In October 2001, with the US military preparing to invade Afghanistan and the stakes for Travis and Brendan suddenly much higher, their frequent runs became even more intense. On their seemingly endless routes, one would always challenge the other to go further.
As they ran through the academy’s heavily guarded campus, Travis asked Brendan which branch he hoped to serve in.
“I’ll probably go Navy,” Brendan responded. “What about you?”
“Marine Corps. . . . I hope to go that route,” Travis said, knowing that becoming a Marine Corps officer like his dad was far from guaranteed.
“I hear ya,” Brendan said. “With the way things are going, I can’t even imagine what will be going on when we graduate.”
“Who the hell knows,” Travis said.
Letters laced with anthrax had just been discovered in post offices in Florida, New York, and Washington, DC. One chilling message was sent to Tom Brokaw, the eminent NBC News anchor:
09–11–01
This is next
Take Penacilin Now
Death to Israel
Like the rest of America, which worried about everything from more hijackings and anthrax to a nuclear suitcase bomb being detonated in a major city, Annapolis was gripped by fear. Because the Navy campus was full of future military leaders, authorities believed the academy could be a prime target for terrorists planning to make another grand statement while also achieving an important wartime objective.
Travis and Brendan’s class of 2004 still had time to prepare, but the graduating class of 2002 was only months away from going to war, which had changed the entire campus mind-set.
On the first Saturday of December 2001, with American bombs pummeling the mountainous region of Tora Bora near Afghanistan’s border with Pakistan, where Osama bin Laden was believed to be hiding, President Bush entered the Navy football locker room at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. In just a few minutes, the Midshipmen would square off against their West Point counterparts. Even though Navy was winless and Army had prevailed in just two contests going into the season’s final game, the 2001 matchup, held as Ground Zero still smoldered less than three months after 9/11, was one of the most significant Army-Navy games ever played.
Standing a few feet from Brendan, the president thanked Navy’s coach after being presented with a football autographed by all members of the team. After a few words of encouragement and a handshake with his former GOP presidential primary rival, Senator John McCain of Arizona, President Bush headed over to the Army locker room, where Operation Desert Storm hero and West Point graduate General Norman Schwarzkopf was meeting with the Army squad.
The president, who had taken office less than a year earlier after one of the closest elections in American history, was in his first weeks as a wartime commander-in-chief. But in his address to the Army players, he left no doubt that the war on terrorism, as his administration called the new conflict, would be part of America’s fabric for many years to come. President Bush told the Army Black Knights that though Navy’s players were their rivals on the field today, they would be their brothers in arms on the battlefield tomorrow.
Back in the Navy locker room, Senator McCain, one of the academy’s most famous graduates, delivered an impassioned speech to the players representing his beloved alma mater. While McCain’s words were potent, Brendan and his Navy teammates only needed to look into the eyes of the sixty-five-year-old senator, who had endured years of brutal torture and solitary confinement while being held captive in a North Vietnamese prison, to know that this landmark game was one step on a long journey toward becoming warriors.
Travis was in State College, Pennsylvania, to compete in the annual Penn State Open wrestling tournament. He would have to rely on accounts from friends, including Brendan, to truly understand the atmosphere that day at “the Vet.”
Army and Navy roared onto the field led by huge American flags. Navy SEAL and Army paratroopers, also with US flags in tow, glided onto the field’s artificial turf with Army and Navy parachutes. The Navy and Army team captains then stood at midfield with President Bush for the coin toss, as chants of “U-S-A!” filled the stadium.
With visibly cold air billowing from his mouth, Brendan, who wore number 37, soaked in the atmosphere from the sideline while looking up at the stands. Standing next to J. P. Blecksmith, a wide receiver and backup quarterback, Brendan listened to a stirring rendition of the national anthem while looking up at the massive group of uniformed midshipmen, which included many of his friends.
Army won the game, 26–17. But for one day, a stadium full of more than sixty-five thousand screaming fans was united, as was much of the country.
“There’s never been a game, ever—including the eight Super Bowls that I’ve called—there’s never been a game more important than calling that Army-Navy game,” legendary broadcaster Dick Enberg, who handled play-by-play announcing for CBS Sports that day, later said.
In 2002, as the war in Afghanistan continued and talk of another war in Iraq intensified, Travis and Brendan, who were now roommates, understood the significance of the times they were living in. They also knew how to have fun.
Andrew Hemminger was one of Travis’s wrestling teammates. He had known Brendan since their plebe year. When his two buddies became roommates, goofing off in their room became one of Hemminger’s favorite activities. He was entertained not only by Brendan and Travis’s shared sense of humor, but also by their epic video game showdowns in Madden football and Tiger Woods golf.
When Travis beat Brendan, Brendan would sit quietly and steam for the next few hours until Travis wanted to play again. When Brendan beat Travis, Travis would bother him incessantly until Brendan finally granted his request for a rematch. What impressed Hemminger the most, however, was how quickly the roommates could refocus when it was time to be serious.
During a summer fishing trip to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, Hemminger and his brother, Dan, were with Brendan and several friends when the booze began to flow on the eve of their boat excursion. As more and more drinks were consumed, several of the guys began arguing over who would catch the biggest fish when they went out on the water the next morning.
Numerous friends offered Brendan drinks as he sat quietly amid the increasingly boisterous festivities. Brendan, sporting his customary smirk, politely declined.
“Are you sure you guys want to keep drinking?” Brendan cautioned the group, who carried on for several more hours despite his warning.
The next morning, in the boat out on choppy waters, Brendan shook his head as the Hemminger brothers and everyone else draped themselves over the sides of the vessel. Hung over and seasick, they were throwing up while Brendan adjusted his fishing rod.
“Remind me again who’s going to catch the biggest fish?” Brendan asked with a grin.
Though Brendan was in the best condition that morning, he wasn’t really concerned about catching the biggest fish. Instead, he sat in the boat and shared laughs with his nauseated friends, making sure they rehydrated after vomiting for most of the morning.
During a subsequent trip to Colorado Springs, the Hemminger brothers were with Travis when their wrestling coach challenged them to a grueling 12½-mile trail hike to the top of Pikes Peak. Naturally the athletes turned the climb into a fierce competition that Travis was determined to win.
After the Hemmingers, Travis, and their teammates separated into respective groups of three, they didn’t encounter each other again until they were just steps from the mountain’s summit. Travis had indeed beaten the Hemmingers there, but the biggest member of his group, heavyweight wrestler Steve Kovach, was struggling to breathe after several hours of climbing through the thin Rocky Mountain air.
Travis wanted to reach the gigantic mountain’s soaring peak first. But upon seeing his teammate’s condition, he set the competition aside.
“I’m going to head back down with Stevie,” Travis said.
By the time Travis had helped Kovach almost twelve miles down the Pikes Peak trail, it was clear to everyone what he was all about. Travis wanted to win, but like Brendan, his friends came first.
During most of their time in Annapolis, Travis and Brendan shared another trait. As red-blooded American college kids, they wanted to meet as many beautiful women as possible. Travis was often popular with the ladies and would usually return from a night at the bars with at least one new phone number. In one memorable case, his charm extended into the classroom, when Travis managed to put a female professor in a better mood during a disastrous presentation by one of his friends.
As his buddy Myles McAllister stumbled through the assignment, Travis sat in the back of the classroom, laughing hysterically and smirking at the instructor. While smiling back at Travis and chuckling at his antics, her attention was diverted from McAllister’s cringe-inducing performance.
“You really saved my ass in there,” McAllister said as they laughed about the presentation after class.
“I have to admit, that was the worst presentation I’ve ever seen,” a smiling Travis said while reassuring McAllister that he would probably receive a passing grade. “You’ll be fine. . . . I think that teacher’s got a crush on me.”
Travis’s friend did in fact receive a passing grade from the teacher.
Though Brendan had a similar effect on the women of Annapolis, he was usually more reserved in classroom and social settings. That all changed on Memorial Day weekend in 2003.
With the country now at war in Iraq, on that Sunday Brendan, a Naval Academy junior, was driving back from the Jersey Shore, where he had met up with some high school buddies. He was heading to Baltimore to hang out with a large group of DeMatha friends at Fell’s Point, a quaint, popular area of waterfront shops, restaurants, and bars that bore a striking resemblance to Annapolis.
As Brendan walked into The Greene Turtle sports bar to greet his buddies, his gaze wandered to a large table, where a gorgeous blonde was sitting with mutual friends near a wall covered with Baltimore Orioles and Ravens memorabilia. She was sipping a margarita, nodding and smiling as one of her friends told a funny story.
Brendan couldn’t get over her big brown eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Go talk to her,” said Ryan Gillis, who had noticed Brendan staring.
“No way,” Brendan said. “She’s way too hot. . . . I’d have no chance.”
“Fine,” Gillis, now a football player at Notre Dame, remarked as several at the table, including the young woman Brendan was admiring, got up and moved to the dance floor. “I’ll go dance with her then.”
Gillis, who openly admitted to being a terrible dancer, headed out to the dance floor in order to motivate his reluctant friend, much as Brendan had once inspired him to keep busting his tail during long “two-a-day” high school football practices.
“Dude, seriously, she’s still looking over here,” another friend said to Brendan as Gillis made the woman’s friends laugh with some truly terrible dance moves.
Brendan quickly changed the subject and started talking about the recent return of Hall of Fame coach Joe Gibbs to his beloved Washington Redskins. But after a few minutes of guy talk, about five friends gave the imposing, nearly six-foot-tall midshipman an ultimatum.
“Go talk to that girl, or we’re all going to kick your ass,” one friend said.
Gillis returned from the dance floor just in time to hear the challenge.
“Are we still talking about this?” asked Gillis, out of breath from dancing. “Looney, I mean it this time, if you don’t go over there I really will dance with her.” He smiled. “So it looks like you have two choices. One, you go talk to her; two, I go dance with her and on top of it, we all punch you in the face.”
Responding with his customary smirk, Brendan took a deep breath as he walked toward the radiant blonde and her group of friends, who were dancing in an open area near the bar. As the setting sun reflected off the Baltimore Harbor outside the front window, Brendan took a gulp of beer and walked over to introduce himself.
Just as he was about to say hello, one of his friends, who was already drunk, pushed him right into the middle of the group, causing him to bump into the young woman he had been admiring since walking in the door.
“I’m really sorry,” Brendan said.
“That’s okay,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Amy.”
“Brendan,” he said, extending his hand.
After spending the next minute or two dancing, Amy Hastings, who could tell this good-looking guy liked her but was hesitant, finally broke the ice.
“Do you play football?” she said.
Brendan, who was two hundred pounds of pure muscle with a white “Navy Athletics” hat on top, certainly looked the part of a college football star.
“I actually just started playing lacrosse,” he said. “I was on the football team my freshman and sophomore year. I only started playing lacrosse a year ago, but I love it. My brothers have been playing for years.”
What instantly struck Amy was not which sport Brendan played, but his commanding presence and the sincerity with which he spoke. She was attracted to him.
Brendan and Amy went over to the bar, where he bought her another drink and asked where she was from. Amy told him about growing up in Delaware before moving south to Maryland, where she was currently attending Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Both Brendan and Amy smiled when they realized that their respective high schools, Archbishop Spalding in Severn and DeMatha in Hyattsville, were less than thirty miles apart.
Amy had grown up watching her mother juggle a full-time job and a single-parent home, whereas Brendan came from a family of two happily married parents and five siblings. But even after the minor contrast surfaced, Amy and Brendan quickly realized they had much in common. They both loved their families and friends; they had attended local high schools; and they shared many of the same values, goals, and dreams. With Brendan at Navy and Amy at Johns Hopkins, they knew they both possessed the strong work ethic required to succeed at academically rigorous institutions.
While continuing to talk, Brendan and Amy decided to play the popular “Golden Tee” video game. Brendan may have been one of the most competitive people on the planet, but if there was ever a time to let someone else win, this was it.
Before the game was over, Brendan glanced over toward his buddies, who were psyched to see him hitting it off with such a beautiful girl.
“Gentlemen, I propose a toast,” Gillis said to some of Brendan’s closest high school friends. “I think we just did a good thing.”
Brendan smiled in their direction before turning back to the young lady he could already tell was special. After exchanging more pleasantries, Amy said that she should probably get back to her friends. If Brendan didn’t speak up, he would probably never see her again.
As Amy picked up her purse and headed back over to the dance floor, Brendan channeled all his willpower to say five words.
“Can I get your number?” he asked.
“Sure,” Amy replied, relieved that he had asked.
Amy and Brendan flipped their respective cell phones open and saved each other’s numbers. She then gave him a quick hug and said good-bye.
Afraid of appearing overly anxious, and perhaps inspired by the dating advice Vince Vaughn gave Jon Favreau in the 1996 cult movie Swingers, Brendan waited three days before calling Amy, who lived about a half hour away in Columbia, Maryland. Despite being surprised and slightly annoyed by the seventy-two-hour wait, Amy gave Brendan a chance to redeem himself on their first date. He succeeded, and after a few short months, the young couple were inseparable.
On November 26, 2003, Amy got a Hallmark card in the mail, postmarked from Annapolis:
Amy,
Hard to believe that 6 months ago we met. Time has really flown by. I guess the saying is right, the last 6 months have been the best I have ever had. I would not trade a single day for anything in the universe. You truly have made me a better person and given me a lot. I am excited for the next 6 months, a lot will be changing, but with you there it will not be as bad. I love you with all my heart sweet heart and can’t wait to see what is in our future.
Love ya!
Brendan
Amy had already met Travis, Brendan’s funny, likable roommate, who always seemed to be wearing an Eagles hat and telling her new boyfriend that the Redskins were lousy. She also went along with Brendan and Travis for what was supposed to be a three-mile jog, until the roommates started challenging each other to keep going.
After jogging more than twelve miles—nearly a half-marathon—Amy convinced them to turn around. Whether it was NFL football, video games, or running, everything was a competition for Brendan and Travis.
Although she enjoyed Travis’s company, Amy wasn’t expecting to see him one late April Friday night in 2004, which was supposed to be a dinner and movie date with Brendan, whom she was meeting at the Arundel Mills Mall in Hanover, Maryland.
Inside Arundel Mills, Amy walked around a crowded bar and restaurant, weaving through the crowd while seeking Brendan. After looking around for about ninety seconds, she saw Travis sitting in the rear section of the bar area, almost exactly where Brendan had said to meet him.
Brendan’s roommate’s gaze was transfixed on CNN, which was showing searing images from the Battle of Fallujah. One of the Iraq war’s most intense, violent clashes erupted after terrorists murdered four American contractors, mutilated their corpses, and hung their bodies from a bridge. Thousands of Americans, including US Marine Captain Doug Zembiec, the former Navy wrestler whom Travis looked up to, were going street by street, battling insurgents inside the decimated western Iraqi city.
Travis was so focused on the television that he almost didn’t hear Amy speak.
“Hey, Travis,” Amy said, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hey, Amy,” Travis said. “Yeah, I’m actually meeting you and Brendan.”
“Oh really?” Amy asked. “Are you going to the movies with us, too?”
“Yeah, didn’t Brendan tell you?” Travis asked with a grin.
As Amy and Travis shared a laugh, Brendan showed up a few minutes late after an extra long workout.
“So, Brendan, did you plan on telling me Travis was coming along tonight?” Amy asked with a smile. “I thought this was supposed to be a date.”
“It is,” Brendan replied. “But this loser Eagles fan is going to be our honorary chaperone.”
Brendan, Amy, and Travis ate dinner and then went to the movie theater to see Mean Girls, starring Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams.
Inside the theater, Amy enjoyed Travis and Brendan’s reactions even more than the movie itself. They were laughing so loudly that Amy couldn’t help but join in. Though she may have preferred to be on a romantic date with Brendan, it was impossible not to have a good time when Travis was around.
Later that night Travis, Brendan, and Amy stopped at a bar for a quick beer.
“Brendan, I’m not sure if you saw some of the shit that went down in Fallujah today,” Travis said.
“I was watching one of the news channels at the gym earlier,” Brendan replied. “Brutal stuff, man.”
“It’s terrible,” Amy said.
“Well, you know what?” Travis said. “I want to propose a toast to our men and women fighting over there. . . . Only God knows what they’re going through right now.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Brendan said.
“So will I,” Amy said as their three glasses clinked.
The Iraq war and upcoming presidential election were dividing the country in the spring of 2004. The conflict had dragged on longer than many Americans had expected after US troops routed Baghdad and watched as Iraqis tore down statues of Saddam Hussein just weeks after the initial invasion.
In Iraq in 2003, 486 US service members died; 849 American families lost loved ones in Iraq in 2004. Senator John Kerry, the Democratic presidential nominee, was running on a platform opposing America’s involvement in the Iraq war. President Bush, who had lost much of the record-high popularity he enjoyed after 9/11, insisted his strategy was working and that America would ultimately prevail in Iraq.
Unlike the general public, of which only a fraction of 1 percent had fought overseas since 9/11, the sacrifices being made by brave US troops and their families were touching Annapolis on an almost daily basis. Naval Academy graduates like Captain Zembiec and Second Lieutenant J. P. Blecksmith, a teammate of Brendan’s in the 2001 Army-Navy football game, were fighting on Iraq’s war-torn streets at that very moment. Places like Fallujah and Ramadi were under siege by al Qaeda terrorists and Iraqi insurgents bent on destroying the country rather than letting it be reshaped. Every single day, American blood was being spilled.
In May 2004, Brendan and Travis graduated with their Naval Academy classmates and were commissioned as US military officers. Brendan would go on to serve in the Naval intelligence community, while Travis would head to The Basic School for Marine Corps officers in Quantico, Virginia.
“I can say with certainty that you will have a role in fighting this war on terrorism,” Air Force General Richard Myers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told Travis, Brendan, and 988 fellow Naval Academy graduates on May 28, 2004. “You will face many enormous challenges. You will go into harm’s way. The sacrifice that you have learned by now is part of the job description.”
Three days after graduation, Navy was seeking its first men’s lacrosse national championship in thirty-five years. Though the Midshipmen were underdogs against Syracuse, one of the most storied programs in the sport’s history, the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan made Navy the overwhelming sentimental favorite. That the 2004 NCAA men’s lacrosse national championship game was played on Memorial Day only added to its significance.
Names of other Navy lacrosse players, including Brendan’s brothers Steve and Billy, may have shown up more often in the box score, but Brendan, who wore number 40, was the team’s heart and soul. It didn’t matter that he had only been playing lacrosse for less than three years, whereas everyone else on the team had been playing for at least a decade. His athletic prowess and work ethic were so fierce that the oldest Looney brother immediately became a force as a defenseman.
In practice, Brendan had performed almost exactly as he had in football, with raw determination and zero tolerance for anyone giving less than 100 percent. He had eventually earned significant playing time on the lacrosse team, which often forced opponents to alter their strategies.
Earlier that season, in a game against Georgetown, the Hoyas’ best player—one of the nation’s top midfielders—had run over to the referee in the middle of a game and pleaded for him to blow the whistle. He wanted protection from Brendan, who was playing such tenacious defense that the player could barely breathe, let alone think about scoring. Navy’s starting goalie, Matt Russell, a sophomore who lived on the same floor as Brendan and Travis, referred to his teammate as the most “violent” lacrosse player he had ever seen. In a sport built around a combination of skill and toughness, being an aggressive player was a good thing.
Yet as soon as the final whistle blew, Brendan was a gentleman. When the teams shook hands after the games, Brendan was one of the first in line.
Navy men’s lacrosse captain Thomas “Bucky” Morris had met Brendan while they were preparing for academy life at NAPS, but got to know him better after Brendan went out for lacrosse. Though Brendan initially made the lacrosse team as a “rider,” with the specific role of recovering loose balls, his rapid improvement led Navy coach Richie Meade to give him a central role as a defensive midfielder. Playing the position for the first time in his young lacrosse career, Brendan worked closely with Morris, one of the nation’s top defensemen.
Morris was impressed with Brendan’s intensity and wanted to help him learn the sport even more quickly. He knew Brendan had played football and was obviously well versed in team sports, but what inspired him most was the way Brendan watched over and protected his younger brothers, who were both rising stars on the Navy squad.
In the middle of a game that ended in a Navy blowout victory against Holy Cross in 2004, Billy had made a freshman mistake, getting burned on a face-off, which allowed an opposing player to score; he celebrated wildly with his teammates. Shortly after watching his brother get chewed out by Navy coaches on the sidelines, Brendan, a senior, took the field with his sights set squarely on the Holy Cross player who had embarrassed Billy. As the player fought for a grounder, Brendan hammered him with a pulverizing, yet clean, hit.
“Oh my God, Brendan just crushed that kid,” a Navy player on the sidelines said to his teammates.
The Holy Cross player was fine, but everyone on the Navy team, including Morris, had seen how closely the Looney brothers stuck together. When Steve or Billy made a rookie mistake, Brendan was the first person in their faces. But if someone else dared to show them up, Brendan would roll through that opponent like a freight train.
Early afternoon rain fell in Baltimore on Memorial Day 2004, yet 43,898 fans still showed up at M & T Bank Stadium, home of the NFL’s Baltimore Ravens. At the time, it was the largest crowd to attend a nonbasketball championship game in NCAA history.
In the parking lot was Second Lieutenant Travis Manion, a newly commissioned US Marine officer who had just graduated in front of his proud mom, dad, sister, and someone who had been instrumental in making his second chance at the Naval Academy possible: Lieutenant Colonel Corky Gardner. Travis was standing on top of a car leading a “Let’s go Navy” chant by hundreds of frenzied fans. After his shoulder injury had caused him to miss the entire second half of his senior wrestling season, this was a championship game for Travis, too.
In the stadium, Travis sat with the midshipmen, while Tom and Janet Manion joined Brendan’s parents, Kevin and Maureen Looney. Exactly one year earlier, Brendan had met Amy just a few blocks from the stadium where he was about to play the biggest game of his life. Now Amy was stuck at work and couldn’t attend the game, but she was planning to meet the Looney brothers and Travis almost immediately afterward.
As newly commissioned US Navy Ensign Brendan Looney sat in the Ravens locker room, he was reminded of the 2001 Army-Navy football game, especially when his coach pointed out that Naval Academy graduates were currently fighting overseas. Ever since Navy had started its NCAA tournament run, and especially since the Midshipmen had beaten Princeton in Saturday’s national semifinal, messages of support had poured in from military bases all over the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan.
Syracuse head coach John Desko admitted that some of his own players were struggling with the idea of seemingly playing against their country. “One of our guys just read an article in the Baltimore paper about Navy and Memorial Day and wartime and said, ‘I almost want Navy to win,’” Desko said. “They’ll have a lot of people rooting for them.”
Indeed, there was no such thing as a “neutral” fan at the 2004 NCAA Men’s Lacrosse National Championship Game. You were a Syracuse student, parent, or graduate, or you were a Navy fan. Some Syracuse alumni even bought Navy hats to wear with their Orange T-shirts and ponchos. They wanted to show that despite rooting for Syracuse, they appreciated the sacrifices being made by the Navy athletes and their classmates.
The final seconds before the Navy players ran out on the field felt like the countdown to a Super Bowl or a Rolling Stones concert. The atmosphere, created in part by rowdy midshipmen like Travis, who was chanting “U-S-A!” and crowd surfing, made the Syracuse players and coaches feel like they were playing a road game instead of a neutral-site contest.
Each Navy sports team had a Marine as its official liaison, and Gunnery Sergeant John Kob, who had spent time with Travis and the wrestling team, took his duty with the men’s lacrosse team very seriously. Kob had joined the Army in 1983 and served seven years as a soldier before joining the Marine Corps. The hard-nosed warrior had already deployed to Somalia before being assigned to the Naval Academy in 2001 and was now just months away from deploying to Iraq’s Babil province with 1st Battalion, 1st Marine Division, based out of California’s Camp Pendleton.
Before each game Kob would lead the Midshipmen out onto the field carrying a massive American flag, which always excited the supportive home lacrosse crowds in Annapolis. But this day’s opening ceremony was even more special.
As Brendan, his brothers, and their teammates stood in the tunnel leading out to the M & T Bank Stadium field listening to the thunderous applause above them, Kob, a bald, imposing figure whose face could easily appear in the dictionary next to the definition of “Marine,” dashed out onto the field with the gigantic American flag, waving it so vigorously that the pole nearly broke. From the lower bowl to the upper deck, a crescendo of patriotism swept the stadium, with Travis cheering as his roommate tore onto the field with his hands raised proudly toward the cloud-filled sky.
Rain pelted down on the grassy turf as the game went back and forth. Brendan and other Navy defensemen were focused on Syracuse’s Michael Powell, one of the greatest attack men in NCAA lacrosse history and the only player to ever win the Tewaaraton Trophy—similar to college football’s Heisman Trophy—twice. For Navy to have any chance of defeating the Orange, its defensemen, including Morris, Brendan, and other midshipmen, would have to contain Powell.
The crowd was in a frenzy as a goal by Navy’s Ben Bailey gave the Midshipmen the early lead, with more “U-S-A” refrains replacing the stadium’s usual chant of “Let’s Go Ravens.” Travis, who had played lacrosse in high school and later at Drexel, had closely followed his roommate’s team all season.
Brendan was playing his heart out, as always, but there was a reason Syracuse had won two out of the past four national championships. After tying the score with five minutes to play, the Orange took the lead ninety seconds later, resulting in a nervous hush throughout most of the stadium. It didn’t help that Russell, Navy’s starting goalie, was forced to leave the game because of a collarbone injury.
Syracuse had a 13–12 lead with 1:05 left when its most dangerous player, Powell, darted like a missile toward Navy’s backup goalie. Brendan closed his eyes as the ball hit the back of the net, giving Syracuse a two-goal lead with a minute to play.
“Shit,” Travis said to a fellow midshipman in the stands.
Though Navy followed with a goal, Syracuse won its third championship in five years and eighth overall title.
Brendan was absolutely crushed by the 14–13 defeat. This was supposed to be Navy’s day. It would take some time for the loss to sink in, but Brendan, who had just played his final collegiate game, and everyone associated with the Navy program knew deep down that the team’s improbable Final Four run had been a truly amazing feat.
“What a game and what a crowd,” Tom Manion said after the game, as Janet nodded in agreement. “That’s the kind of thing that really makes you proud to be an American.”
Travis, Amy, Brendan, and Steve were supposed to be having a victory celebration that night at the second home the Manions owned in Annapolis, where they would often hang out on weekends, before heading out to McGarvey’s, O’Brien’s, and their other favorite downtown bars. But even after a devastating defeat, there was still something to be happy about. The US Naval Academy class of 2004 had just graduated.
With a light mist falling, music blared through the Manion house as a cooler full of Bud Light chilled on the back porch. While Amy and Brendan’s brother joked around inside, Brendan went outside to talk to Travis.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this low, man,” Brendan grumbled. “We should have won that fucking game.”
“I know,” Travis replied. “But don’t do what I did to myself in wrestling.”
“What do you mean?” Brendan asked.
“When I lost that match in Texas, I thought my whole life was over,” Travis said. “I hadn’t been that miserable since I quit the academy. But there are bigger things out there. Think of what we’re probably going to be doing a year or two from now.”
Without saying anything, Brendan held out his plastic cup, as if to say “cheers.” After graduating as officers in the US Navy and Marine Corps, respectively, Brendan and Travis quietly commemorated their achievement before heading inside to laugh, drink more beer, and get their minds off the game’s disappointing outcome.
A few minutes later, as the music got even louder, Amy laughed as Travis and Steve made an awful attempt at break dancing on the floor. Temporarily snapping out of his dejected mood, Brendan managed to crack his customary grin as he walked up to his girlfriend and put his right arm around her. Though he wished he could have changed the result of the championship game, Brendan knew he was blessed to have found a great girl and such good friends during his Naval Academy years.
While waiting for their duty assignments, Travis and Brendan worked at the academy for part of the summer after graduation. Travis was living in his parents’ house, while Brendan lived with some former lacrosse teammates in Annapolis’s Eastport neighborhood.
On one particularly hot and humid day, Brendan asked Bucky Morris, the lacrosse star who had helped him become such a solid defenseman, if he wanted to go mountain biking on a nearby trail.
“Sure, man,” Morris said.
“Cool,” Brendan said. “We just need to ride downtown first and meet Trav at his place.”
When they arrived at the Annapolis house, Travis was sitting on the back porch enjoying a glass of water. A cooler full of ice cold beer was beside him, which would surely serve as a reward when the three young officers returned from their afternoon ride.
The bike ride started normally, as Travis, Brendan, and their buddy rode out of the city and headed into the woods. They had traveled ten or fifteen miles when Morris suggested turning back. Travis and Brendan, both realizing the usual afternoon thunderstorm was probably on the horizon, agreed to head home, with one catch.
“We’ll ride back single file, and whoever’s last has to try to make his way up front,” Brendan said.
“Yeah, let’s do that the whole way back,” Travis said.
Morris may have been the most talented athlete of the three, and he had no reason to doubt he could keep up with Brendan or Travis. He just didn’t understand why they couldn’t casually ride back to Travis’s house without engaging in what was sure to be an exhausting competition.
When their contest started in a wooded, downhill stretch of the trail, Travis was in the back and Brendan was in the front. They hadn’t been riding for more than five minutes when Travis cranked his way past his former roommate.
“See ya later, assholes!” Travis called, laughing.
As Morris had seen at countless lacrosse practices, Brendan wore an intense frown as he roared toward his challenger. Though he and Travis were the best of friends, there was no way he was about to be defeated.
Brendan pedaled harder and harder, getting so close to Travis’s bike that the contest began to look like the famous chariot race in Ben Hur. Morris was keeping up so far, but knew he couldn’t last another two miles at this ridiculous pace. As he tried to catch his breath, Morris pleaded with his friends to ease up.
Travis and Brendan were already gone, racing one another down the mountain, through the woods, and toward the city where they had grown from young plebes into military officers. As dark clouds filled the sky before the inevitable storm, Morris, who would later become a Navy fighter pilot, pedaled alone. He was slightly pissed at his friends for leaving him, but also amused at how Brendan and Travis turned everything, even a routine bike ride, into a contest.
When Morris finally made it back, he locked his bike to the Manions’ front gate. As he walked toward the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of Travis and Brendan laughing on the back porch. They were drinking beer and joking about leaving their unsuspecting buddy in the dust, leading Morris to think the stunt may have been planned.
“Really, guys?” Morris asked as he stepped onto the porch. “We couldn’t just go on a relaxing bike ride?”
“Nice of you to join us,” Travis said, throwing a Bud Light to Morris.
“You guys are something,” Morris said with a grin. “So who the hell won?”
“Me,” Brendan said.
“Bullshit,” Travis yelled. “I was ahead until he cheated.”
As the Foo Fighters song “Times Like These” played and cold beer flowed, the laughter of three young military officers filled the air until it was finally overtaken by thunder. Though their Naval Academy days were over, it was times like these that Travis and Brendan would always remember.
A few days later, Travis packed up his car to leave Annapolis. He would soon head to The Basic School in Quantico, where all newly commissioned Marine officers must train, to learn how to lead Marines in battle. Brendan was commissioned as a Navy intelligence officer, and before heading to Virginia Beach he would mentor and coach young lacrosse players at NAPS in Rhode Island.
As Travis drove out of Annapolis with the radio tuned to Baltimore’s rock station, the music added to his relaxed, reflective mood. Pulling onto King George Street, Travis looked at the Naval Academy gates, which were once closed to him after he decided to quit. He saw the historic buildings where he had attended classes, wrestled, and learned how to lead. He also looked out toward the harbor, where ships had been stationed to protect the Naval Academy during the 9/11 attacks.
The car’s brakes screeched as Travis, whose attention had momentarily drifted, narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of him. The sudden stop sent several items packed in the backseat flying, including a small box he had kept on his desk throughout his four-plus years as a midshipman.
The brown plastic box, which hit the dashboard when Travis pumped the brakes, was filled with index cards, which scattered all over the front seat. On each card was a different movie quote that had inspired Travis during many nights of watching videos and DVDs with Brendan and other Naval Academy friends.
As he pulled over to clean up the car, picking up the cards one by one and putting them back in the box, one in particular caught his eye. It contained the dying words spoken by Captain John Miller, played by Tom Hanks, to Private James Ryan, played by Matt Damon, in Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan.
“Earn this” was written on the index card in Travis’s handwriting. “Earn it.”
In the years to come, Travis, Brendan, and thousands of fellow US military academy graduates would lead courageous troops into battle. As officers, these brave young Americans weren’t being given the responsibility of making crucial life and death decisions by accident. After years of hard work, sacrifice, and adversity, they had earned it.