The Rivalry: Mystery at the Army-Navy Game

by John Feinstein

  “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.

  “Why aren’t you up in the supe’s box, where it’s nice and warm?” Tamara asked.

  Robinson shook his head. “Have to show the boys my support,” he said. “I can deal with the cold.”

  The boys could have used him on the field most of the first half. Navy simply couldn’t get anything going on offense, although the defense did finally get its feet underneath it after Notre Dame’s first two touchdowns.

  Finally, late in the first half, Navy began to move the ball. A perfectly timed pitch from quarterback Ricky Dobbs to slotback G. G. Greene produced a big play; Greene got a good block on the corner that sprung him for a thirty-nine-yard gain to the Notre Dame 32. The Navy bench exploded as Greene raced down the sideline.

  “We need seven before halftime,” Robinson said. “We get the ball to start the second half.”

  Then Dobbs surprised the Irish with a pass over the middle to wide receiver Mike Schupp, who carried the ball to the 11. Running the option offense, Navy rarely passed, but with the clock winding down to a minute, Dobbs took the chance. Two plays later, with just fourteen seconds left, fullback Alex Murray bulled into the end zone behind a great block from Garrett Smith. Suddenly, it was a game, 14-7 at the half.

  7. NO EXCUSES

  Right as halftime began, Captain Klunder appeared. He was in his dress uniform and looked a lot less casual than the night before.

  “Come on, you three,” he said, grabbing Robinson by the arm. “Let’s go inside the locker room and get warm.”

  They followed the players through the tunnel. The security guard did a double take when he saw Robinson and a triple take when he saw Susan Carol and Tamara.

  “Admiral, we don’t allow women in the locker rooms at Notre Dame,” he said to Klunder.

  “It’s Captain,” Klunder said. “And right now this isn’t Notre Dame’s locker room, it’s Navy’s. So I’ll decide who is and isn’t allowed.”

  The security guard eyed Klunder for a moment but said nothing. Klunder led them all to an office off the locker room where there was hot chocolate, coffee, bottled water, and donuts.

  “Help yourselves,” Klunder said. “The coaches will meet for a few minutes, and then each position coach will talk to his guys before Kenny talks to the team as a group.

  “Hot chocolate, Susan Carol? You look frozen.”

  “Actually,
I’d love some coffee,” Susan Carol said, realizing she had drawn out the word love to be “lovvvvv” in a way that Stevie would have teased her about.

  Klunder gave her a disapproving look. “Aren’t you fourteen?” he said.

  She sighed. “Yes, but I’m a fourteen-year-old swimmer who’s up at five most mornings. Plus, I’m not really worried about stunting my growth.”

  Klunder laughed and poured her some coffee.

  “We’re going to win this game,” Klunder said, tossing away his napkin. “Our guys have figured them out.”

  “Easy, Matt,” Tamara said. “Remember where you are.”

  “What do you mean? Luck of the Irish?” Robinson said.

  “More like refs of the Irish,” Tamara said.

  “Oh-too true. Do you remember that line judge?” Klunder said.

  “What?” Susan Carol asked.

  “Right!” Tamara said. “That was the worst call… Susan Carol, this is years ago-back in ’99, I think. Navy had the game won. They stopped Notre Dame a full yard short on fourth down with a minute to go, and Notre Dame was out of time-outs. Then the line judge walked in, picked up the ball, moved it up a yard, and they made the first down by an inch.”

  “Even in ’07, when we won, they threw that mystery flag during the third overtime,” Klunder said.

  “I remember that,” Tamara said.

  After a while, they could hear shouts coming from the locker room. They walked into the main room and saw players huddling around various coaches, each of whom had some kind of board to draw x’s and o’s on while they talked. Every once in a while someone would shout something, clearly in an adrenaline rush, but Susan Carol noticed one phrase repeated frequently.

  “Our way of life against theirs!”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Robinson smiled. “You go to a military academy, you live a distinctly different kind of life than kids who go to a civilian school. It’s kind of a rallying cry about being disciplined and tough.”

  Niumatalolo walked in. “Everybody up,” he said in a clear, loud voice, and all the players moved to the middle of the room, where he was standing.

  “Fellas, we were a little intimidated at the beginning,” he said. “Not sure why, but it doesn’t matter. We’re every bit as good as these guys on both sides of the ball. If we go out and stay focused and don’t let anything distract us, we’ll win the game. I told you if we played Navy football, we’d win. You should be more certain now than ever that that’s true. Let’s go!”

  The players pushed themselves into a circle with their hands all in and on the count of three shouted, “Better than the Irish!” and then began charging for the doors. Susan Carol was a little less eager. She wanted to stay warm.

  The second half started just like the first-except Navy was the team in control. Alex Teich returned the kickoff to the 43, and from there the Mids’ offense was near perfect. Dobbs was making all the right decisions at quarterback: If he put the ball in Murray’s stomach, a hole was open in front of him. If he faked, the Irish still went for Murray and he got to the edge for good yardage. Without passing the ball once, Navy went fifty-seven yards in nine plays, Dobbs following a Murray block into the end zone from the 2-yard line. The extra point made it 14-14.

  “Now it’s a ball game!” Robinson said.

  Notre Dame picked up one first down but stalled and had to punt.

  Navy immediately launched another drive and picked up a first down at the Notre Dame 18 as the third quarter ended.

  “I like all the running plays,” Susan Carol said. “Makes the game go faster.”

  “I like them too,” Robinson said, “because they’re working.”

  Navy ran two fullback plunges up the middle to start the fourth quarter, picking up eight yards. On third and two Dobbs faked to Murray so well that Susan Carol thought the fullback had the ball. But Dobbs suddenly popped up, took two steps back, and lofted a perfect pass to a wide-open G. G. Greene in the end zone.

  The stadium was completely silent, except for the five hundred midshipmen who were seated behind the Navy bench.

  “Amazing!” Susan Carol yelled as the bench celebrated.

  “Not so amazing,” Tamara said, pointing at the yellow flag that was lying on the ground only a few yards from where Dobbs had thrown the pass.

  The referee turned his mike on to announce the penalty. “Holding, number 70 on the offense. Repeat third down.”

  He hadn’t even turned his mike off before Susan Carol heard Niumatalolo, who was standing way outside the coaching-players area. “Are you kidding me?! On a two-step drop you saw a hold? Were you saving that one for the right time?”

  The referee carefully turned his mike off and took a few steps toward Niumatalolo. “Easy, Coach. Don’t make it any worse for your players.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. “Worse for my players?!” Niumatalolo shouted. “You’re STEALING THE GAME from my players.”

  The referee, who had carefully tucked his flag back into his pocket, took it out again, retreated, and said, “Unsportsmanlike conduct, Navy bench-fifteen yards.”

  Buddy Green, the defensive coordinator, was now pushing Niumatalolo away from the ref. Two flags had moved Navy from the end zone back to the Notre Dame 35. Navy now had third and twenty-seven.

  “They should just try to pick up yardage and get a field goal,” Robinson said as Dobbs brought his team back to the line.

  Dobbs seemed to be thinking the same way. He faked to Murray, ran to the right, and, as the defense closed, tried to pitch the ball to Greene. Unfortunately, Notre Dame was waiting for the play. Greene was hit just as the ball arrived, it popped loose, and a Notre Dame defensive back picked it up in mid-stride. He was gone-untouched-to the end zone before anyone from Navy realized what had happened.

  Just like that, Notre Dame led by a touchdown instead of being down by a touchdown.

  “Welcome to South Bend,” Tamara said as the stadium erupted in cheers and the fight song-which Susan Carol was now officially getting tired of-blared through the stadium.

  “It’s all in the timing,” Robinson said.

  Susan Carol knew he was right. Notre Dame was a great team that didn’t need help from the officials. But the right call at the right time could make a huge difference.

  Not daunted by the strangely timed penalty and the sudden change in momentum, Navy took the kickoff and began another drive. Notre Dame’s defense was tired. It had been on the field for most of the third quarter. The Mids ate up almost seven minutes of clock, running fifteen plays-only one a pass-before Dobbs, again running behind Garrett Smith, punched his way into the end zone with 5:54 left. The extra point tied the game up at 21-21.

  The stadium had gone quiet again. It was dark now because the TV time-outs were so long that, even with Navy running the ball, the game had taken more than three hours already. Navy kicked off and Notre Dame picked up two quick first downs, reaching the Navy 37-yard line. The clock ticked down to 3:30.

  On first down, Valdiserri faked a handoff and dropped back to pass. But no one from Navy bought the fake. Linebackers Ram Vela and Alan Arnott came in on a blitz from the right side and sacked Valdiserri for an eight-yard loss. Now it was second and eighteen at the Navy 45. Valdiserri dropped back again and saw Arnott blitzing again. He scrambled to his right and tried to throw a pass down the sideline to Bates.

  But Navy cornerback Kevin Edwards, who had been lying back behind Bates, jumped in front of him and intercepted the ball. He raced down the sideline with Bates in pursuit. He was finally tackled at the Notre Dame 21-yard line with the clock showing 2:26 to play. Susan Carol realized she was jumping up and down as Edwards sprinted down the sideline. She was surprised when she realized no one on the Navy sideline seemed all that excited.

  Then she saw why. The referee was talking to two of the other officials. He backed away and opened up his microphone. “We have defensive holding on number 15,” he said. “That’s a five-yar
d penalty and an automatic first down.”

  “Oh, wow!” Tamara said. “That’s blatant-even here.”

  Susan Carol heard David Robinson, who was known for never arguing during his years in the NBA, screaming at one of the officials. “Is it written into your contract that you have to make sure Notre Dame wins?”

  The official looked over, saw who it was yelling at him, and did a double take. “You need to be quiet, Mr. Robinson,” he said, and walked away.

  Niumatalolo had thrown his headset to the ground in complete disgust. He was gesturing to the referee to come over and talk to him, but the ref wouldn’t even look in his direction. The officials had marked off the penalty and put the ball in play at the Navy 40. The Navy defense, forced to come back on the field, was clearly in shock. Three times Valdiserri handed off and the Irish picked up fourteen yards, moving the ball to the Navy 26. There was under a minute left in the game.

  “Looks like they’re going to run the clock down and kick a field goal,” Tamara said. “That’s a little risky.”

  It became less risky when Valdiserri found Bates for a first down at the 12. Navy used a time-out, no doubt hoping to get the ball back with time on the clock. Notre Dame ran two running plays, and Navy used its last two time-outs. There were thirty-nine seconds left. The Irish ran one more play right to the middle of the field and then let the clock run down to three seconds before calling time out. There was nothing Navy could do.

  In came kicker Ted Fusco to try a twenty-five-yarder to win the game.

  “Chip shot,” Susan Carol said. “I don’t think he’s missed inside the 40 all year.”

  Fusco kept his perfect record intact. The ball sailed through the uprights as the clock hit 0:00. Final score: Notre Dame 24-Navy 21. The stadium was going crazy, the fans apparently not caring even a little bit that the game ball should have been presented to the officials. Niumatalolo tried to get to the referee but was stopped by the ever-vigilant security guards. Susan Carol was close enough to hear him say, “I’d like you to look my kids in the eye and explain how you can do this to them!”