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

Ellerson was still talking. “We’re playing a team tomorrow that has great athletes. We’re playing a team coached by a man who used to coach at Navy.”

Boos erupted when Georgia Tech coach Paul Johnson’s ties to Navy were mentioned.

Ellerson held his hands up for quiet. “A man who was six and oh against Army while at Navy.”

The boos got considerably louder.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to show Coach Johnson and his players that Army football isn’t what it used to be! We’re going to show him what Army football is now and give his team a beating it won’t forget anytime soon! But we need your help! You are the twelfth man! Do not let down for one second tomorrow in the stands. I promise you we will not let down for one second on the field!”

The cadets were whipped into a frenzy, and suddenly-or so it seemed to Stevie-the band appeared and began playing the Army fight song, “On, Brave Old Army Team.” Stevie knew a lot of college fight songs, and this was one of the best ones going. With the whole corps singing, he couldn’t help but get caught up in the energy of the moment.

When the final words of the song died away, the entire corps-all four thousand of them-finished with two words: “BEAT NAVY!”

Then everyone surged forward to offer the players handshakes and pats on the back as they headed for the buses.

Kelleher nudged Stevie. “So?”

“Oh yeah,” Stevie said. “This is going to be fun.”

They ate in the mess hall, which was huge and filled with a sea of gray uniforms. People kept stopping to say hello to Cantelupe and Noto, who were obviously still well known at their alma mater. Cadets kept walking by the table saying, “Good evening, sir,” to everyone in sight. The food wasn’t very good, but there was plenty of it, which worked for Stevie.

While they ate, Kelleher asked Cantelupe and Noto to give Stevie some background on Army football.

“It started in 1890, when a cadet named Dennis Michie got some guys together and challenged Navy to a game,” Noto said. “Football was a new sport back then, a lot different than today…”

“Anthony, can we fast-forward a little?” Kelleher said. “We really haven’t got time for one hundred and twenty years of history.”

Cantelupe jumped in. “You know how Anthony is: ask him how Roger Goodell’s feeling and he’ll tell you the life history of the NFL.”

“Funny,” Noto said, but he was smiling.

“I think what Stevie should know is how Army football-actually football at Army, Navy, and Air Force-is different than at civilian schools.”

“Civilian schools?” Stevie asked.

Cantelupe nodded. “Basically any other college you can name. You’re from Philadelphia, right? Villanova, Temple, Penn, they’re all civilian schools.

“Every single student at Army, Navy, and Air Force is on a full scholarship-paid for by the government,” he continued. “And in return, every one of them will go into the military for five years when they graduate.”

“Five years?” Stevie said.

“Uh-huh,” Cantelupe said. “That’s why you won’t see a lot of NFL prospects on these teams. Five years in the military after college will pretty much end your chances of playing in the pros. Roger Staubach was the major exception to that rule. He fought in Vietnam in the sixties before he played for the Cowboys. There have been a few others, but not many.”

Noto picked up from there. “That doesn’t mean the academies don’t care about football or try to recruit players. They do. In fact, unlike the civilian schools, they don’t have scholarship limits. A civilian school can only have eighty-five players on football scholarships at any one time. The academies can recruit as many guys as they want-as long as they can get into school academically. Most years, about a hundred plebes will show up for the first day of football practice. Four years later, if there are twenty or twenty-five of them still playing, that’s a lot.

“Recruiting’s tough, because you have to find a kid who can not only play football but also make it at the academy. If a student comes here and hates the military life or can’t cut it in class, he’ll be gone. So one of the keys to success for the academies is having a low attrition rate-the fewer players you lose, especially the first two years when they have plenty of opportunity to transfer, the better off you’ll be. This team has twenty-three seniors. Last year’s only had nine. It makes a big difference.”

Stevie was digging into some ice cream as Cantelupe and Noto continued their lesson when he heard a voice from above saying, “May I have the attention of the corps?”

Stevie looked up and saw a cadet standing on a platform in the middle of the room.

Seeing his puzzled look, Noto said, “That’s called the poop deck. It’s where announcements are made at the end of meals and where visitors are introduced.”

Sure enough, the cadet welcomed Cantelupe and Noto back, to big cheers from the student body. Then the announcer went on. “As everyone knows, tomorrow’s game will be televised by ESPN.” More cheering broke out.

“These guys will cheer for just about anything, won’t they?” Kelleher said, smiling.

“They don’t get much chance most days,” Cantelupe said.

“We’d like to introduce the announcers for the game,” the cadet went on. “Brent Musburger will do play-by-play.” (Cheers.) “Kirk Herbstreit will do color.” (More cheers.) “And Jack Arute will be the sideline reporter.” (Moans, no doubt, Stevie thought, because they were hoping for one of the good-looking women ESPN employed to do sideline reporting.)

Musburger made a predictable speech: it was an honor to be back at West Point, he was thrilled with the job Coach Ellerson and his young men were doing…

As he droned on, Stevie noticed a man in a sharp-looking dark suit approaching the table. Kelleher seemed to notice him at the same moment and waved. “Hey, Pete, over here,” he said in a stage whisper as Musburger continued.

“The courage all of you show every single day makes me proud to be an American…”

Pete and Kelleher hugged hello and sat down as Herbstreit was taking the microphone.

“I’m a proud graduate of Ohio State University,” he began. “But nothing would make me more proud than to have one of my children attend West Point…”

As the cadets cheered, Kelleher introduced his friend.

“Pete Dowling, special agent, United States Secret Service, meet Anthony Noto, Jim Cantelupe, and Steve Thomas.”

Dowling shook hands around the table while Herbstreit passed the microphone to Jack Arute and the cadets began to boo him good-naturedly.

Arute held his hands up as if to say, “I know, I know.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry I’m not Erin Andrews,” he said as more mock boos filled the air. “Would it help to tell you that I know Erin Andrews?”

The answer was apparently no. Arute, after apologizing several more times for not being blond or female, wrapped up his remarks by saying he had never looked forward to an assignment more than this one. And at last everyone could go back to finishing dessert.

“So, Pete, what brings you here?” Noto asked.

“I had a meeting with the superintendent,” Dowling said. “Just doing some prep work for the president’s appearance at Army-Navy. Bobby and I are old friends, and he let me know he’d be on Post, so here I am.”

“Actually, Stevie, I wanted you to meet Pete. He’s going to be your contact with the Secret Service leading up to the game. Susan Carol will be working with another agent who is handling the Navy people. Security is one story we want you guys to do before the game.”