RAIDERS L.A. SWAN SONG JURY CRUSHES DAVIS' HOPES FOR SOUTHLAND NFL RIGHTS.

Byline: KEVIN MODESTI

Twelve angry men and women, speaking for millions across the county, sent Al Davis a loud and clear message Monday afternoon.

Los Angeles does not belong to football's champion deal-breaker and his Oakland Raiders.

Doesn't it feel good to finally put that on the record?

Inside an L.A. courtroom, the Raiders suffered a one-sided defeat of the sort they used to experience regularly in an L.A. stadium. In a legal rout, a Superior Court jury that deliberated for three grueling weeks voted 9-3 to reject Davis' lawsuit alleging those blue-suited bullies in the National Football League executive suite forced his gypsy franchise to skip town in 1995.

Davis, the Raiders owner and chief executive conspiracy theorist, was asking for $1.2 billion in damages from the NFL.

But after 10 weeks of testimony and deliberation, the jury dealt him a shutout. Davis won't get a penny.

In its broader implication, the verdict affirms what the citizens of jilted Raiders suitor Irwindale, the bosses of would-be Raiders landlord Hollywood Park, and every disillusioned former Raiders fan this side of Fresno already believed.

Davis does not, legally or morally, ``own'' the rights to the NFL's Southern California market, vacant since the Raiders and the Rams departed for greener financial pastures during the same sad summer of '95.

The verdict also denies Davis an extra billion dollars in mad money, cash he might have used to buy his way out of his Oakland lease on his way back to this sunny shore.

So this is the end for the Raiders' barely hidden wish to return to Los Angeles, right? The stake in Davis' vampire heart? The last nail in his coffin?

Don't bet on it.

If this were a man who goes away easily, he would have gone away before now.

Instead, he's always looking for the next legal angle, the next overeager city or county official, the next stadium builder to dupe. Inevitably, he finds one.

Although the Raiders don't have the right to march into Los Angeles and plant their black flag on the grounds of City Hall, there's nothing to prevent an unwary populace, desperate for yet another Sunday-afternoon activity, from inviting the team back.

Happily or sadly, the Raiders will always have a following here, fans who remember the good times among the franchise's 13 seasons in the Coliseum.

The Raiders did bring Los Angeles its only Super Bowl championship (in 1984). That victory bought them a lot of forgiveness, apparently.

Dozens, sometimes hundreds, of fans continue to hop early-morning flights from Los Angeles and Burbank to Oakland on autumn Sundays to cheer their heroes in person.

Raiders apologists continue to mail letters to L.A. sportswriters, begging for the team's return.

Of course, these are the people who believe Elvis is about to make a comeback, as an opening act for the Beatles, at a Ted Kennedy for President fund-raiser.

Of course, these also are the people Davis listens to.

Even now, as he dresses his legal wounds, Davis girds for a Sacramento court battle in which he'll seek $1 billion, claiming that Oakland and Alameda County broke promises when the Raiders went back to the Bay Area. If he wins that lawsuit, slated for a summer airing, look out below.

We won't have heard the last of Al Davis.

In a sign of how seriously the Raiders overestimate their popularity here, their attorney urged the jury late last month to strike a blow for football-starved Southern Californians by siding with the dear old Silver 'n' Black.

``You will be representing the people. All of them,'' attorney Joseph M. Alioto told the eight men and four women.

Well, the people have spoken, only not the way Alioto had in mind. Los Angeles might want a pro football team, but that doesn't mean it wants another flirtation with the Raiders.

Al, the jury said, stay off our turf.