Read Online The Rivalry by John Feinstein - Free Book Online Page A

what happened, you have my permission to say: ‘We got screwed.’ ”
    They all got a momentary laugh out of that, and Niumatalolo even forced a smile.
    “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get it in.”
    They all stood and came together in the middle of the room just as they did at halftime.
    Susan Carol whispered to Robinson, “What’s ‘the hall’?”
    “Bancroft Hall,” he said. “All four thousand midshipmen live there. It’s the largest dormitory on any college campus in the country.”
    As the players formed their circle, their cry on three was: “Beat Army!”
    Susan Carol expected she would hear those words a lot the next few weeks.

THE CADETS
    S tevie’s experience at West Point for the Army–Georgia Tech game was considerably different. To begin with, there was no snow. And for once he was up earlier than Susan Carol. Kelleher had him walking out the front door of the Thayer by seven o’clock for a tour of the campus. They walked all the way across the Post—going along the Hudson River first, then winding their way up to the Plain and over to Trophy Point, where Kelleher showed Stevie cannons and guns captured in various wars through the years. There were also several more statues.
    They stood for a moment at the edge of Trophy Point. They were high up enough to have a great view down the Hudson River. The campus sprawled on one side, and rolling hills went on for miles on the other. The sun had only been up for about an hour and the air was crisp, but the sky was clear. It would be a perfect fall day for football.
    “Pretty spectacular, huh?” Kelleher said.
    “Unbelievable,” Stevie answered, meaning it.
    They were back in the hotel by eight for breakfast and out again by nine. Kickoff wasn’t until noon, but Kelleher wanted to arrive early to introduce Stevie to various people in the press box.
    Before that, though, they stopped at a tailgate party that was held right outside the Holleder Center, where Army’s hockey and basketball teams played. Even though he had just eaten, Stevie found the smell of grilling hamburgers irresistible.
    “Go ahead,” Kelleher said, seeing the look on Stevie’s face. “You’re still a growing boy.”
    “I wish I was growing faster,” Stevie said.
    He was waiting for his hamburger when someone behind him said, “Well, if it isn’t my biggest fan.”
    Stevie recognized the voice instantly but was still surprised to see Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski standing with another legendary basketball coach, Bob Knight, and Pete Dowling, the Secret Service agent.
    “Coach K., you remember me?” Stevie said.
    Krzyzewski laughed. “Remember you? If it weren’t for you and Susan Carol Anderson, I’d have another national championship.”
    Stevie felt himself turning red. “Well, you know, Coach, we were just trying—”
    “To do the right thing,” Krzyzewski broke in. “And you did. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
    “Stevie, I’d like you to meet Bob Knight,” Krzyzewskisaid, realizing that Stevie was a bit tongue-tied. “And this is Pete Dowling.…”
    “We met last night,” Dowling said.
    Knight, who was wearing one of his signature sweaters with an ESPN—his current employer—logo on it, shook hands with Stevie and said, “You’re an aspiring sportswriter, I hear.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “So I take it, then, that you’re not very bright. Are you going to just stand there all day or are you going to let someone else eat around here?”
    Now Stevie was
really
tongue-tied.
    “Coach, I thought we had a deal that you wouldn’t start beating up on reporters until they’re at least twenty-one,” Krzyzewski said, making a joke of it. “Stevie, could you ask for three more hamburgers?”
    “Um, sure,” Stevie said, and signaled for three more to the guy at the grill. “What brings you up here?”
    “Girls’ field hockey,” Knight answered.
    Stevie knew that Knight was famous for being brusque, often going out of his way to be rude