In the end, the games matter.
Enough said.
Perhaps nowhere is that clearer than in my experience covering the Army-Navy football game. The 2016 edition was the last game I covered. That it was, seemed entirely fitting. Ever since I was a kid listening on the radio, that traditional rivalry struck a chord in my heart. The game being held post-Thanksgiving on a Saturday seemed appropriate. A battle between two military academies coming on the heels of a celebration of gratitude seemed entirely appropriate. Though I was only five years old when the hostilities of World War II ended, I came of age during a period when that group of men and women went quietly about the business of firmly establishing our nation as a beacon of hope. The Army-Navy game served as a reminder of the great sacrifice many members of the Greatest Generation made to my freedom and my prosperity.
For many years, the football mattered greatly as well. Though I don’t have clear recollections of the games in 1944 and 1945, those two years Army came into the game ranked number one in the country and Navy number two. Army won each time in games of great consequence. I have a far clearer recollection of the 1963 game. Shortly after I helped in our coverage of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, his widow, Jacqueline, influenced the two academies decision to hold the game despite talks of its cancellation. President Kennedy, of course, was a Navy man himself, having served heroically in the war aboard PT-109. That game was moved back to December 7, fittingly Pearl Harbor Day. In Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium, 102,000 people gathered as did millions more via radio and television. As Roger Staubach, the quarterback of the Navy squad who came into the game ranked number two in the country later recalled, the game was as much a tribute to the country’s fallen leader as it was a sporting event. It helped the nation heal.
The games matter.
The traditions matter.
One aspect of sports that draws us together is the pageantry involved. I don’t know if this dates all the way back to the Romans and the Coliseum—and no, I wasn’t there to cover the bread and circuses—but there’s something deep inside us humans gathering together to watch a spectacle that pleases us. Whether it’s the opening of an Olympics, the presentation of medals or a championship trophy, but the word ceremony frequently gets used. Most of us love tradition, long standing rivalry, and the rituals involved in games. Maybe its because in an often uncertain world, its nice to know that there are some things we can count on—an umpire saying, “Play ball!” to NHL hockey players shaking hands at the conclusion of a playoff series. From beginning to end, from opening day to a championship being decided, we mark our days as we mark our scorecards. Keeping a tally just somehow feels right.
Family, friends, and those who know me only by my occasional visits into their homes via television will tell you that I’m sentimental. I’m okay with that. More than okay, really, I’m proud of that. That means that I care. My career depended upon being impartial—that didn’t mean that I didn’t understand or feel what was at stake for everybody involved. Some of my favorite shots from various games are when our cameramen found someone in the crowd in the throes of tears or overcome with joy.
If you are not moved by the sight of the Cadets and the Midshipmen marching on before the game then you have no soul. I sensed that from seeing the game on television, but I truly felt that the first time I covered the game in 2000. The precision and the commitment of the students at those two service academies is truly something to behold. I was in awe. If I have one regret it is that I wasn’t always able to do the game. Once it was moved to a stand-alone date to complete the regular season for college football, the second week in December, I was free of SEC commitments and could be in the booth.
That 2000 game says something about the appeal of the game. Army came into it with a record of 1-9; Navy stood at 0-9. Still, the game very much mattered and the Midshipmen pulled out a victory to prevent them from finishing with their worst record in their, to that point, more than 100-year history.
History was always an appeal to me—for that game and in my life. So, during the ceremonies that surround the Army-Navy game, I’m always deeply moved by the recognition of those who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our nation. The Army-Navy game serves as a reminder also that playing the game for the game’s sake alone is important. The vast majority of those who play in that game have no real shot at playing the game professionally. They play for love of the game and to honor the traditions and put in practice the lessons that competition and teamwork teach and reinforce.
As much as we are entertained by major college football and may think of it as a kind of minor leagues for the NFL the reality is that fewer than two percent of its participants make it to the professional level. So what I said about the love of the game and the traditions above applies to the overwhelming majority of players we see on our screens and in person. That love, that dedication, that sacrifice is there in all games. Knowing, especially at times of war, that many of those involved in the Army-Navy game will serve their country in combat or in other ways has always added poignancy to an already deeply meaningful game. I can’t help but be reminded that service and sacrifice extends beyond the academies as well. Pat Tillman’s decision to forgo his career in the NFL after graduating from Arizona State University and playing for the Arizona Cardinals is only the most well known and dramatic of those stories.
When I think back on some of the players I’ve covered over the years, the number who served in the military in various capacities is another reminder of what sports teaches us and how those skills and character traits translate into other areas in the military and elsewhere. I also can’t forget Texas A&M and its Corps of Cadets and its proud 12th Man tradition.
I was fortunate in my time here in Steamboat Springs to become dear, dear friends with Brigadier General Robin Olds. A West Point grad, he served in the US Air Force as a fighter pilot. A so-called “triple ace,” (becoming an ace usually means confirmation of having downed five enemy aircraft) with sixteen “kills” combined during World War II and the Vietnam War, Robin was a genuine American hero. He recalled fondly his days on the football field playing for Army where he became an All-American in 1942. He is legendary for having lost two of his upper teeth in making a tackle in the ’42 game. He returned to the field, saluted by the Navy midshipmen in attendance. Because travel was restricted in war time, Navy’s Third and Fourth Classes were assigned to cheer for Army in place of the absent Army Corps of Cadets. How’s that for sportsmanship?
Olds flew some of the most iconic aircraft of World War II, served for a time as an assistant football coach at West Point under Earl Blaik when Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside, Glenn Davis and Doc Blanchard, won Heisman Trophies. He flew precision maneuvers as part of the first aerobatic demonstration team to use jets, and later served as Commandant of Cadets at the US Air Force academy and helped restore honor following a major cheating scandal there. I was honored to know him in his later years when he remained a man of great integrity and vigor.
He was very much on my mind as I walked into the stadium in Baltimore for the game. Sadly, he’d passed away in 2007, but he was still very much with me.
In our pregame, we of course had to mention that Army had last won the game in 2001, shortly after the attacks on New York City and the Pentagon. The streak had taken on almost mythic proportions, but in 2012, Army seemed on the verge of breaking the spell. Unfortunately, as so often happens, an Army turnover late in the game at the Navy fourteen yard line prevented that from happening. Quarterback Trent Streelman and fullback Larry Dixon got tangled up on a handoff and a fumble ensued. Navy recovered.
End of game. Navy’s streak continued.
Afterward, Streelman was disconsolate. In the most moving scene I’ve ever witnessed at a sporting event, the Army quarterback openly sobbed as he joined his teammates as they walked toward the Navy fans to sing first. “Singing Second,” when the victor’s alma mater is played and sung with the losing team facing the opposition’s fans, is one more stirring tradition.
As I’ve said, I always look to provide viewers with someone to root for. The Army squad was again an underdog in 2016, but they had a special incentive this time around. After the second game of the season, their cornerback Brandon Jackson had been killed in a car accident. His mother, Morna Davis, was in attendance for the first time since the tragic loss of her son. She joined the celebration in the locker room following Army’s 21–17 comeback victory.
I’m not naïve enough to think that on its own a game can heal a mother’s broken heart, help a nation deal with the loss of a president, or make us forget about a terrorist attack. They do matter, though. They do contribute to offering hope and healing. They can inspire us and infuriate us, but more often than not, we keep coming back to them.
I’ve been fortunate to play a part in bringing some great stories to viewers. It’s been an honor and a privilege. I can only hope that I’ve brought some small measure of the enormous pleasure I’ve had in broadcasting them.
Radio and television brought the world to me. Being a part of that world and bringing it to others has meant the world to me.
Thanks for watching. Thanks for reading. Thanks, to borrow a phrase, for the memories.