The REAL Big Game: Life and Death

Along with about 30,000 of my fellow Cal people, and maybe 20,000 Stanford people, I was enjoying a typically temperate California Autumn afternoon watching the latest iteration of one of American football's oldest and most-loved and occasionally spectacular rivalries, the 1993 Cal vs Stanford Big Game, watching to see which team would earn the right to take home the Big Game's trophy, 'The Stanford Axe'.

As usual, the horrid Stanford Band took the field at half-time to demonstrate how 'unorthodox' and 'irreverent' they are, in their standard and utterly predictable manner, which went from being amusing and novel to boring and stale some time in the Mid '60s about two years after they started this affectation.

Stanford, unable to resolve their aching compulsion to be 'politically correct' and at the same time appear 'democratic' despite the Stanford president's fatwa that "the mascot issue is not up for a vote", and come up with a respectable mascot everyone could accept and believe would not offend anyone or anything, went from being the 'Indians' to the 'Cardinal'. Not the ecclesiastical official. Not the bird. The color. Stanford, paralyzed by 'political correctness' and a lack of creativity and cohesion had now renamed themselves a color. Of course, this was recognized by the few dozen smart and sane people at Stanford as being extremely lame, so they largely rejected the color thing, especially since coming up with a mascot costume to depict a color was just bizarre - what are you going to do, have a guy dressed up as a color swatch leading cheers and such? No. So, they adopted as a mascot something Stanford was well known for having a lot of and indeed featured on its seal: Trees. They came up with a Tree costume and finally Stanford had an identifiable, although unofficial, mascot.

And today the 'Tree' was hard at work taunting opposing fans, players, and mascots. As the Stanford Band went about its running around in circles and playing bad song arrangements very badly, the Tree danced frantically next to them.

Suddenly, I noticed in the bleachers across the stadium from me, a commotion in the crowd down near the fence bordering the playing field. Two young men leaped the fence onto the field. Security guards collapsed on them and manged to catch one. But the other broke loose, leaving his torn shirt in the hands of the security guard who tried to use the shirt as handle, and sprinted onto the field. The security team lit out after him, but kept losing ground to the much faster culprit. I went from mildly amused to very excited as I realized he was on a beeline for the Stanford Band, which was completely absorbed in their contrived display of 'spontaneity' and oblivious to what was going on in the broader world around them.

I didn't know just how yet, but I knew this was going to be good.

The man dashed right by the first band members he encountered, momentarily puzzling me. Then the situation became entirely clear: He was at full speed and locked on to the Stanford Tree, obliviously spinning and waving his 'branches' erratically to the music like a drunken dervish. Clearly, he had had enough of the Tree's taunts, and was intent on a reckoning.

Over a post-game beer, it was declared by several Cal football alumni friends of mine, including Kevin Moen of 1982 'Big Play' touchdown fame, that this was the biggest and best hit of the whole game.

The man dove into the air, flew headlong, and mercilessly tackled the Tree at hip height, instantly dropping it and scattering the two of them across the grass. I actually cringed at the sight.

The band members then snapped out of their trance and converged, kicking at the man like a bunch of five-year-old girls trying to play soccer.

Finally, security caught up and rescued him from the onslaught of Stanford's most pencilly pencil necks, handcuffed him, and led the shirtless man away, now with an ear-to-ear, clearly-satisfied and elated grin on his face as he acknowledged the roaring approval of the crowd.


Eight years later, this same man found himself on an airplane which had been violently hijacked for the purpose of crashing into a building in Washington DC. United Airlines Fight 93, September 11, 2001. He made the decision to fight back, along with other passengers.


This was the REAL Big Game, now. Life or death, not just his and the passengers', but those of untold numbers of innocent people on the ground. He took back 'The Axe' from the filthy savages that murderously hijacked the plane. Although he and his fellow passengers didn't survive, they saved the lives of those who were targeted on the ground. 

He won life's Big Game.


That man's name is Mark Bingham, Cal Varsity Rugby alumnus and hero.


Never forget!