John Feinstein - The Rivalry - Mystery at the Army-Navy Game

“This is Bob Campbell, from the Secret Service.”

Stevie had mentioned meeting a Secret Service agent when they’d spoken last night, but Campbell had an easy smile that belied his serious job.

“Hey, Bob, any chance our sideline reporter might grab you for a minute during the game?” Hammond said. “Might be something a little different for our viewers.”

Campbell shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We aren’t allowed to do interviews.”

“But you can talk to Tamara and Susan Carol?” Haden asked.

“On background only,” Campbell said. “If I’m quoted in a story, I’m in trouble.”

All too soon it was time to head to the field, and Campbell joined Susan Carol and Tamara in the elevator.

“So, on background,” Susan Carol said. “What exactly are you out here for?”

Campbell smiled. “Last night I met with some of the Navy people to explain what the game-day procedures will be. Most of them have done this before, so they’re prepared. I also got introduced to the players during their evening meeting to explain what we’ll need from them in terms of background checks and what it will be like on game day. I also like to be around and for the players to know who I am so if there are any problems at all, they can come to me.”

“Yes-doesn’t one of them know you too well?” Tamara asked. “Who was the kid the service thought was a fugitive a couple years ago?”

“Ram Vela.” Campbell shook his head. “His full name is Ramiro Ray Vela, which is the exact same name of a fugitive we were looking for. When the team came to the White House to accept the Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy, our guys pulled him in, thinking he might be the guy. Of course he wasn’t.”

“I need to talk to him ,” Susan Carol said.

“Thanks for bringing it up, Tamara,” Campbell said. “But you’ll like him, Susan Carol. He’s a pretty good linebacker for a guy who is about five foot nine.”

“A linebacker who is shorter than I am?” Susan Carol said.

“Noticeably shorter,” Campbell answered.

They had reached the tunnel that led to the field. As they were walking past the Notre Dame locker room, she heard a voice say, “Clear the way, clear the way.”

She looked behind her and saw Brian Kelly, the Notre Dame coach, surrounded by a coterie of security people. One of them, walking in front of Kelly, was waving his arms to make sure no one got within shouting distance of the coach.

“Clear out!” he barked as Susan Carol and Tamara stepped back to avoid being stampeded. Campbell wasn’t quite as quick, though, and one of the man’s swinging hands caught him on the shoulder.

“Watch it, pal,” the security guard barked.

“Oh my, this could get ugly,” Susan Carol hissed to Tamara.

Campbell seemed almost not to react to the smack on the shoulder or the rude tone in the guard’s voice.

As Kelly swept by, he calmly put his hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Got a minute?” he said quietly.

The guard gave him a look. “You with NBC or something?” he said, perhaps assuming someone in a suit worked for TV.

Campbell shook his head and produced his wallet for a split second. “Secret Service,” he said. “I know a little about protection. Let me give you a word of advice: the fewer people that notice you, the better.”

“What’s the Secret Service doing at Notre Dame?” the guard asked.

“Can’t tell you,” Campbell said. “Classified.” Then he walked back to join Tamara and Susan Carol. The guard said nothing.

“He was so rude,” Susan Carol said. “For a minute, I thought you’d arrest him.”

Campbell shrugged. “I think I made my point. Probably should have just let it go.”

They made their way onto the field, where the teams were warming up. The snow had slacked off, but it was still cold and windy. As she followed Campbell and Tamara to the sideline, Susan Carol felt a tap on her shoulder.

“You sure you want to watch from here?” a voice said.

She turned and saw Ken Niumatalolo, who had a big smile on his face. He had somehow made it all the way from his locker room to the 50-yard line without the aid of eight security people.

“You’re from Hawaii,” Susan Carol said. “Is this weather killing you too?”

“Can’t stand it,” Niumatalolo replied. “But once the game starts, I swear I won’t even notice it.”

The teams left the field a few minutes later and the Notre Dame band marched on, playing the famous fight song “Cheer, Cheer for Old Notre Dame.” With the eighty-thousand-seat stadium now almost full and the fight song blaring, Susan Carol had to admit-this was a pretty amazing place to watch the game.

And the game was so good Susan Carol almost forgot how cold she was. Notre Dame’s record was 7-2, and they were still hoping to get into one of the bowl games that paid huge money to the participating teams. She had read a story about how Notre Dame had removed a lot of its tougher games from its schedule to try to get some easy wins. Navy was an annual game that Notre Dame had won forty-three years in a row, from 1963 through 2006. But Navy had won two of the last three games, which was probably one of the reasons Charlie Weis had been fired as coach and replaced by Kelly.

“Why did Navy play these guys all those years when they were losing?” she asked Tamara. “It was like scheduling an automatic loss.”

“Well,” Tamara said, “the school makes a lot of money on the game, usually about a million dollars. And the players want to take on Notre Dame. I was here when they finally broke the losing streak in ’07, and the feeling after that game was like nothing I’d ever seen in my life. They love getting this chance.”

That became evident during the game. The Navy players were constantly alive, chattering at one another, encouraging the players who were on the field, seemingly never discouraged regardless of what was happening.

And things didn’t start well for the Midshipmen. Notre Dame took the opening kickoff and marched smartly down the field. On third down and goal from the 1-yard line, quarterback Roger Valdiserri dropped back and simply threw the ball up in the air toward the corner of the end zone. Two Navy defenders were there covering Irish wide receiver Tom Bates.

But Bates was several inches taller than they were and had a vertical leap that would have served him well on the basketball court. He jumped high above the two Navy players, corralled the ball, and came down with both feet just in bounds.

“This is the whole problem when we play these guys,” Susan Carol heard someone say behind her. “They have at least a dozen guys who will play in the NFL. And we have guys who will be deploying to Afghanistan.”

Susan Carol turned in the direction of the voice and saw a man who could have outleaped Tom Bates: David Robinson, the Hall of Fame basketball player who was also a Navy graduate. Since Susan Carol was just a shade under six feet tall, she wasn’t accustomed to having to look up at people. Robinson, who was easily seven feet, was an exception.

“Susan Carol Anderson, meet David Robinson,” Tamara said while the Notre Dame fight song blared after the extra point had been kicked.

“Wow,” Susan Carol said, inadvertently using one of Stevie’s favorite words. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Robinson.”

“It’s David,” Robinson said, looking down and shaking her hand. “I know who you are. I remember when you and your friend helped out a couple years ago at the Final Four.”

“Did you come in just for the game?” Susan Carol asked.

“I was in Chicago doing a talk, and the Navy people asked if I’d come and speak to the team after the game,” he said.