Dallas-Mavs.com Forums - View Single Post

MavKikiNYC · 04-24-2004, 10:31 AM

SPORTS OF THE TIMES
An Exception in an Age of Celebrity
By HARVEY ARATON

Published: April 24, 2004

THE retired athlete and former military man was on his way to the Grand Hyatt in Midtown Manhattan yesterday morning when he heard the news. He was going to a luncheon, to be honored for the charity he's done, the sacrifices he's made, when the voice on the radio said that Pat Tillman had given his life.

David Robinson flashed back to the feature he had seen on television about Tillman, the N.F.L. player who walked away from millions of dollars a couple of years ago to enlist in the Army and train as a Ranger, he and his brother, neither of them much interested in posing for the camera to explain why.

"To see people with that kind of character is something you don't forget," Robinson said in a telephone interview. "I thought it was a really good story."

Word that it had ended unhappily spread fast and far yesterday, with the reported death of Tillman, 27, in a combat mission 25 miles southwest of a United States military base in Khost, Afghanistan. Two other American soldiers were wounded and an Afghan soldier was killed in the firefight, but in Tillman we had the compelling hook, the curious tale of the young man who quit playing safety for the Arizona Cardinals to do battle in places where there is no equivalent position, or condition.

He obviously didn't do it for the money, nor did he care, apparently, about it being a good story.

"He viewed his decision as no more patriotic than that of his less-fortunate, less-renowned countrymen," Senator John McCain, Republican of Arizona, said in a statement. In keeping that in mind, in respecting Tillman's wishes, nothing could more trivialize the mounting deaths of those less fortunate and less renowned — American soldiers and foreign civilians alike — than the tossing around of clichés like footballs on the virtues of one man's heroism and sacrifice.

When I first heard about Tillman's spurning a $3.6 million contract after playing four years for the Cardinals, what really impressed me was his utter refusal to talk about it, the belief that his choice was his own business and would in no way be enhanced by face time on TV.

Foot soldiers representing America's corporate merchandisers deluge us with generic marketing shoots. The commander in chief of the United States delivers a prime-time performance in a personal "Top Gun" salute. More than ever in our culture of convenience, there is a troublesome blurring between service and subsidy, conviction and celebrity.

Tillman must have been a rare exception, Robinson surmised, and would have been had he decided to join the Peace Corps instead. "What he did was obviously something he felt in his heart, a calling," Robinson said.

In Manhattan yesterday, Robinson received the William E. Simon Foundation prize for philanthropic leadership, for his efforts in establishing the Carver Academy in San Antonio, an inner-city private school. Robinson has given millions of dollars and countless hours to the cause of education and has asked for nothing, save a little help for the school's endowment, in return.

He is a son of a Navy man and is a graduate of the Naval Academy who served two years as a civil engineer and six more in the reserves while playing for the San Antonio Spurs.

A year ago, Robinson, known in N.B.A. circles as the Admiral, was critical of a handful of colleagues and other athletes who questioned the Bush administration's rush to war in Iraq.

I didn't agree with him, and I am reasonably certain that our views on the results of the war thus far would probably be more than a little divergent as well. But I have always respected Robinson, for his commitment, for his class, for being true to himself. Knowing he was being honored in New York yesterday, I called him to ask what he would say about Tillman if he were in my position and were trying to avoid the hackneyed expressions of how this sad occurrence brings perspective to the games we play that are too often packaged as war.

Robinson paused a few moments and said: "I would say this was a man who made a choice that most others wouldn't because he had a sense of what makes a life significant, what personal fulfillment really is.

"It's like we tell the kids at the school, going out and making money, or being more famous, is not what it's all about. It's about service. It's about believing in something, and fighting for it. Sure, you can spend your whole life working to be the president of a Fortune 500 company, but in the end, if that's all you are, who really cares?

"In this case, people will always remember what Pat Tillman and his family stood for."

A legacy lasts forever, Robinson was saying, but fame is invariably fleeting. The untimely death of Pat Tillman will undoubtedly provide opportunity for the almighty and exploitative buck, in the form of a television movie, a couple of quick tell-all books. Is that what the safety turned soldier would have wanted?

Impossible to know, but based on his unyielding silence, pretty darned easy to guess.

04-24-2004, 10:31 AM	#9
MavKikiNYC Diamond Member Join Date: Feb 2002 Posts: 8,509	RE:Tillman Killed In Afgahnistan SPORTS OF THE TIMES An Exception in an Age of Celebrity By HARVEY ARATON Published: April 24, 2004 THE retired athlete and former military man was on his way to the Grand Hyatt in Midtown Manhattan yesterday morning when he heard the news. He was going to a luncheon, to be honored for the charity he's done, the sacrifices he's made, when the voice on the radio said that Pat Tillman had given his life. David Robinson flashed back to the feature he had seen on television about Tillman, the N.F.L. player who walked away from millions of dollars a couple of years ago to enlist in the Army and train as a Ranger, he and his brother, neither of them much interested in posing for the camera to explain why. "To see people with that kind of character is something you don't forget," Robinson said in a telephone interview. "I thought it was a really good story." Word that it had ended unhappily spread fast and far yesterday, with the reported death of Tillman, 27, in a combat mission 25 miles southwest of a United States military base in Khost, Afghanistan. Two other American soldiers were wounded and an Afghan soldier was killed in the firefight, but in Tillman we had the compelling hook, the curious tale of the young man who quit playing safety for the Arizona Cardinals to do battle in places where there is no equivalent position, or condition. He obviously didn't do it for the money, nor did he care, apparently, about it being a good story. "He viewed his decision as no more patriotic than that of his less-fortunate, less-renowned countrymen," Senator John McCain, Republican of Arizona, said in a statement. In keeping that in mind, in respecting Tillman's wishes, nothing could more trivialize the mounting deaths of those less fortunate and less renowned — American soldiers and foreign civilians alike — than the tossing around of clichés like footballs on the virtues of one man's heroism and sacrifice. When I first heard about Tillman's spurning a $3.6 million contract after playing four years for the Cardinals, what really impressed me was his utter refusal to talk about it, the belief that his choice was his own business and would in no way be enhanced by face time on TV. Foot soldiers representing America's corporate merchandisers deluge us with generic marketing shoots. The commander in chief of the United States delivers a prime-time performance in a personal "Top Gun" salute. More than ever in our culture of convenience, there is a troublesome blurring between service and subsidy, conviction and celebrity. Tillman must have been a rare exception, Robinson surmised, and would have been had he decided to join the Peace Corps instead. "What he did was obviously something he felt in his heart, a calling," Robinson said. In Manhattan yesterday, Robinson received the William E. Simon Foundation prize for philanthropic leadership, for his efforts in establishing the Carver Academy in San Antonio, an inner-city private school. Robinson has given millions of dollars and countless hours to the cause of education and has asked for nothing, save a little help for the school's endowment, in return. He is a son of a Navy man and is a graduate of the Naval Academy who served two years as a civil engineer and six more in the reserves while playing for the San Antonio Spurs. A year ago, Robinson, known in N.B.A. circles as the Admiral, was critical of a handful of colleagues and other athletes who questioned the Bush administration's rush to war in Iraq. I didn't agree with him, and I am reasonably certain that our views on the results of the war thus far would probably be more than a little divergent as well. But I have always respected Robinson, for his commitment, for his class, for being true to himself. Knowing he was being honored in New York yesterday, I called him to ask what he would say about Tillman if he were in my position and were trying to avoid the hackneyed expressions of how this sad occurrence brings perspective to the games we play that are too often packaged as war. Robinson paused a few moments and said: "I would say this was a man who made a choice that most others wouldn't because he had a sense of what makes a life significant, what personal fulfillment really is. "It's like we tell the kids at the school, going out and making money, or being more famous, is not what it's all about. It's about service. It's about believing in something, and fighting for it. Sure, you can spend your whole life working to be the president of a Fortune 500 company, but in the end, if that's all you are, who really cares? "In this case, people will always remember what Pat Tillman and his family stood for." A legacy lasts forever, Robinson was saying, but fame is invariably fleeting. The untimely death of Pat Tillman will undoubtedly provide opportunity for the almighty and exploitative buck, in the form of a television movie, a couple of quick tell-all books. Is that what the safety turned soldier would have wanted? Impossible to know, but based on his unyielding silence, pretty darned easy to guess.