Every year at the Scouting Combine in Indianapolis, Al Davis sits in the same seat in the front row, all by himself. He talks to those who approach him, but he’s not interested in company. Always possessive of his aura, Davis doesn’t want rivals trying to figure out what he thinks or whom he watches. Over the past decade, though, there’s been scant reason for competitors to worry about his plans. The Raiders’ resurgence on the field -- consecutive AFC West titles -- speaks far more to free agent acumen than draft day prescience.

In fact, Oakland has been a model of how not to draft. The numbers are stark: The Raiders and the Patriots had the fewest of their own draft picks (seven) starting for them at the beginning of last season. (The Browns also had seven, but they’ve been playing for only three years.) The Raiders also had just 14 of their draftees starting anywhere in the league. Other than the Browns, only the Ravens, Patriots, Saints and Chargers, with 12, had fewer.

The Raiders have been especially bad with offensive skill-position players. They’ve taken seven in the first three rounds since 1994, but the only starter is Jon Ritchie, a block-only fullback taken in the third round in 1998. The last impact receiver or back drafted by the Raiders? Tim Brown in 1988.

When it comes to the draft, the Raider Way is Al’s Way. His picks are based on what worked in the team’s heyday of the ’70s and early ’80s. He loves speed first and foremost, and players with high profiles. He can’t resist fast wide receivers, one-on-one corners, huge defensive linemen. “He’s always good for one off-the-wall pick,” says a rival personnel director. “They’ve got good scouts, as good as any in the league, but Al doesn’t always listen.”

The poor drafts stem from more than bad decisions and bad luck. Like everything Davis does, there’s history involved. Davis’ approach to building a team is no different from Detroit’s idea of automaking or Hollywood’s idea of moviemaking. He’s always out to remake a successful model or hit it big with a well-timed sequel. Every cornerback is the next Mike Haynes or Lester Hayes, every tight end the next Dave Casper.

Rickey Dudley -- at one time the next Casper -- is the perfect example. Taken by the Raiders in the first round in ’96 (ninth overall) on the basis of considerable physical gifts and a superior workout, the 6'6" Dudley seemed to drop more passes than he caught in five years with the team. When scouts told Davis they questioned Dudley’s hands, he came back with a familiar refrain: He could be taught. After all, Cliff Branch didn’t have great hands coming out of college. Receivers with good speed but bad hands (Rocket Ismail, ’91), defensive tackles with great physical gifts but little motivation (Darrell Russell, ’97), quarterbacks with big arms but questionable mental faculties (Todd Marinovich, ’91) -- they could be taught. “Once he picks them, it’s the coaches’ job,” said one source. “You can guess how that goes over.”

Davis’s most recent errant hunch? Sebastian Janikowski. NFL execs were stunned when the Raiders took him with the 17th pick overall in 2000. The reasoning was sound -- the Raiders had lost four games by three or fewer points the year before -- but the timing was bad. There was no reason to believe Janikowski was going to be taken before the Raiders chose in the second round. “The value of the pick was greater than Janikowski,” the player personnel man said. Two picks after Janikowski went, the Seahawks chose running back Shaun Alexander. Seven picks later, the 49ers chose Pro Bowl cornerback Ahmed Plummer.

And you wonder why Jon Gruden’s gone. Funny thing, but head coaches would prefer to have a vote on the players they coach -- even if they know veto power is out of the question.

Tim Keown is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tim.keown@espnmag.com.