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thedrifter
07-15-07, 07:56 AM
From the Baltimore Sun

First in a series
Playing field to battlefield
The concept of sports as preparation for war dates to ancient times - and still thrives as military recruiters seek out future warriors among teenage athletes.

By Rick Maese
Sun Reporter

July 15, 2007

Running has always been an integral part of Kevin Diggs' life, from a childhood accident in which he tripped, knocked his head against the corner of a table and earned an inch-long scar beneath his left eye to a high school career in track and cross country for Southwestern High.

At graduation last month, Diggs had to fight the urge to pump his feet and start sprinting in his black gown. When his name was called, he blew a kiss to the crowd and walked proudly across the stage to accept his diploma. As he walked off the stage, Diggs knew his high school athletic career was behind him and, without a chance to play college sports, a career in the military ahead.

"Of course, there's risk that I'll be sent into war, but I'm not afraid of that," Diggs says matter-of-factly. "I live in Baltimore. It's dangerous in the city. I could die for something as stupid as somebody wanting the watch I'm wearing. I'd rather die in a war for my country than for something stupid like that."

Coming from one of Baltimore's worst-performing schools - the embattled Augusta Fells Savage Institute of Visual Arts was housed in Southwestern High last year -Diggs, 18, has enlisted in the Marine Corps. He's one of dozens of Marylanders who have recently graduated from high school and soon will learn how an athletic background translates into a military career.

The relationship between sports and the military, a link historically celebrated by presidents, generals and athletic coaches, is more debatable than ever, as the role of each American institution has undergone significant change in the past half-century. But in wartime, as the Department of Defense spends millions of dollars and thousands of man-hours to restock its military ranks, many continue to view high school athletic programs as an unofficial feeder system, relying on sports teams to help build the very best soldiers.

"This is a war where you kill or get killed! And I don't know anything that prepares a man for bodily contact, including war, than the kind of training we get on the football field."

Frank Knox, Secretary of the Navy, 1940-1944

None of the military branches keeps records on the number of troops whose informal training might have come on youth and high school playing fields. A half-dozen recruiters interviewed by The Sun, though, estimated that about 50 percent of the young men and women sent to boot camp each year competed in high school sports.

The best way to quantify the military's reliance on athletics is to look at the nation's esteemed service academies, which chart such figures. The Naval Academy, in Annapolis, and the U.S. Military Academy, in West Point, N.Y., both report that about 90 percent of their students competed in high school athletics. At the Air Force Academy, in Colorado Springs, Colo., 85 percent of last year's student body lettered in at least one high school sport.

In addition, at all three academies, every cadet and midshipman is required to compete in a varsity or intramural sport. In that sense, "every cadet is an athlete," according to one West Point official.

Col. William Walker is a deputy athletics director at the Air Force Academy. He's also a former student, athlete, helicopter pilot and wrestling coach. He can't go a day without running across one of his department's favorite slogans, "Tomorrow's leaders forged through competition today," and says sports is a crucial part of the academy's bigger mission.

"The high level of competition we put our athletes through, that experience really translates well," Walker says. "In the Air Force, obviously a pilot is not as physical as maybe other areas. I see it in the mental aspect, that fierce competitiveness, that indomitable will to win."

Diggs, the graduating senior, chose the Marines, he says, because he felt his athletic achievements in high school prepared him for the military better than his academic experiences prepared him for college. Marine officials say that an athletic background is just part of what they feel makes an ideal warrior. Physical, mental and moral standards are all taken into consideration.

Mark Holman, a master gunnery sergeant, has been recruiting Marines from the Baltimore area for 20 years. He says a high school athlete should have a significant "head start" over a non-athlete.

"I know you think, 'Hey, he's athletic, he's in shape,' but actually, the first thing in my mind is, 'This guy understands what it means to be a part of a team, and he knows what it means to participate in something that's bigger than just himself,' " Holman says.

The sentiment might look good on a poster, and it's precisely what inspires a basketball coach like Bob Knight to accept a nickname like "The General." And it inspires a young Kellen Winslow to declare himself a "soldier," though his battlefield is the football field.

But it also inspires many others to line up and poke holes at the relationship between sports and military, denouncing the parallels as naive or absurd.

"The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton."

Duke of Wellington, an Eton alumnus and 19th-century British general who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo

Ilove that," says John C. Phillips. " 'Won on the playing fields of Eton.' ... You develop a winning attitude and learn to test yourself; I like that idea. What a great idea. It just isn't true."

Phillips is a sociology professor at the University of the Pacific. He served in the Army from 1965 to 1967. It's not that he doesn't understand the parallels between sport and military. He can insipidly recite the same buzz words used by football coaches and by military leaders.

"You can talk about these words - competition, discipline, effort - but what goes on in the military is so different from what goes on in sports. The connection is almost zero," he says. "It just doesn't connect with what a soldier actually does."

For starters, he points out that the concept of warfare has evolved, so the idea that a wrestler, a boxer or an offensive lineman might have to replicate his athletic duties on a battlefield is antiquated.

"Today, if you're out of ammunition, you go back to where there is some," he says. "The idea of people facing each other with bayonets just doesn't exist. The reality is, today you can't even see the enemy."

Not only are the stakes different, says Earl Smith, a Wake Forest sociology professor and past president of the North American Society for the Sociology of Sport, but the surviving comparison between sport and military is merely a byproduct of "sociological imagination." Smith has spent a professional lifetime studying sport, and he served in the Air Force from 1964 to 1968. He says the strongest parallel he sees is the "hyper-masculinity" that festers in the underbelly of both.

In addition, "there's the same sense of gender segregation, and when you have that, you get rapes, you get harassment, you get Abu Ghraib, you get the Colorado football mess," he says, referring to sex and abuse scandals that rocked the U.S. Army and the University of Colorado's football program. "Other than that, it's a stretch. The analogy really doesn't make sense.

"I know what basic training is like, and I know what a war zone is like, and I know what being on an athletic field is like. I just don't see how they're all similar. It's a metaphor; it sounds good. But that's it."

While those who encourage recruiting athletes point to a long line of successful military people who played sports, critics say the perceived connection is a carryover from history lessons that today's coaches and military leaders refuse to let fade. No one doubts that there was once a strong correlation, from Roman soldiers and Greek Olympians to American Indians who considered lacrosse to be the "little brother to war."

Andy Kozar has studied the writings of many football coaches from the first half of the 20th century, and he says most followed a similar blueprint from the same group of architects, all of whom used war analogies - perhaps none more than Kozar's own college coach.

Some called him Bull and some called him Coach, but to most, Robert Neyland was "The General." That's because the University of Tennessee Hall of Fame coach was also a decorated Army general, going back and forth between his military duties and his football team.

Kozar was an All-America fullback for Neyland more than 50 years ago and vividly remembers sitting in a locker room before a game, studying words Neyland jotted on a chalkboard, maxims such as "Football is a battle. Go out and fight all afternoon."

At practice, Neyland would march around his players, reciting words he believed inspirational to his athletes as well as to his troops. "It's not the guns or armament or the money they can pay. It's the close cooperation that makes them win the day," Neyland would say. "It is not the individual or the army as a whole, but the everlasting teamwork of every single soul."

Long after his playing career was finished, Kozar spent six years studying the writings left by his former coach, eventually publishing a book, Football as a War Game: The Annotated Journals of General R.R. Neyland.

"It really is remarkable the tremendous connection many of these coaches made," Kozar says, "relating the game of football to war and ... to military procedure."

"Upon of the fields of friendly strife are sown the seeds that, upon other fields, on other days, will bear the fruits of victory."

Gen. Douglas MacArthur, painted on gym wall at West Point

On a clear afternoon in late May, as high schools across the state prepared commencement ceremonies, military recruiters continued to hold regular unofficial inauguration ceremonies. As they awaited their shipping dates for boot camp, recent enlistees regularly met at recruitment centers for physical training.

Behind a strip mall in Glen Burnie, a staff sergeant led the drills. Facing him were two rows of Army recruits - including a high school wrestler, a lacrosse player and a football player - and then a row of cars and minivans, parked against the back of a Home Depot.

"One-two-three," the staff sergeant said, as they stretched.

"One!" his soldiers-in-training barked in unison.

"One-two-three."

"Two!"

The strip-mall scene is nondescript, but when you pick it apart, you get a better idea of the task facing recruiters. This group represents exactly what the Army is after: young men and women, nearly all of whom have competed in a sport, and all dedicated enough to meet for voluntary physical training before boot camp begins.

Each was sold on the military by an Army recruiter, who masters a variety of techniques and pitches. Area recruiters say that in addition to visiting school campuses and speaking to classes, they attend athletic practices and games. They visit gyms and fields, challenging students to chin-up competitions during halftime or strolling through the bleachers during timeouts. Some say they even try to work as volunteer assistant coaches with local athletic teams.

Twenty years ago, Sgt. 1st Class Scott Geise played football, basketball and baseball for Chesapeake High, and today he's a station commander who oversees a staff of eight Army recruiters that covers Anne Arundel County.

Some of Geise's best years in recruiting came when he volunteered as an assistant football coach in Richmond, Va. He attributes his success during that period to being around the school every day and says that many young athletes today cling to ambitions of an athletic scholarship. In his opinion, athletes aren't more prone to enlist.

That hardly stops any military branch from targeting young sports enthusiasts. In fact, numbers reviewed by The Sun revealed that each branch spends several million dollars annually advertising through sports-specific media.

Last year, the Marines spent $1 million in advertising with Spike TV - the cable leader in mixed-martial arts programming - and the Navy sponsors the winter and summer X Games. The Air Force spends money on the Motor Bike Series, the Snowcross racing team and the Pro Wakeboard Series. In addition, the Army, Navy and Air Force each sponsors NASCAR teams, and the Army also stages the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, the annual all-star game featuring the nation's top high school football players.

You can hardly watch a big sporting event without seeing at least one of the branches' commercials. The Army spent more than $6 million in sports-related television advertising last year, including nearly $4.4 million on ESPN alone. The Marines spent $6.5 million with ESPN during the 2005-06 fiscal year.

The target demographic is clear, which is why all branches are continually monitoring the sports viewing habits of 17- to 24-year-olds and why the Air Force has abandoned print advertising to focus its media spending online.

"Those people who watch sports are more inclined to play sports, so it makes good sense for us to communicate to these people," says Cmdr. David Hostetler, director of advertising for the Navy Recruiting Command.

"I want an officer for a secret and dangerous mission. I want a West Point football player."

Gen. George C. Marshall, during World War II

While high school sports might have an impact on a graduate's military career, increasingly schools are taking note of the impact a player-turned-soldier can have on a sports program.

Seventy-seven Marylanders have died in the Iraq war. Of those, at least 29 are known to have had an athletic background before enlistment.

At Hereford High, football coach Steve Turnbaugh's desk is full of photos, including those of former players who have enlisted. In recent years, he says, nearly a dozen of his players chose a life in the military after graduation.

"All those qualities we're asking of kids on the football field, those are the same things the armed services are asking for," Turnbaugh says.

Not a day goes by that Turnbaugh doesn't spend a couple of seconds looking at photos of Norman Anderson and Joshua Snyder, close friends and former teammates who died in Iraq within six weeks of each other in 2005.

Turnbaugh sees Grant Hemmerly, too, a former linebacker who graduated from the school in 2002. He played with Anderson and Snyder on a team that won a state title in 2001. Hemmerly is on his third tour in Iraq. Last fall, he was back in Parkton and visited football practice, telling the new players about life after football, about life in the military.

"When you look at the big picture, a football hero and a military hero just don't compare," Turnbaugh says. "We know that one's a game and one's life and death. All it takes is a bad day, a bad practice or a bad class, and I look at these pictures and it puts it all in perspective. Reminds you that even though you might be able to sit here and identify some similarities, they'll always be very different."

"Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of [bull]. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. ... [Y]ou are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ballplayers, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American."

Gen. George S. Patton, address to troops, June 1944

In some neighborhoods, it's an aspiration of Baltimore youths: How are you going to get out?

For Kevin Diggs, the answer is the military. To him, going from a high school track career to the Marines is a logical step, but those first several weeks after he enlisted, that didn't stop his mother, Ethel Julius, from calling him into the living room every time she saw a television report of a soldier who had died in battle.

Ken Smith, the athletic director at Southwestern, also wonders sometimes if the military is Diggs' best option. "He's such a special kid," Smith says. "Sometimes I just had to pinch myself."

He knows that Diggs is different from a lot of the other students who have passed through the doors of Southwestern, a giant complex that more closely resembles a prison. After 36 years, the failing school has finally shut its doors for good.

At the high school commencement ceremonies, the graduation motto was repeated by several speakers: "Given less, we still strive for success." Still, beneath the day's festive mood, many seemed to know and accept that for most, high school graduation was a conclusion, not a transition.

"I really wouldn't have anything better to do after high school," Diggs says. "This will be a good opportunity for me to get away from Baltimore. I like to challenge myself - that's why I did sports in the first place - and from what I hear, the Marines have the most challenging training."

In August, Diggs is scheduled to report to basic training in Parris Island, S.C. He has explored his outlets and says he hopes to continue running and competing, no matter where he's stationed. As a child, Diggs played sports and army games with neighborhood friends. His stepfather, Kevin Julius, didn't like him playing with guns, but there were no such restrictions on sports. So Diggs ran from one sport to another.

"You never really think about it when you're a kid, you know," Diggs says. "You're just playing games. It's the same stuff now, but I guess it's not really a game anymore."

On Diggs' graduation day, a red tassel dangled in his face, tickling the skin beneath his scar. He knows that even though what lies in front of him might resemble what's behind him, they're hardly identical. But Diggs says he finds comfort knowing that one might have prepared him for the other.

rick.maese@baltsun.com

Ellie

thedrifter
07-17-07, 07:16 AM
Painful rites of passage
Football exemplifies link between sports, war

By Bill Ordine
Sun reporter

July 15, 2007

When a grenade came rolling at Rocky Bleier during a fierce enemy assault at the height of the Vietnam War, his football instincts took over.

The small explosive "hit my commanding officer right in the back, but it didn't go off on contact; it had a timed fuse," said Bleier, who won four Super Bowl rings as a running back on the Pittsburgh Steelers of the 1970s. "And here it comes toward me.

"Talk about football reaction," Bleier continued. "It was like the old over-under drill where you roll along the ground and a guy jumps over you. ... So I jump over the grenade. And as I did that, it goes off and tears through the bottom of my right foot, and I get it in my knee and my groin."

An Army veteran who has a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart along with his Super Bowl jewelry, Bleier is part of NFL lore. As a result of the grenade blast, infection set in, and he suffered nerve damage in his foot. It took him nearly two years to battle his way into the Steelers' starting lineup in 1973. Three seasons later, he rushed for more than 1,000 yards.

While Bleier talked about "football reaction" to describe his efforts to avoid that grenade, he said that the overlapping experiences of the football field and the battlefield go far beyond that single moment.

"You talk about war and combat ... and it's really all football. Or at least football got it from the military," he said. "You're talking offense and defense. You're talking about flanks. You're talking about blitzes. The strategy, the terminology. There are all those commonalities."

From academicians to comedians to the league's own chronicler of the games, the observation has often been made that football and militarism merge in ways metaphorical and real. Comic George Carlin famously made the point in a monologue:

"In football, the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun."

Sociologists make a more serious argument.

"The connective tissue between sport and warfare revolves around the social construction of masculinity," said Donald Sabo, director of the Center for Research on Physical Activity, Sport and Health at D'Youville College in Buffalo, N.Y. The sociology professor has written about how the Gulf War was couched in sports terms to help make it palatable to the American public.

Sabo, who played inside linebacker at the State University of New York, Buffalo, where future NFL head coach Buddy Ryan was an assistant coach, said that the more important similarities between football and the military are in the preparations for battle.

"There is a heavy emphasis on control and conformity," Sabo said, describing the football experience as a rite of passage for young males into manhood. "The coach controls the lives of the athletes right down to the dietary, what they should and shouldn't eat."

The segue to the military, he said, is obvious, "except it's not the coach giving orders, it's the colonel."

"And the rituals usually involve pain, and that's to be accepted," Sabo added.

Persevering through pain and physical hardship is standard fare in pro football's self-portrait as depicted in countless NFL Films story lines. Every fan has seen it. In slow motion, frozen vapor curls from the facemasks of big men poised on the line of scrimmage, knuckles pressed to the ground, martial musical thundering in the background, and then the battle is joined.

While some might view the methods and means of sports, especially as they relate to preparation for the military, as less than wholesome, others see the connection differently.

"I certainly got a lot out of the Naval Academy, especially playing the position I did," said former Dallas Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach, who served in a noncombat role in Vietnam. "It taught me the essence of leadership, which, I think, is showing that you're willing to work as hard as your people."

Staubach's transitions from football to the military and back to football were almost seamless.

"The military is the essence of teamwork ... and getting people to accept the spirit of that on a football team is the name of the game," he said.

"It comes down to perseverance and resiliency," said Staubach, who runs an international commercial real estate company that has a branch office in Baltimore. " ... When you get knocked down, you don't give up. You hold onto your values, and you keep your faith."

Bleier, who does motivational speaking and runs a construction company, is quick to say he is as proud of his military service as he is of his years on a championship NFL team. But he also points out that reality often differs from the public perception of glorious struggle, and that football and war have darker sides that linger.

Players unwisely play hurt, he said, because they want to show they're "tough ... and because it's part of the lore and the legend of the game."

"The downside is what we see today, more and more players having chronic pain or mental conditions that lead to depression," Bleier said. "And one of the terrible downsides of war is the post-traumatic stress that we see even right now in people coming back from Iraq. Whether it's war or football ... there can be a huge price to be paid."

bill.ordine@baltsun.com

Ellie

thedrifter
07-17-07, 07:18 AM
Away games
U.S. soldiers in Iraq 'touch home' through involvement in sports


By Childs Walker
Sun Reporter

July 16, 2007

The northern edge of Fallujah, Iraq, was no place to be on Thanksgiving Day 2004.

Gunfire reverberated in the distance, and the "safe" ground occupied by Ed Malinowski and his crew of Marine drivers and mechanics felt anything but safe.

But these American men, forced to spend a holiday in a dangerous and distant land, thought of football.

If they couldn't watch the NFL with a turkey leg in one hand and a beer in the other, they wanted to play. Malinowski, who had played quarterback at the Naval Academy, remembered a game his linemen had created.

They would run through the team's plays but at walking speed so they could remain in a confined space. That seemed perfect for the conditions confronting the transport officer and his men, who were headquartered at an abandoned train station.

So they struck up a game of walking football - drivers vs. mechanics, with Malinowski, an obvious ringer, playing quarterback for both. The "field" was an asphalt parking lot, 30 yards long and 20 wide, with a line of Humvees forming one sideline and stacks of ammunition the other.

"I believe the mechanics won," Malinowski said. "They had this tall, skinny kid who could play a bit. And, boy, they talked about it for weeks."

Perhaps it's not surprising that a former quarterback who aspired to coach one day would maintain his connection to sports while at war. After all, he had brought a Terrible Towel, the ultimate emblem of a rabid Pittsburgh Steelers fan, to Iraq for luck.

But Malinowski isn't alone. From former Army and Navy football players to distance runners to aspiring mixed martial artists, athletes who go to war try to stay in touch with their sports. Sometimes, they do it by playing pickup games in unlikely settings. Sometimes, they organize intramural races, fights or basketball leagues. Sometimes, they call on psychology learned in sports to carry them through combat. Sometimes, they simply watch games, beamed to them at odd hours by the Armed Services Network.

Whatever the means, they hold on to sports as a way of holding on to themselves and to home. "Athletics is a release," Malinowski said. "It gives us a distraction from what the hell is going on over there. It's just one of those things that keeps you connected. It's like maybe you're missing Christmas, but you can't miss everything."

Parallel marathons
Maj. Rodney Freeman provided that release when his New Hampshire National Guard unit was mobilized and dispatched to Iraq in December 2004.

Freeman was stationed at a 5,000-man base near Tallil, which served as a stop for convoys in need of fuel and food. A military complex that size is a small town, with fire, police and public works departments. Freeman essentially became the director of parks and recreation. He set up softball, volleyball and basketball leagues, conducted road races and presided over a workout hall he described as "the best Gold's Gym I've ever seen in my life."

After seeing the Ben Stiller comedy Dodgeball, the troops requested a league for that old gym-class standby. "So I got them some balls, and sure enough, they started wailing on each other," Freeman said.

As Freeman watched troops rush back from convoy missions to play for one of the base's 50 softball teams, he realized he was doing important work. The troops couldn't choose between Olive Garden and Red Lobster for dinner, but when it came to recreation, they could pick a team and a sport, just as they might in Maine or Alabama or Oregon. "It was a way for these guys to touch home without going home," he said. "For seven innings, they could play softball and think about playing softball at home."

Before he deployed, Freeman had trained for a marathon that would give him a shot to qualify for the Boston Marathon in April 2005. He was never a great runner, but the routine calmed him to the point where his wife could see the stress if he missed three or four days.

One winter day, he and a few other distance enthusiasts dreamed up the notion of running a marathon in Tallil parallel to the one in Boston. Freeman dropped a note about it to the Boston Athletic Association. He did not expect it would offer official certificates, shirts and medals to those who ran in Iraq or that a crew from the Outdoor Life Network would be dispatched to shoot footage.

But that's what happened. More than 300 runners signed on, and the event became so big that Freeman had to give up competing so he would have time to supervise.

They began the race at 6:15 a.m. with an M-16 rifle instead of a starter's pistol. The runners had to be protected by armed trucks and razor-wire fences, but as the last runner finished five hours later and temperatures soared, no one minded much.

"The soldiers had an opportunity to share something positive from a combat zone with their families back home," Freeman said. "There haven't been a whole lot of positives like that for the people back home."

The idea struck a chord. Similar races parallel to marathons in Texas, Hawaii, Florida, Tennessee and New York have been held. Troops have run the Iraq-Boston marathons three times.

Freeman, who returned home in December 2005, was able to run the real thing in 2006. He didn't train hard or run his best time, but his mind drifted back to the race a year earlier. "At the three-mile marker, I thought, 'Oh, I'd be at the gates if I were in Iraq,'" he recalled. "And I kept doing that. I'd come up on a water station and think, 'Oh, our water stations were much better.' Stupid stuff like that. But as I was running Boston, I was running Tallil in my mind."

Football on the rocks
Former college athletes such as Malinowski were among the soldiers who took advantage of the opportunities provided by Freeman and others.

Malinowski grew up in Canonsburg, Pa., and was a three-sport star in high school, though he stood just 5 feet 10 1/2 and weighed 185 pounds.

"I was just a slow white guy, but football was my burning passion," he said.

He played quarterback and free safety, but given his physical limitations, he was recruited mainly by Division I-AA schools such as Harvard and Colgate. He had dreamed of the Naval Academy since ninth grade, and though he didn't get in at first, the football coaches helped him once they saw his abilities. Over four years, he balanced life as a reserve quarterback with difficult courses such as physics and calculus.

"The guys who went to school with me were just like me," he said. "They were from middle-class families. They maybe got a break because they worked their butts off. It was nice to be around guys I could trust like that."

He loved the experience enough that he stayed for a post-graduate year as an assistant to new football coach Paul Johnson. Coaching fit Malinowski, and he considered it a possible career. But first came his service commitment, a reality that seemed more ominous once terrorists attacked the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001.

Malinowski did two stints in Iraq, one as a motor transport officer, carrying food, ammunition and other supplies to battle sites around Fallujah, and the second as a logistics officer who helped plan the transportation for such missions. He was stationed overseas from June 2004 to January 2005 and from September 2005 to March 2006.

He quickly discovered that his ties to sports would not disappear in the face of war. When his Marines discovered he had played quarterback at Navy, they gave him the call sign "Heisman."

"I'm not even close to that good, and here they are calling me it all the time," he said with a laugh.

He took a decal from his high school football helmet and slapped it on the side of his Humvee. The lifelong Steelers fan also packed his Terrible Towel, "just for luck."

Once overseas, he noted Marines would often grab a football in free moments and play catch or get a fierce pickup game going on the sand and rocks. "Guys would be jumping on rocks, coming up all bloody, but they didn't care," he said. "These are competitive people. That never goes away."

When they weren't playing, many Marines kept the discipline of athletes, lifting weights in a tent at headquarters every morning. When Malinowski was stationed inside a hydroelectric dam during his second stint, he and others would go to the spacious bottom level to run. They played volleyball, too, until someone warned that a ball could get stuck in the dam turbines and crash the whole operation.

The Marines also found release by watching football on the Armed Services Network. A big game such as the college national championship or the Super Bowl could pack the chow hall, even though the broadcasts began in the middle of the night.

For the epic Southern California-Texas game in January 2006, the hall was split. "On one half, you had all these California boys with the surfer look," Malinowski said. "On the other, you had all these roughneck boys with cowboy hats. War is a violent clash of cultures, and it's the same with sports, really."

Malinowski's Navy teammate, linebacker Justin Jordan, didn't have as many opportunities to play sports in Iraq. But the Marine leaned heavily on the psychology he learned as a football player.

"Leading a group of Marines into battle is like walking into a game," Jordan said. "Maybe you go into a game with a plan to run the option, but that doesn't work, so you have to try some reverses. You're just looking for that adjustment that works. Well, it's the same thing when you're reacting to what the enemy does. Nothing prepares you for combat, but the closest I've come is feeling those butterflies in the tunnel when you're waiting to run out for a game."

He didn't make that connection while serving but now sees it clear as day.

"It's hardwired into my thinking - that tendency to approach everything as a competition," Jordan said. "I think the most successful Marines I know are those with some sort of competitive outlet in their backgrounds."

Navy football players often feel isolated from the rest of the student brigade. They play for the honor of the academy but face resentment because they're not always subject to the hazing and drilling imposed on classmates. "You're on an island, and you have to depend on your teammates for everything," Jordan said. " ... I have 25 friends from football where, if they picked up the phone and needed something, I'll be there, and the reverse is true."

That mentality prepared him to command an engineering unit, isolated in the desert 35 miles from the Iraqi-Kuwaiti border. "You can't really relate to the needs in that situation unless you've been part of a team," he said.

Staying sane
Steve Suhr walked on as a pitcher at Army. He didn't have the fastball to overwhelm Division I hitters, and his curveball was downright suspect, but his control saved him. Like his Navy counterparts, he found a preview of military life in his college team.

"It's a perfect microcosm of what you're going to see in the Army," he said. "The best units I've been in most closely relate to sports teams. Guys are always picking each other up, and even when there's ribbing, it's good-natured."

Suhr went to flight school after graduation to learn to pilot a Kiowa Warrior reconnaissance helicopter. Eventually, he commanded eight choppers and 30 men, based near Mosul. They provided quick pickups, support fire and eyes in the sky for ground combat units.

The aviation life allowed Suhr and his men routines that regularly included watching and playing sports. Their base featured hangars large enough to house well-outfitted gyms and basketball courts.

"It was just a great release from getting shot at," Suhr said of playing pickup ball on those courts. "It does give you a taste of being normal. When you're in a pickup game, talking trash, you could be anywhere."

On special occasions, he would take his men to a separate hangar at night for marathon Wiffle ball showdowns. Suhr jokingly calls himself "the greatest Wiffle ball pitcher of all time."

For morale boosts, he would give his men chances to hit off him.

"It was like, 'Hey, we get to make the commander look stupid,' " said Suhr, who is from New Jersey. He also tried to learn the ins and outs of NASCAR, the chief sporting passion of his troops.

Suhr left combat believing sports had helped many men keep their sanity.

"The guys who handle it best are the guys who worked out and played," he said. "You have to find some way to channel all that boredom and anxiety."

'That urge to fight'
For Brian Stann, those chances became fewer and further between.

Stann, another Navy linebacker turned Marine, was stationed on patrol bases deep in enemy territory. In May 2005, he and his regiment fell under heavy assault from machine guns, explosives and suicide bombers as they attempted to secure a bridge along the Euphrates River.

At one juncture, Stann and his sergeant rescued four wounded Marines from a bombed-out tank, an act of bravery that earned him a Silver Star.

If Stann's experience was more harrowing than those of some classmates, his athletic ambition also burned hotter.

Growing up in Scranton, Pa., Stann found his way into plenty of scraps.

"I really had that urge to fight, even when I was in middle school," he said. "I got picked on a fair amount by the older guys, and I guess I was just a kid who fought back."

In high school and at Navy, he channeled his aggression into football excellence. Once he moved on to Marine training at Quantico, Va., he found martial arts.

He had toyed with karate and related disciplines as a teenager but found them impractical. That changed with the Marine system, which pulled from many disciplines and focused on simple, brutal moves that could be used in combat.

"Everybody has a hobby they like to do outside of work," he said. "I figured if I was going to lead Marines into battle, mine might as well be a combat sport."

Stann's fast, powerful strikes made him a natural, and soon he moved to fighting as an amateur mixed martial artist. He won his debut contest in May 2004 and fought several more times before deploying to Iraq in February 2005 as an officer in a mobile assault battalion.

Though he led his men into firefights every week, he found time to lift weights and fire punches into pads every few days. He had little opportunity to keep his technique sharp but tried to stay in decent shape. He missed fighting, the way "you might miss your favorite food."

Stann said leading troops is different from fighting because it's more unselfish. "But there is this overall mind-set of accomplishing your mission no matter what ... with both," he added.

On the other hand, he found his combat experience immensely helpful when he entered his first professional fight after returning from Iraq.

"Only the guys in my corner really realize it, but they always comment on how calm I seem," he said. "I've been there, done that. Nothing that could happen in a cage would make me nervous or excite me, given the things I've seen, the chaos I've been in the middle of."

Stann won twice before returning to Iraq, this time as a patrol leader in enemy-controlled areas. But he had even less opportunity to work out during his second deployment. He managed to keep track of the mixed martial arts world, reading clippings mailed by his family and catching the occasional event on the Armed Services Network.

He yearned to get back to the cage. "Everyone needs something to look forward to when they're over there," Stann said. He agreed to his next fight on a phone call from Iraq and stepped into a difficult match just two months after returning.

It's not easy striving to become an elite fighter while remaining a Marine officer. He has only one high-level training partner at Camp Lejeune. He squeezes in lifting and running before dawn and technical work in the evening. He flies to elite camps run by pros on some weekends and is lucky to see his wife an hour or two a day.

Stann's Web site shows a fighter with the rippling abdominal muscles, serious eyes and closely cropped hair one might expect from a combat leader. He uses the nickname "All-American" as a combatant for World Extreme Cagefighting and says he hopes his story will bring attention to the courage and decency of Marines in Iraq.

"It's a chance to show people what Marines are doing," he said. "If you really want to see people doing great things, think about these 20- and 21-year-old guys making decisions every day that are harder than any a CEO ever faces. If I can get that positive across, it's an honor."

childs.walker@baltsun.com

Ellie

thedrifter
07-17-07, 07:20 AM
Sacrificing all
War in Iraq, Afghanistan has claimed ex-athletes
by Mike Klingaman
Sun Reporter
Some starred on their high school athletic teams. Some barely received any playing time. But each served his country and died in Iraq or Afghanistan. A former swim team star was killed while defusing a roadside bomb; a one-time running back sacrificed himself so that his comrades might live. During one 14-month period in 2005-2006, at least six former athletes from Baltimore-area high schools -- Marines, sailors and soldiers -- died in the war. The eldest was 31 years old, the youngest 20.

To a man, they carried with them overseas the love of sport. And though they did not return, their schools, teammates and families will not forget their courage on and off the field.




Norman Anderson III was a stalwart running back, Josh Snyder a selfless receiver. Their framed jerseys hang ceremoniously on a wall in the Hereford High gym, but not for obvious reasons.

"No one will ever wear these numbers [33 and 26] again," coach Steve Turnbaugh said of the first jerseys retired in Hereford history. "Maybe these two weren't the best players ever, but they certainly proved their heroism in a far larger scheme than football."

Nearly two years have passed since Anderson and Snyder, both Marines, died in the war in Iraq. Anderson was killed by a suicide car bomber, Snyder by a sniper six weeks later. Buddies, they enlisted together and are buried at Arlington National Cemetery, 75 graves apart.

Their granite-faced military photographs, draped in black, still grace the bulletin board in Hereford's football office. Both men -- Anderson was 21, Snyder a year younger-- played for the school's 2001 state champions. Even overseas, neither forgot his roots.

Anderson carried videotapes of Hereford's magical season and showed them proudly to his comrades.

"Yeah, we all saw the tapes," said Jed Maki, who served alongside Anderson in Iraq and Afghanistan. "We had to laugh at the scrawny little guy Norman was in high school. He had bulked up in size since then."

Maki said that once, during a lull, Anderson's unit challenged a group of Iraqi soldiers to a football game on base.

"We killed them," Maki said. "Norman had a few touchdowns, a few interceptions. He was always willing to get his nose a little dirty."

Half a world away, engulfed in war, Anderson managed to stay abreast of his high school team's games.

"For a while, we mailed him The Sun," said his mother, Robyn Anderson. "But in his final letter he wrote, 'Just send me the sports section.' "I guess he figured he was seeing enough of the headline stuff over there."

Football and fatigues had always been Norman Anderson's passions. At Hereford, if he didn't have playbook in hand, it was a history text about World War II. Teammates applauded his relentless rushing style and dubbed him "Stormin' Norman," after Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf, commander in the Gulf War in 1991. Anderson relished the comparison. "Finally, we just called him 'Storm,' " Turnbaugh said. Joining the Marines fueled Anderson's competitive nature, Maki said.

"Sports tied in with our everyday life," he said. "Marines wrestle to let off steam. Norman would wrestle anyone, anywhere -- on grass or rocks, in rooms or rivers. Norman would come out bloody, but the other person was always bloodier."

On Oct. 19, 2005 -- the day he died -- Anderson, a lance corporal, volunteered to take the point on a morning patrol near his unit's base in the town of Sadah, near the Syrian border. From an alley, a maroon Chevrolet Caprice filled with explosives hurtled toward the Marines.

Anderson dashed toward the car -- "You could tell he was a running back," a Marine said later -- and shot and killed the driver. But the vehicle was apparently rigged to detonate if the driver died.

The fireball killed Anderson and wounded four others. The explosion hurled the car's engine block 50 yards and might have wiped out the 16-man patrol had not Anderson distanced himself from the other Marines.

"If Norm hadn't done what he did, a lot more guys would have lost their lives," said Sgt. James Ryan Thornton, his squad leader.

News of Anderson's death rocked Hereford High, which held a memorial service two days later at a home football game. For the rest of that 2005 season, the players -- few of whom knew Anderson personally -- wore decals with the initials "NA" on their helmets. "Once a Hereford Bull, always a Hereford Bull," Turnbaugh said. The next month, Anderson's high school teammate was slain. Cpl. Josh Snyder was shot in the aftermath of a skirmish in Fallujah, Iraq. Marines killed the assassin.

Two months earlier, while home on leave, Snyder had dropped by Hereford during football practice. "He was wearing his [military] uniform, and he seemed awful proud," Turnbaugh said.

Like Anderson, Snyder chose to join the Marines long before graduation. "When you saw them working in the [school's] weight room, you knew they were getting ready for boot camp as well as for football," the coach said.

When a bum knee sidelined Snyder as a senior, he volunteered as a coach's aide. He so impressed the staff that, in a rarity after the 2001 championship, Snyder was presented with his personal jersey (each member of the Hereford team has several uniforms). After her son's death, Snyder's mother returned the jersey to the coach. Turnbaugh had No. 26 framed, and it now hangs by itself at the entrance to his family room.

Why, of the hundreds of young men who have played for him, did Turnbaugh choose Snyder's jersey to place in his home? Maybe it was the conversation Snyder's mother related to the coach as she handed him the jersey. Before his deployment in 2004, Snyder and his mother sat on the porch swing of their Hampstead home on a warm August day and spoke of the future.

"He talked of what could happen and the things he wanted done," Doris Snyder said. "And then Josh said, 'If you don't remember anything else, make sure you return my championship jersey to Coach Turnbaugh. He has done somuch for me that I want him to have it.' "

.......................

mike.klingaman@baltsun.com

Ellie