Free The Rivalry by John Feinstein

not a game I should play.”
    He and Kelleher had been joined by two men who knew a lot about football injuries: Tim Kelly, the Army team trainer, and Dean Taylor, a former team doctor who now worked at Duke.
    “I’m an Army alum,” Taylor said when Kelleher introduced him. “Class of ’81. I’m back for the Hall of Fame dinner too.”
    “He has to keep an eye on Coach K.,” Tim Kelly joked. “Anything happens to him and they probably shut Duke down tomorrow.”
    “True enough,” Taylor said.
    Taylor had an easy, friendly smile and seemed pretty laid-back—except when calls went against Army.
    When a punt hit a Georgia Tech player on the leg and Army fell on it, the packed stadium erupted. But the officials ruled the ball hadn’t hit the Tech player and awarded the ball to the Yellow Jackets.
    “How in the world can forty thousand people see something and all seven of you miss it completely?” Taylor railed at the side judge, who was standing only a few feet away as Georgia Tech lined up. “What are you looking at, the scenery?”
    The side judge shot Taylor a look. Taylor shot him a look right back. At that point Kelly, who watched impassively with his arms folded unless it appeared an Army player might be hurt, put his hand on Taylor’s shoulder.
    “Easy, Doc,” he said.
    Kelleher was laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Dean raise his voice
except
on the sidelines.”
    Both teams ran almost identical offenses. Paul Johnson, the former Navy coach, was using the same option attack with Georgia Tech that had been so effective at Navy. He’d already won one ACC title with it and was closing in on another one. Army, after getting pounded by Navy’s option for years, had hired Rich Ellerson, largely because he ran a similar offense at Cal Poly.
    The result was that the defenses knew the offenses well since they practiced against them all the time. When Johnson called for an option pass early in the second quarter from midfield, the Army defense was ready for it andintercepted the pass near the goal line. Every time Army tried to run a toss play for their slotbacks, Georgia Tech was ready for it.
    The only score of the first half came late. Army had pinned Georgia Tech near the goal line and forced a punt. The kick was a short one, and Army kick returner Tom Knudson got it to the Tech 37. Army managed to pick up a first down but then stalled at the 21. With forty-two seconds left, field goal kicker Jay Parker hit from thirty-eight yards to make the halftime score Army 3–Georgia Tech 0.
    “Not exactly an offensive fireworks display,” Kelly said as they crossed the field, heading for the locker room. When they got to the door, Kelly pointed out a middle-aged man in the back of the room.
    “Bobby, take Stevie back there to Dicky,” he said. “He’ll take care of you. I’ve got to go into the training room and get to work.”
    Stevie noticed that the coaches had huddled together in an office as soon as everyone piled into the room. Kelleher maneuvered him over to Dicky.
    “So, finally, I get to meet a real journalist,” Dicky said as he gave Kelleher a hug. “Steve, I’m Dick Hall; it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pointed at a table in the corner. “We’ve got snacks over there; help yourself.”
    Stevie thanked Hall and scanned the piles of candy, donuts, bagels, and drinks. He had already eaten two hamburgers in addition to breakfast. But he grabbed two packages of spice drops just in case.
    “Dicky’s been the equipment manager at West Pointsince General Thayer founded the place,” Kelleher told him.
    “Liar,” Hall said. “It wasn’t until two years later.”
    Thayer had founded the academy in 1802. And Hall looked to be about fifty.
    “Actually, it was 1971,” Hall said, cutting Stevie a break. “Right after I got back from Vietnam.”
    That, Stevie knew, made him older than fifty but younger than Sylvanus Thayer.
    The coaches came back into the room and the players