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

The last senior was Jim Zopelis, a special teams player. Stevie knew Zopelis was famous for his imitations, and the one he enjoyed doing most was of Doug Pavek, one of the officer reps who had been a cornerback twenty-five years earlier at Army. Pavek liked to give pep talks to the team, and apparently he always began them by saying, “Guys, I played in TWO bowl games while I was a player at Army… TWO bowl games.”

Ellerson asked Zopelis to do Pavek for everyone one more time.

“Coach, so far I’ve played in NO bowl games,” Zopelis riffed. “None, zero, not one. But by God, I’m going to win ONE game against Navy before I go. ONE GAME!”

The whole team roared their approval.

Ellerson said, “Okay, guys, let’s line up.”

Then everyone except for Stevie and Dean Taylor, the former team doctor (who was visiting for the week but technically a visitor too), and the twenty-four seniors walked to the far end zone, where the players entered the field for games. They formed a cordon-players, coaches, trainers, doctors, everyone. Once they were lined up, the first classmen, one by one, made their way along the cordon. There were handshakes and hugs for each as they passed through their teammates. When the last of them-Zopelis-had shaken the last hand-Ellerson’s-the coach and everyone else simply turned to the seniors and applauded.

Stevie’s story poured out:

There are many traditions that make up the Army-Navy experience. Most will be carried out on Saturday in front of more than 90,000 witnesses inside FedEx Field. But Wednesday night, under an almost-full moon, one of football’s most emotional traditions took place inside an empty Michie Stadium while a cold wind whistled in off the Hudson.

After each of Army’s 24 seniors, surrounded by their teammates, had been called up by Coach Rich Ellerson for a final salute to their careers, the coaches and staff members and underclassmen formed a cordon leading from the field to the locker room.

Slowly, clearly savoring every moment, every handshake, every hug, the 24 seniors walked through the cordon to say goodbye-not just to their coaches and teammates, but also to the long practice days inside this old stadium filled with memories and banners honoring past national champions and Heisman Trophy winners.

And after the last senior had hugged Ellerson, the man standing at the end of the cordon, the first classmen stood before their team and received a heartfelt round of applause that echoed off the stadium’s empty seats.

It was a moment of bonding and camaraderie and, yes, love. All 24 seniors have loved playing football for Army. And everyone inside Michie Stadium this evening loved being part of their achievement.

Stevie leaned back in his chair. He wondered if what he had written was too corny. But Kelleher had once told him that nothing was too corny if it was true. So he pressed send and filed the story.

“Welcome back,” said Tamara when Stevie arrived at the Post offices on Friday afternoon. He felt like he’d worn a path up and down the East Coast the past few weeks, from West Point to Philly to DC to Annapolis-he was glad to be on his last trip. This was it. Army-Navy game weekend-at last.

“Susan Carol is upstairs writing. And Bobby went over to see Pete Dowling. He should be back soon.”

As they rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, Stevie asked if the meeting with Dowling was just a routine update or if something new was up.

“I’m not sure,” Tamara answered. “But Pete called Bobby.”

Stevie was still pondering that when they reached the sports department and Susan Carol, dressed in jeans and (hallelujah) sneakers, ran up to give him a hug. “I saved some extra copies of the paper for you,” she said.

Stevie looked at the sports section she was putting in his hands and there were their stories, side by side at the top of the page. There was one headline for both of them that said: FAREWELLS IN ARMS. A photo underneath showed Ricky Dobbs being hugged by two of his teammates.

There was yet another meeting to discuss plans for game-day coverage. Stevie and Susan Carol, in addition to working with Kelleher and Mearns on the security story, had what Matt Vita called “party duty.” There was an official party that night at the convention center. If there was any news, they’d file a story for the Sunday paper on what was called “the scene.” Stevie was jaded enough to roll his eyes at that one.

“What’s the matter with you?” Susan Carol hissed in his ear.

“Party reporting is for girls,” Stevie whispered back.

“There will probably be lots of food,” Susan Carol said, after kicking him under the table. “And you’ll be my date. Does that sound so bad?”

Actually, it sounded pretty good. Stevie decided to shut up.

The convention center party was enormous. There were banners and bunting, and everything was decked out in Navy blue and gold and Army black and gold. Stevie had never seen so many people in military uniforms in his life. Kelleher pointed out a few big boosters. Apparently even Army and Navy had boosters.

“They need boosters,” Kelleher explained. “Their athletic departments aren’t government-funded. They’re private nonprofit entities. Basically, they have to make enough money off football and from donations to fund all their other sports.”

They pushed their way into the party, meeting and greeting as they went. Everywhere Stevie turned, another celebrity bobbed into his line of vision: Gary Williams, the Maryland basketball coach, was there, and so was Roger Staubach, who had won the Heisman Trophy while playing for Navy before winning two Super Bowls as the quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys.

Tamara and Bobby went to get them drinks, and Stevie saw a table with food heaped high in the middle of the room.

“ That’s where I’m going,” he said.

“How gallant of you to offer to get me food,” Susan Carol said, her voice dripping with both her southern accent and sarcasm.

“I’ll get you something,” he said. “Find some space and I’ll get the food and find you.”

“I know you’ll get the food,” she said. “I’m just not convinced it will make it to me. But it’s okay. I don’t want to wait in line anyway.”

She pointed to a life-size cutout of Roger Staubach that was part of the decoration for the party. “I’ll be over there with Mr. Staubach. You won’t be able to miss me.”

“I always miss you,” he said with a smile, and turned in the direction of the food.

Susan Carol watched him go. He was looking very handsome in the same jacket and tie he had worn to the White House.

As she walked toward the Staubach cutout, she ran into Tony Kornheiser, the former Post columnist turned TV host, and Phil Mickelson, the star golfer.

“Susan Carol,” Kornheiser said. “Good to see you. Have you met Phil Mickelson?”

“No, I haven’t,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s certainly a pleasure.”

“Tony says you’re only fourteen and that you write better than anyone at the Post or the Herald ,” Mickelson said.

“Oh, that’s not true at all,” she said, blushing. “Why, Bobby Kelleher and Tamara Mearns and Sally Jenkins-”

“Are hacks,” Kornheiser said. “Okay, not hacks. They’re all my friends. I love them all. But they’re all so unfair to Dan Snyder.”

Mickelson turned to Kornheiser. “I hear you’re about the only person in town who likes Dan Snyder.”

Kornheiser paused. “Not true. His wife likes him… I think.”

“Why don’t you write anymore, Mr. Kornheiser?” Susan Carol asked.

“I’m a yodeler now, a minstrel, a circus act.”