Dec. 22, 2006
By Bob Socci
If you're to read the following, the first thing you should know is that I work for the Naval Academy Athletic Association - and have since the winter of 1996-97.
So, whatever the attempt to achieve total objectivity and however harsh my judgment of the modern sports world - often as seen with a cynical view from the seats of countless buses, planes and press boxes traveling with and covering professional athletes - I'm more than a bit biased when it comes to Navy football.
That said, there's something else you should know.
I spent Thanksgiving with family in Central New York, safe, sound and stuffed with plenty of good food - my only real worry being why the NFL insists that tradition include Detroit, leaving America to endure the lousy Lions every year.
Meanwhile, about 400 miles to the south, a group of roughly a hundred midshipmen remained on a mostly vacant Annapolis Yard. While others headed home for the holiday, they stayed behind.
Just as they had done by cutting past summers short to prepare for coming seasons. Or as they would do in a few weeks, when rows of cars vacated the parking spaces that line the Severn River and their classmates bid adieu to the Academy until the New Year.
Not that anyone was pleading for or deserved any sympathy. The weights, the sprints, the short nights and what often seem like long practices are what one expects up front as a Navy football player.
The obvious offshoot of such sacrifice is success on the field, and the adulation that accompanies.
And, as we know, the Mids have enjoyed an abundance of both the last four years. Thirty-five wins, four bowl games and four opportunities to shake hands with the president as Commander-In-Chief's champions.
Yet, as much as it's understood that both Thanksgiving morning and those later days leading up to Christmas were spent preparing to win football games - if not over Army, then Boston College - they are very small examples of a very large commitment.
Not simply seeking victory on Saturday. But living up to the legacy left to them by their predecessors. Many of whom were much farther away, in every direction, at those very same late-November and December hours.
Some, as we know, encamped or on patrol in what's commonly referred to as "harm's way" - which, to me, seems another way of saying, "Hell on Earth."
Capt. Edward Hughes Stahl had been one of those men.
Better known as "Hoot," he devoted five years to the United States Marine Corps, including two tours of duty as an infantry officer in Iraq, before ending his active service earlier this month.
"I am really aware of the guys who played football and have gone on to serve our country," Stahl said during a recent phone conversation from his hometown of Raleigh, N.C. "I was very aware of the legacy we had to uphold."
A three-year starter on the offensive line who graduated in 2001, he was one of just a handful of teammates at the time to forge their military careers in the Corps.
Each of whom, Stahl says, had a responsibility to hold his peers to high standards, to ensure that former Navy players "upheld our good reputations" as officers. Not that it was ever a problem.
Especially for a guy like Stahl, whose love for his sport was overwhelmed by his love of country.
"I didn't go to the Naval Academy to be a pro football player," said Stahl, who as a teenager chose Annapolis over West Point. "I wanted to be in the military. I wanted to be a military officer. I wanted to be challenged."
In many ways, he wanted to be like the senior Marines - then Maj. Sparky Renforth, Capt. Mike Davis and Col. Robert Blose - who associated themselves with the Navy football program. And who, years hence, would cross his path - coming from and going to Iraq.
It was there, at Naraj some 28 months ago, when Stahl narrowly escaped a mortar attack, lifting his 6-foot-6 frame from the destruction of an incoming shell to help evacuate his men to safety.
The survival and leadership skills, uncommon valor in the face of indescribable adversity that Stahl exhibited only enriched that aforementioned legacy of men who walked before him - from the football field to the battlefield.
Make no mistake, if the face of Navy football is pomp and pageantry - from fight songs to flyovers - its soul and spirit is bred by those willing to answer duty's call - wherever, whenever. Never more than when duty dispatches them into war.
They are men like Stahl. And like 1st Lt. Brian Stann, also of the U.S.M.C.
In the fall of 2002, he was a linebacker who'd played only sparingly, mostly on special teams, before Paul Johnson and a new coaching staff were hired to revive a struggling program.
Unfortunately, the turnaround begun during Stann's senior year - which resulted in a 2-10 finish - wouldn't truly take affect until the following season. By then, he was off to the Corps while his younger ex-teammates were on their way, eventually, to the White House - to pose alongside the C.I.C. Trophy, standing in the Rose Garden.
When the Mids returned to that very same spot a year later, Stann was just a couple of months into his first tour of Iraq. And only weeks away from his own remarkable display of courage and composure, enough to earn one of the nation's highest honors from the nation's highest office.
For six days that May, Stann and the Marines he commanded came under relentless enemy fire trying to seize a bridge near Karabilah, Iraq. Ambushed and engaged in what was reported as "a 360-degree fight," they were attacked with rocket-propelled grenades, machine gun fire and improvised explosive devices.
In the end, all 42 of his men returned safely and Stann was awarded the Silver Star Medal.
Presiding over a ceremony at Camp Lejeune, N.C., Maj. Gen. Richard Huck, 2nd Marine Division's commanding general, spoke of Stann's "great strength of character and endurance."
Qualities Stann and his men once again draw from, now that he's returned to Iraq - to a place called Habbaniyah, with yet another month or two left on this current deployment.
Such reality means Stann, as he's done in the past - like when he relied on passing units out in the field for updates on Navy's most recent win over Army - will keeps tabs on the Mids' upcoming bowl game eight hours on the clock and a world away from Charlotte.
He'll do it because that's family back in home in Blue and Gold. And because being a Navy football player, Stann says, undoubtedly helped him become the decorated officer he is today.
"Navy football did a great amount to prepare me to lead Marines in combat," Stann recently wrote in an e-mail. "Each team takes on the personality of the senior football players just like a unit takes on the personality of its commander.
"Every senior has to find a way to be a leader on the team, whether it is on the field or in practice. Under Coach Johnson, players quickly learn that discipline and accountability are two things he will always demand."
They learn. And they never forget, because Johnson and his staff won't let them - during games, in meetings, at practice. No excuses, without exceptions.
Players are well aware that if their minds wander or they're caught loafing, by a coach's naked eye or on video tape - no matter if they're sleep deprived or beaten up by the residual pounding that doesn't end until the season does - there will be a price to pay.
In football, the consequences for such lapses are likely extra sprints or up-downs. In their next careers, the consequences are much graver.
Covered by the same layers of Academy accountability as other midshipmen, a Navy football player is also held up to the expectations and demands of those coaches, as well as a public that imposes judgment on his performance.
Game-day mistakes occur in full view of packed stadiums and TV cameras that never blink. We see the fumbles, interceptions, penalties, missed blocks, failed assignments. Shortly after the fact, we hear the guilty party - as he answers the questions from the media and those who must know, "What went wrong?"
Most important, though, Navy football players are held accountable to each other.
"On the field there are 11 teammates," writes Brian Drechsler. "They are more or less peers driving to win and achieve the same goals. It is ALL PEER leadership.
"It is one thing to be able to exert your authority when you are superior to another, whether it be military rank or job position in the civilian world. It is most difficult to get someone to do something that they do not want to do (or think they can't) when they are of equal stature. In order to lead in this situation, one is forced to lead by example, nothing less. Your peers must respect you in order to follow you."
Perhaps you recall Drechsler, as an offensive lineman in the mid-nineties. He was nicknamed "Beef" - even though, at a listed 260, he was still giving away thirty pounds or so to the behemoths just inches away on the other side of the ball.
Since graduation, Drechsler's been in the throws of warfare as a Navy SEAL platoon commander. More than he can say, I suppose.
And like Stahl and Stann, he recently offered experiences and insight, with an impassioned e-mail and subsequent phone call.
"Playing football taught me so many lessons that are vital to leadership," Drechsler wrote, "that the team is more important than the individual, (that) my teammates are counting on me so I cannot let them down when I am tired or hurt, (that) my teammates come before I do."
Drechsler - in no uncertain way - sees a similarity between his prior life as a player and his next calling leading others assembled in small, close units. Of course, in the former, the common objective might be to score a touchdown. In the latter, a mission accomplished often means sheer survival.
"On game days, you're thinking about those 10 other guys in the huddle," Drechsler said in a telephone conversation, while on holiday leave. "You're thinking about what you have to do to get (something) done and you're looking at those guys right there."
Stahl has been there as well. He too has looked into the eyes of young warriors, up close and personal. What he saw looking back at him were faces of every shade, from every walk of life - often of teenagers or 'kids' in their early twenties trying to make it home from a third, fourth or fifth deployment.
"Like being in a locker room in football, you're surrounded by a wide cross-section of people, from different races and different backgrounds," Stahl said.
As current Navy linebacker and soon-to-be-Marine Tyler Tidwell recently agreed, the football team - like other athletic squads - is truly a melting pot.
White and Black. Of Hispanic origins and with roots in the Far East. Hailing from big-city suburbs and one stop-light towns. Some come from wealth, others from more modest means.
Among them you'll find sons of high-ranking officers, like current senior James McMenamin, and career enlisted men, such as sophomore Tyree Barnes. A few stand out, having heard their names chanted by the crowd, while many more are anonymous to outsiders - they're roles confined to the scout teams.
To the coaches, to themselves, they are equals, their goals are collective. As a result, Drechsler says, they form "a bond that's almost indescribable." And as Stahl points out, they develop the same "people skills" that will someday help earn the trust of soldiers or sailors whose lives they are responsible for.
"Playing football at Navy was the greatest leadership laboratory I could ever experience," says Stahl, who is now pursuing a career in federal law enforcement. "The sleep deprivation, physical pain, dealing with uncertainty when (an opponent) suddenly does something you weren't expecting or you suffer injuries.
"Those things directly translated to my experience as a Marine. Combined with the Academy circumstances, they all lead to a stronger final product."
One product far from finished today is sophomore Kaipo-Noa Kaheaku-Enhada.
In Bancroft Hall, wearing the uniform of the day, he's a "Youngster" - still a year and a half away from the rank of "First Class." On Saturdays, in the uniform of the Midshipmen, his is the most important role in his unit - making the split-second decisions incumbent on the quarterback of Navy's option offense.
Think back to when Kaheaku-Enhada was first summoned to replace an injured Brian Hampton against Rutgers, seemingly overwhelmed by the Scarlet Knights' defense and somewhat shaken in the post-game press conference.
Now, consider how far he has come during the last two months to lead the Mids on a four-game winning streak into another NFL venue, once more on national television, to confront Boston College.
Sure, his teammates had faith in his abilities. But Kaipo-Noa had to validate that confidence and strengthen it. In time, with performance, and in the way he carries himself.
It's his voice, that of a sophomore, that must resonate when older teammates huddle around him.
"You look at what Kaipo has to face at such a young age, a sophomore filling in for a senior," said Drechsler. "That takes a special individual to come in like that and excel. The quarterback is a natural leader. He can't look like a deer in head lights.
"The fact that he's the quarterback, and dealing with all the adversity he's going to face over the next few years will prepare him for (military) leadership."
Smiling as he talked after a recent practice, the still somewhat soft-spoken Hawaiian shared his own perspective.
"I definitely have to prove that I can step up and lead people that are older than me, and that's going to happen anywhere in my future, especially in the military," Kaheaku-Enhada said. "If I go in the Marine Corps, I'll be dealing with enlisted folks who are older than me and have been around a lot longer. If I'm able to step up and take care of business, I'll keep people alive, essentially."
The fact that Kaheaku-Enhada intends to enter the Corps shouldn't be surprising, not with the number of current teammates soon destined for Quantico.
Eleven of the 35 football players in the Class of '07 - or, by another measure, 31 percent - were selected to the Marine Corps. Ten will train to become infantry officers. The 11th, Hampton, will train to become a flight officer.
Though recent exceptions were made to increase the number of commissioned Marines, the proportion of football players is nearly double that of the usual overall ratio of Academy graduates - 16.4 percent per class.
Knowing what they will soon be asked to do and where they will be told to go, it's truly remarkable. So too is their resolve.
Covering Navy football as I do, and talking with the likes of team captain Rob Caldwell, lineman Matt Pritchett and special teamer Anthony Piccioni, I've heard them speak of their aspirations beyond Navy football.
Their role models aren't necessarily names like Staubach, McCallum or McConkey - famous football alumni who made their marks in the NFL - they're Ryan Hamilton, J.R. Clearfield and Joe Speed.
Men deeply involved with the football program. Men who've commanded Marines in far away places.
I've even heard some mention Stahl's younger brother, Tyson, who followed Hoot's footsteps into the Corps. Before long, he'll likely do the same, all the way to the Middle East. A legacy indeed. Literally.
I've also sensed the excitement of someone like Tidwell - whose father can tell you of his son's childhood dream of being a Marine - the day after he got what he wanted, when seniors learned of their service-selection fate.
Perhaps like you, I've recently read remarks of some who question, if not outright refute the notion that Navy football truly serves the mission of the Academy. By extension, casting doubt on young men like these.
As a non-graduate, I won't for a single second pretend to understand one's experience from I-Day to Commissioning. And since the closest I've been to combat are the opening scenes of "Saving Private Ryan," I don't dare speak for those who know what it's like to lead others into battle.
Instead, I'll defer to Stahl and Stann. And Drechsler, the one-time center of Navy's offensive line.
"To those ignorant few who feel that athletes receive preferential treatment (even at Annapolis) they need to dig a little deeper," he wrote, before later detailing the schedule he kept as a midshipman.
It was a schedule virtually identical to that of present-day center and team captain James Rossi.
Each new day in season typically begins in time to crisscross The Yard from Bancroft to Ricketts Hall for injury treatment by 6 a.m. in order to return for morning formation. And, yes, football players are expected to be present and accounted for.
Three hours of class precedes an express lunch, devoured in all of 10-to-12 minutes. That allows enough time to receive more medical treatment and attend position meetings at Ricketts, before class resumes.
Late afternoon practice is followed by more time in the trainer's room or weight room. Dinner follows, before study begins, whether returning to the dorm room or arriving at the library somewhere around 8 p.m.
"You must constantly face and balance the challenges of military life, academics and football," writes Drechsler, who - like his peers in pads - did so after often grueling practices spent pounding in the so-called trenches. "This means that when you get to your room at night with a splitting headache you have an average of four hours of studying to do."
Stahl concurs, speaking of an additional semester he spent without football before graduating.
"That extra semester opened my eyes," he says. "I had my highest GPA (grade-point average) and more time on my hands than I knew what to do with."
As for what kind officer Stahl made, as he says, the "proof is in the pudding."
Just as it seems, regarding the cumulative performance of current Mids in the classroom.
For the second straight year, Navy owns the highest graduation rate in Division I-A football. At 98 percent, it exceeds the overall Academy rate of 86 percent, according to 1st Lt. Hamilton, who oversees the team's military and academic conduct.
Hamilton says that evening study hall is mandatory for all freshmen and sophomores, as well as any upper classmen whose grades slip below a certain level.
Meanwhile, junior punter Greg Veteto speaks of "a friendly competition" for many to push each other toward academic excellence. He should know.
After all, Veteto's 3.96 GPA as an Ocean Engineering major helped make him one of three Midshipmen to be voted Academic All-District by the College Sports Information Directors of America. The other two honorees, now being considered for Academic All-America distinction, are Byron McCoy and Zerbin Singleton.
McCoy is a Chemistry major with a 3.62 GPA. Singleton's concentration is Aerospace Engineering. His GPA is 3.29. His story is, in and of itself, a study in perseverance.
President of his class as well as the National Honor Society, as a senior at Columbia High in Decatur, Ga., Singleton was bound straight for Annapolis. Until the night he pulled his car away from a stoplight at an intersection, bringing two passengers home, and was struck almost head on by a drunk driver.
Recovering from his injuries, including a broken collarbone, Singleton didn't receive medical clearance in time to experience plebe summer. So, with an academic scholarship to Georgia Tech, he went to Atlanta, launched a web site, "How to Ace Calculus," and walked-on to the Yellow-Jackets.
After being cut from the team following his freshman season, told by coach Chan Gailey that he'd never play Division I football, Singleton pursued his original plan - to attend the Academy and train to be an Astronaut.
Since transferring, the diminutive Singleton has been an invaluable member of special teams and a regular at slot back, characterized as an outstanding blocker - and defined by the same determination that ought to remove any doubt about traveling into outer space.
"Nobody works harder than Zerb," Veteto says. "Zerb and I are always on each other. We have a lot of the same classes, since we're both engineering majors, and we're always on each other about how we did on tests."
"Long nights and early mornings," says Singleton, summing up the route to such achievement. "During the football season, I average maybe three or four hours (of sleep) a night."
Soon there will be time for more studying, as well as an extra hour or two of sleep. Navy will play its final game and Singleton's schedule will be a little less crowded, until he balances football and everything else the Academy entails all over again next season.
But for the seniors, in their little remaining time in Annapolis, they must prepare for what awaits. Immediately, that might mean surgery to repair a damaged shoulder or clean up cartilage from a painful knee.
For someone like Rossi, who's bulked up and beefed up to survive as an interior lineman, he'll have to shed a significant amount of weight, just as Stahl once did.
"I had to eat constantly to keep weight on," Stahl recalled. "I probably peaked at 306 pounds and averaged between 290 and 300. After my final game, I had to get down to 240 or 250."
With such weight supported by heavily wrapped ankles and knees in bulky braces, Navy linemen ride a stationary bike as part of their physical readiness test (PRT) during their playing careers - pedaling at a rate and against resistance far more strenuous than most experience in spin class.
To graduate - just as they did every previous semester in performing the requisite push-ups and sit-ups - the seriously slimmed-down linemen must match every midshipman, by running 1.5 miles in less than 10 minutes.
They'll do what they have to do, just as they always have. And when they get to the finish line, say the men who've reached it as football players, they'll be better for it.
"All of these challenges taught me far more about leadership than any of the leadership classes at school or yelling at a plebe," wrote Drechsler. "At the Naval Academy we do not play football for glory, preferential treatment or even to go to the NFL. We play for the love of the game.
"That is why we sacrifice so much and develop a bond with our teammates that will last a lifetime. These sacrifices define who we are and develop the traits and personalities of the leaders that we will become."
It isn't that Navy players are immune from the same temptations and problems that touch every sector of society, particularly on college campuses.
Even as the challenge of dealing with such is increasingly difficult for educational leaders - with America's youth wired up to I-Pods, in-sync with Bluetooths and shaped by pop culture - they will and should continue to be held to higher standards.
From where I sit, somewhere between up close and afar, they are. And though anything but saints, they are patriots who consistently are meeting, if not exceeding those standards.
On the field. In the class room. And in the Hall, as evidenced by the three players and two managers, one of which was a football recruit, who were named to the spring striper list.
They'll be leading from the front of the Brigade, at the same time so many of their predecessors are leading along a different front.
"It means a great deal to us to see that the team is doing so well," Brian Stann wrote from Iraq. "That is our legacy on the field that those players are building on, while we build on our legacy in combat. I personally couldn't be prouder of both of them right now."
Wherever Stann goes on patrol, he carries photos of two former teammates, Lt. Ron Winchester and Lt. James Blecksmith.
The former dreamt at an early age of being a Marine like his grandfather. The latter was a highly sought-after recruit, originally a quarterback from California. Each paid his country - you and me - the ultimate sacrifice in service.
And so it's not just their pictures that accompany Stann, it's their spirit.
"Their actions are a reminder to me of a standard of leadership that was set by two warriors who define heroism," he writes. "As Navy Football Players we are embedded with the belief that our team and our teammates are more important than ourselves.
"This creates a seamless transition into being a Marine Officer, because our Marines will always be our first priority."
Stahl can't say enough about those Marines, who bravely live every hour on the brink. It's one of the many reasons why the Navy football brotherhood means so much.
"You need to have a healthy understanding of why the Naval Academy exists," says Hoot Stahl. "It's to produce combat leaders; that is the legacy of the Naval Academy.
"You have to look at the total person, the finished product."
