If you don’t know the ultimately tragic story of Pat Tillman, here it is in a nutshell: Tillman, a star linebacker with the University of Arizona Sun Devils, signed a pro contract out of college and switched to safety for his rookie season with the Arizona Cardinals. He was a member of that team, coming off the 2000 season, where he amassed 155 tackles (120 solo), 1.5 sacks, 2 forced fumbles, 2 fumble recoveries, 9 pass deflections and 1 interception for 30 yards, on the day when the world changed.
That day, of course, was September 11, 2001 when Al Qaeda terrorists flew hijacked planes into the twin World Trade Centre towers in New York City, the Pentagon across the Potomac River from Washington D.C. and, lastly, into a field in rural Pennsylvania.
Thousands of innocent people died. Certain pockets of the globe rejoiced. Most were horrified. In retrospect, it was the end of a sort of innocence. Nothing has been the same since, and it never will be. At every bag check before entry into any concert or sporting venue in the world, the spectre of that horrible day looms large.
After completing the remaining fifteen games of the 2001 National Football League season Tillman made a brave and decision. He gave up his lucrative football career to enlist in the United States Army, doing so alongside his brother, Kevin in May 2002, eight months after 9/11. He did it knowing that despite his celebrity status, he would go to war. He did it knowing that he would go to war and perhaps not come back.
In the worst twist of fate imaginable, Tillman was killed by what was eventually determined to be friendly fire – shot accidentally by United States Army personnel – in Sperah, Afghanistan. The native of Fremont, California was just twenty-seven years old when he died on April 22, 2004 in the rugged wilderness of Afghanistan alongside, shot three times in the head (according to a Washington Post report), so far removed from the Bay Area of San Francisco, where he had been born and maintained a home. Killed in the same engagement was a member of the Afghani militia
Patrick Daniel Tillman of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, United States Army, became the first professional football player to be killed in combat since Bob Kalsu, who died in Vietnam in 1970. He was posthumously promoted from Specialist to Corporal and received, also posthumously, Silver Star and Purple Heart medals.
Over the course of the last decade, Tillman’s actions have gained great notoriety, and are often mentioned alongside the great feats of other heroes of the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts, men like Marine Corps sniper Chris Kyle, Navy SEAL Marcus Luttrell and the members of SEAL Team Six, who raided the Pakistani compound where the mastermind of the 9/11 attacks, Osama Bin Laden, was holed up, killing the head of Al Qaeda in the daring mission. His is an impressive legacy.
Here was My case is thus: the Pro Football Hall of Fame should find some way of honouring Tillman. I do not for a minute suggest that he should be given a bust along the other members of the Hall in Canton, Ohio, for Tillman hadn’t reached that legendary level during his admittedly-short career – and, most probably wouldn’t have, had his playing days continued – but the sacrifice, which, admittedly, has attracted it’s fair share of controversy in the intervening years, deserves to be recognised.
After all, here was a man who had the world at his feet. He had signed a big contract with Arizona, turning down a bigger one – five years and $9 million, which was giant money at that time – with St Louis out of loyalty to the Cardinals. Yet, he gave it all up because he’d been so disturbed and affected by the events of 9/11 that he felt a pressing need to go and do something. Tillman had more than enough money to live a comfortable life. He didn’t have to go to war. It wasn’t expected of him. He went anyway. The rest is heart-tearing history.
To commemorate what I believe to be one of the great selfless acts by a sportsperson anywhere in the world, something should be done in the Hall of Fame, if for no other reason than the players who are enshrined there – legends of the gridiron, to a man, if not always such legendary people; OJ Simpson, Lawrence Taylor, I’m looking at you – are crucial to telling the history of the game. Their exploits on Sunday afternoons are the fabric of the National Football League.
So, too, is Pat Tillman’s decision to quit pro football and enlist in the United States Army. You cannot talk about the NFL in the decade from 2000-2010 without mentioning Pat Tillman and everything he did. It cannot be done, and would perhaps be akin to talking about NASCAR during the same period of time and ignoring the death of Kenny Irwin Jr, not a household name, not destined for the NASCAR Hall of Fame, but still a vital part of his sport’s history.
To appropriately and deservedly honour Pat Tillman and the great and honourable things he stood for, the Pro Football Hall of Fame should consider a special category, perhaps something along the lines of special community service. The National Hockey League annually awards The NHL Foundation Player Award to a player for Outstanding Community Service. Is there a greater service to the community than going to war?
Naturally, the exact wording and title for the special category that would allow Tillman into Canton could be better named than by the likes of myself, but there is most certainly room for such an honour.
On reflection, that Tillman hasn’t been honoured in the most sacred pro football destination of them all in the last decade is unforgiveable. After all, here was a man who has transcended the game of football to become a true American hero.
Yet, at his very core, the late Patrick Daniel Tillman was a football player, a legend in his own way, and he deserves to be remembered in the same place that so many other NFL legends, whose off-field exploits were nowhere near as memorable as Tillman’s, are remembered.
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