"The Rivalry: Mystery at the Army-Navy Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feinstein John)

4. ON THE POST

The next few days dragged for Stevie. School was, quite simply, something he knew he had to do. The only subject that really excited him was history, and this week was more about English, math, and Spanish.

But on Friday he got out of school early so he and Kelleher could drive up to West Point. The Army team would be getting ready to leave campus to spend the night before the game in a hotel.

Kelleher, as usual, had done some advance planning. “They’ve started a tradition under Coach Ellerson of seeing the team off whenever they leave the Post,” Kelleher said. “We’ll be there in time for that. And Cantelupe and Noto will meet us. We’ll eat dinner in the mess hall so you can get a feel for how the cadets live, and then we’ll have to be up early for the game in the morning.”

Stevie could fill in most of the blanks Kelleher had left in his explanation: Rich Ellerson was Army’s coach. It was only his second year there, but he had completely turned around a program that had endured twelve straight losing seasons. Jim Cantelupe and Anthony Noto were former Army football players Kelleher had come to know through the years. Cantelupe was some kind of investment banker who lived in Chicago. Noto was the chief financial officer for the NFL. The one thing Stevie didn’t understand was Kelleher’s reference to “the Post.”

Kelleher laughed. “Sorry, it’s an Army thing,” he said. “The college is on an Army post. A lot more people live and work there than the four thousand cadets. So they call it the Post. At Navy, which is a lot smaller, the campus is called the Yard. There’s a lot of Army-Navy lingo-you’ll pick it up.”

The drive north was pretty, and fortunately traffic was relatively light. By late afternoon, Stevie spotted a sign that said WEST POINT-2 MILES.

They had to go through two security checkpoints to enter the Post.

“That big building on our right is the Thayer Hotel, which is where we’re staying tonight,” Kelleher said as they drove up to the second checkpoint. “It’s named for Sylvanus Thayer, who founded the academy.”

They drove up a hill and Stevie was amazed by the beauty of the place. It was a crisp fall day and the trees were all decked out in reds and golds. Stevie could see the football stadium and water beyond that.

“That’s the reservoir,” Kelleher said. “Beyond that is the Hudson River. We’ll take a tour tomorrow morning and you’ll be able to see it all. It’s pretty spectacular.”

They took a right turn beyond the stadium, wound around, and Kelleher pulled into a parking lot. “It’s not a long walk from here,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes since we didn’t hit much traffic.”

They walked through the parking lot and across a street and came to a massive open area. “They call this the Plain,” Kelleher said. “It’s the central part of the campus. Those bleachers across the way are set up for the parade tomorrow morning.” He pointed at a statue. “Sylvanus Thayer,” he said.

“Guess he’s kind of a star around here,” Stevie said.

Kelleher laughed. “I’d say so. But there are lots of statues. In fact, the place we’re going has a giant statue of George Washington and we’ll also walk past one of Douglas MacArthur.”

Stevie’s phone was buzzing in his pocket. He looked at the number and answered: it was Susan Carol.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Walking by a bunch of generals,” Stevie said. “How about you?”

“We’re on our way to have dinner with the Navy team at the hotel,” she said. “We were just at the stadium when the team did their walk-through. What an amazing place it is. Touchdown Jesus is even cooler in person than on TV. Pat Haden was really nice, and so was Tom Hammond, the announcers, you know, from NBC? I guess Tom and Tamara are old friends.”

Her words were coming in a rush, her southern accent in full flight.

“Where are you staying?” he said when she paused for breath.

“Oh! That’s a funny story too,” she said. “We’re staying with the team in a place over the Indiana-Michigan state line in a town called Michiana.”

“Michigan?”

“Yeah. All the hotels around here require a two-night stay on football weekends-even for the visiting teams. Then they charge like four hundred dollars a night. So the visiting teams stay about forty-five minutes away, over the state line.”

“That’s crazy,” Stevie said.

“Well, when you’re Notre Dame, I guess you can get away with it,” she said. “Tamara told me the place where y’all are stayin’ is great.”

“Haven’t been there yet. I’ll let you know. But the Post is pretty impressive.”

“Oh, gotta go. We’re pullin’ in to the hotel.”

“Do I hear a siren?”

“Yes-they let us follow the Navy buses, so there’s a police escort with us. Talk soon.”

He snapped the phone shut, shaking his head.

“Sounds like she’s having fun,” Kelleher said, smiling.

“She always has fun. Does anyone ever say no to Tamara or to her?”

“Nope,” Kelleher said. “And that includes you and me.”

Anthony Noto and Jim Cantelupe looked like the ex-football players they were. Neither was that big, but both had broad shoulders and seemed like they were still in playing shape to Stevie, even though Noto was class of ’91, Cantelupe class of ’96.

The two Army grads walked Kelleher and Stevie over to a spot not far from the statue of George Washington. As they got there, the giant doors of the building just beyond the statue opened and cadets began pouring out of them, most of them screaming and waving their arms. For a second, Stevie thought they had walked into the middle of a full-scale riot.

“They assemble inside the mess hall, then race out here to get into formation just before the team arrives,” Noto explained. “It used to be we only did stuff like this the week of the Navy game. But Coach Ellerson wants to send the message that every game’s a big game and that the corps needs to be behind the team every week. So he started this send-off when he got here.”

“Actually, I think they’ve done something like this for years,” Cantelupe said. “At least for road games.”

While they were talking, most of the cadets were organizing themselves into rows; each of them seemed to know exactly where to stand. One group had broken off and had formed an alley of sorts that led to a walkway between the two buildings.

“Plebes,” Noto said, and seeing Stevie’s expression added, “Freshmen. They form the cordon the players will walk through. Then the team assembles over here. And the buses are waiting for them over there.”

At that moment a loud cheer went up and Stevie saw what had to be the football team, even though they were dressed in neat gray uniforms like everyone else. The plebes were going crazy cheering. The upperclassmen were joining in, though not quite as enthusiastically as the first-year cadets.

Once everyone had walked through the cordon, the players assembled in front of the statue. Coach Rich Ellerson stepped to a microphone.

“We aren’t going to take long,” he said, “but I want you all to know how much it means to us to see you assembled out here.”

“As if they had any choice,” Kelleher whispered.

“I think at Navy they call it ‘mandatory fun,’ ” Cantelupe said.

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.”

Dowling nodded. “There are some things I can’t tell you, Steve, but I’ll fill you in on what we do to prepare for something like this.”

“So it’s a big deal?” Stevie asked.

“Any time the president travels, it’s a big deal,” Dowling said. “When he’s traveling to a stadium with ninety thousand people inside, it’s way beyond a big deal.”

“So what’d you talk to the supe about?” Cantelupe asked.

“Mostly logistics and paperwork,” Dowling answered. “We’ve got to get IDs and run background checks on every player, coach, trainer, manager, you name it, who will be on the field with the president. We’ll also run ID checks on every cadet and every midshipman before they march onto the field.”

“Yeah, that’s one thing you need to watch,” Cantelupe said.

Dowling looked at him for a moment to see if he was joking and seemed to decide he wasn’t. “What do you mean?”

Cantelupe looked a little embarrassed. “When I was a plebe, a buddy of mine from back home wanted to go to the game, but I’d used up all my tickets,” he said. “So I loaned him one of my uniforms-we were about the same size-and he marched on with the cadets.”

“And no one picked up on it?” Dowling asked.

Cantelupe shook his head. “The guys in my company knew what was going on, but they didn’t care; they thought it was kind of funny.”

Dowling shook his head, clearly pained. “Not funny with the president there,” he said. “That’s one angle I hadn’t thought about. I guess now I’ll have to.”

“Some kid in a cadet uniform is hardly a problem, is it?” Kelleher said.

“Not a problem at all,” Dowling said. “Unless he’s not just some kid.”

“Ah,” Kelleher said. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Dowling shrugged. “In one sense, it’s routine-we’re trained on how to prepare for both big and small events. In another sense, it’s never routine when the president leaves the White House.”

“Do you get a lot of threats?” Stevie asked.

Dowling nodded. “All the time,” he said. “Especially with this president because there are still some idiots who can’t deal with the idea of an African American being president. But we don’t really worry about those much.”

“Why not?” Stevie asked.

“Because,” Dowling said, “if you really want to attack the president, you don’t tell the people protecting him that you’re planning to do it.”