then used a plunger to push the unsuspecting chicken out of the mailbox. The chicken that flew (or fell) the farthest was the winner. It wasn’t as exciting as, say, Game 7 of the World Series.

I mention this because there are many events that fall into the category of “boring,” but none of them – not a single bobsled race, chicken race, dog walker race or hot dog eating contest – can even come close to matching an NFL preseason game in terms of boredom.

Why waste three hours (or nine if you watch all three preseason games) of your life watching several people drive beer trucks before September 1st when you could be watching reruns of Dr. Pimple Popper?

And how can we even judge what our San Francisco 49ers might look like in 2024 when even the head coach is essentially handing over the responsibility of calling plays to an intern?

OK, I’ll admit that a guy who offers a lot of offensive power is just a practice observer while his agent argues with the team over a few measly million dollars. Frankly, the 49ers are in charge. I know it’s a trade-off, but Brandon Aiyuk may have to settle for a Maserati instead of a Lamborghini. I feel his pain.

The bigger problem is left tackle – perhaps the best of all time. Trent Williams is indispensable and I’m sure he’s the number one topic of conversation in the 49ers front office. With all due respect to Brandon Aiyuk, Williams is more important.

Beyond that, of course, there are cuts and bruises, strains and strains, and a sick and wounded list that reads like a MASH unit. But the able-bodied players who will be at full strength for the opening game on Sept. 9 are among the best in the league.

I’m just not ready to buy into the preseason bleak outlook. This team is loaded with All-Pro players. It’s also a team that should get better as the season goes on. There are good teams – maybe even teams that are the equal of the 49ers in the NFL this year – and in the end, injuries will play a big role in who stands. But if you think the home team has to keep up with the likes of the Patriots, Giants, Panthers and Titans around these parts, I say they’ll be in the fight until the end.

Although it wouldn’t hurt to maybe offer Jed York some change to pay his left tackle what he’s worth.

Gone and never forgotten

There is an old joke about a man who crossed a parrot with a lion. “What is his name?” he was asked. “I don’t know. But when he speaks, you listen!”

That was Al Attles.

The former Warriors player and coach died Tuesday at the age of 87. He was everything to everyone. He was “coach.” He was “teammate.” He was “friend,” “confidant,” “teacher,” and “guru.” And what he was more than anything to everyone who knew him was that he was “there.” If you wanted his advice, his counsel, his friendship, or his expertise, Al Attles was “there.”

I met Al Attles when I was 24 and aspiring to be a sportscaster at KCBS Radio. His nickname was “The Destroyer” and I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross him. I asked him a stupid question that today would have been met with dirty looks and a curt rebuff, and he put his arm around me, walked me to the bench and said, “Don’t be nervous, just ask your question.” I did, it was still stupid, and Al Attles answered it like I was doing a story for “60 Minutes.”

“The Destroyer” wasn’t there that day, and in fact, I never saw anything about the man that made me even remotely believe he was one of the most feared players in the league. But at 6’0″ and 175 pounds, Al Attles was a killer on the basketball court. Even my teammate Rick Barry, who never spoke highly of anyone but himself when it came to basketball, once told me, “Al Attles is not a guy you mess with.”

Alvin taught me a lot about basketball. I spent a lot of time with him over the years, on the court, in his office, at his house in the Oakland Hills. He also taught me about life. He talked about how to treat people, how to coach them and make them better.

Over the next few weeks you will read many words from many people who were influenced by Alvin Attles. In all the years I have known him, I have never heard anyone say a derogatory word about him. I mentioned earlier that when he spoke, people listened. I was not kidding. He had the definitive “voice of God.” He made James Earl Jones sound like a soprano. I had the voice of a basketball coach; he had the voice of a Shakespearean actor. I always told him he had chosen the wrong profession. A profession, by the way, that he never wanted to pursue.

Al Attles played college basketball at a Historically Black University, North Carolina A&T. He wasn’t there on a basketball scholarship. Getting a scholarship was much harder than getting one for basketball. He was there on a music scholarship. The selection process to make the basketball team was much easier than being good enough to qualify for the marching band.

The people who influenced me as a sportscaster seem to disappear all around me. Don Klein, my boss at KCBS, who taught me how to call a game. Willie Mays, who for some unknown reason adopted me and imparted wisdom to me. And now Al Attles, who made a dumb kid not look so dumb and showed him what a good guy really looks like.

Barry Tompkins is a 40-year network sportscaster from San Francisco. You can email him at [email protected].