Gameday in My Army/Navy Neighborhood

The annual Army/Navy game gets a lot of attention in my neighborhood. I'm a Navy vet; my father and grandfather served in the Navy, as did my wife's father and grandfather.  

Our neighbors have an emotional investment in the game, too. All year long, the Browns display an Army flag in their yard, honoring their three sons who have served in the Army National Guard. 

Every year, a few days before the game, I put up a few "Go Navy, Beat Army" signs in my front yard. I'm not talking about discreet reminders. I'm talking sawhorses, aimed at the Browns' front porch. 

Somewhere along the line, the Browns' Army flag shows up in my yard. Their sons launched these stealthy flag-planting missions when they were young guardsmen. Those soldiers are raising their own families now, but their parents have maintained the tradition.

Eventually, Saturday's game comes. Whenever a team scores, I step out the kitchen door with my beat-up trumpet and serenade the neighborhood with that team's service song.

"Anchors Aweigh" got no airtime this year. Navy lost, and I don't like it one stinking bit.

But, win or lose, the tradition endures. Every year, after the game, I replant the Browns' Army flag in their front yard. And, on those years when Army has won, I stand in front of the Brown's house in the frigid Illinois prairie wind and play the Army Song.

This ritual is not self-punishment; it's the ceremonial manner by which I acknowledge my loss and move on. Losing is part of life, the bitter seasoning that gives victory its flavor. 

That's easy to say when you've won. But it's good to remember when you're standing on the tundra, trying to remember valve fingerings.