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Tillman's gone but his legacy must endure
By Nate Davis, USATODAY.com
I never met the Pat Tillman — never had the privilege. But I've known
him all of my life.
I have a father named Pat Tillman — he liberated Kuwait
in 1991. I have a grandfather named Pat Tillman — he liberated the Jews at
Dachau in World War II. My college roommate's name is Pat Tillman — he's in
Baghdad right now. My best friend's brother is named Pat Tillman — he's flying
A-10s in Afghanistan as I write this and I've never had the honor of meeting
him, either.
I was in the Army for four years myself — and gained
numerous friends, associates, bosses and subordinates named Pat Tillman.
You may not realize it, but Pat Tillman is everywhere.
Like many in the media, I would have loved to have shed
light on the Pat Tillman's story. But he never granted the press an
interview after turning in his Arizona Cardinals cleats for U.S. Army Ranger
combat boots. He never spoke to the media after walking away from a $3 million
windfall for a $20,000 paycheck.
I suspect Tillman never shared his story because he knew
what I know: In the context of the NFL, his was an amazing story; in the context
of the armed services, it was relatively typical.
If you don't know the history, Pat Tillman was an honor
student and the 1997 Pac-10 defensive player of the year at Arizona State after
joining the Sun Devils as a walk-on years before. From 1998 to 2001, Tillman, a
seventh-round draft choice, was a hard-hitting safety for the NFL's Cardinals.
Most scouts weren't impressed with his size, speed, strength or the other
quantifiable attributes that supposedly make up an NFL starter. But Tillman's
"lack" of talent didn't stop him from making a franchise-record 224
tackles in 2000.
Apparently he had plenty of heart.
Tillman, deeply affected in the wake of the Sept. 11
attacks, left a multimillion dollar contract from the Cardinals on the table
following the 2001 season. Instead, he opted to enlist in the Army with his
brother, Kevin, and join the elite Rangers.
Tillman, 27, was killed in action Thursday in
Afghanistan, reportedly during his second tour of duty in the Middle East.
I remember first watching him play against Ohio State in
the 1997 Rose Bowl. He was a whirling dervish with long hair on the field, a guy
who wasn't afraid to sell out to stop an opposing offense.
Now he's sold out for good.
I wish I could tell you more about the Pat
Tillman.
But I can tell you more — a lot more about who Pat
Tillman was and what he stood for.
There are tens of thousands of Pat Tillmans in Iraq and
Afghanistan right now. To use football parlance, they've all punted Christmases,
Thanksgivings, birthdays, childbirths, graduations, cookouts, lazy weekends and
the like to serve a greater cause.
They lead lives that offer them precious few hours of
sleep each night; the challenge of keeping the sand out of their eyes and ears;
long stretches of boredom — waiting, thinking about their families, preparing
for the next mission; and brief, harrowing bursts of time where they take their
lives and their compatriots' lives into their hands while fighting for our
country.
A good day in the Middle East is often comprised of a
warm shower, a hot meal and a letter from family and friends. A bad day in the
Middle East — well, the bad days happen much too often, just as they did
Thursday.
Pat Tillman is 19. He's 39. He's married with four kids.
He's single. He's from the big city. He's from the country. He's a high school
graduate. He's got a Ph.D. He's black, he's white and everything in between.
And 99% of the time, Pat Tillman soldiers on without
complaint or reservation or, certainly, fanfare.
As a former serviceman and current member of the media,
it bothers me that headlines and sound bytes telling of dead soldiers tend to
run together day after day and all too often fall on deaf ears. It saddens me
that it takes the death of a Pat Tillman or the tribulations of a Jessica Lynch
to remind us that wars are funded with the lives of America's best and brightest
much more than they're funded by money.
Sports teams retire jerseys ostensibly to commemorate a
great athlete, to signify that no one else will ever be worthy of wearing a
given number again.
The Arizona Cardinals should retire Tillman's No. 40
right now — clearly no one can ever fill his shoes. They should paint the
40-yard lines red, white, and blue. They should name their new venue Pat Tillman
Field at (Fill-in-the-blank) Stadium.
I hope the Cardinals and the NFL do everything in their
power to always remind us of the Pat Tillman — and of all of those men
and women like him.
We forget about the Pat Tillmans of the world all too
often and much too easily.
Nate Davis covers the NBA, NFL and other sports for
USATODAY.com. He served as a captain in the U.S. Army's field artillery from
1996 to 2000. He was primarily stationed at Fort Bragg, N.C., but was deployed
to Kuwait as part of Operations Intrinsic Action and Desert Fox from August 1998
to March 1999. To e-mail him, send feedback
here.
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