Brian Murphy: Starry-eyed Vikings fans and deserving heroes
WASHINGTON – Forty-five minutes after the Vikings stole another victory on a stolen summer Sunday in the nation’s capital, the stragglers from Section 326 finally found their bus in the never-ending FedEx Field parking lot.
Darkness had seized control from Daylight Savings, and I was among the civilians singing last call blues and dreading the bumper-to-bumper slog from the Maryland suburbs to our D.C. hotel.
Military leaders ain’t got time to moan about traffic. Not when an unfortunate series of fortunate events creates a rescue mission for Minnesota soldiers to memorably get their comrades back home from a journey they’ll never forget.
Their 6:45 p.m. departure from Reagan National Airport was ambitious enough before the Vikings VIPs suddenly found themselves stranded after their shuttle bus had broken down.
“It was dead, and the panic was on to figure out how to make an already tight window,” said Shane Hudella, president and founder of the United Heroes League.
Hudella’s organization partnered with the team to bring five Minnesota war veterans to Washington for the game and to tour monuments, the Pentagon and Arlington National Cemetery.
They happened to park next to 80 restauranteurs, business, union and civic leaders, plus thirsty hangers-on like me, who support Serving Our Troops. For 18 years, the St. Paul-based philanthropy has transported and served steak dinners to overseas Minnesota National Guard troops while connecting them to loved ones back home via satellite.
We had just spent two days being feted like kings by U.S. Army National Guard Gen. Jon Jensen and his wife, Cindy, at their gorgeous colonial-style house at Fort McNair on the banks of the Potomac River.
The United Heroes League also was there Saturday night. Five combat veterans who fought and were wounded in Korea, Vietnam, Desert Storm and Iraq, respectively. Minnesotans with a combined 68 years of service, including recipients of the Bronze Star and Purple Heart.
Rich Hullander was only 16 in 1950 when he lied about his age to enlist in the Army and was wounded within a year of his deployment. Hullander, now 89, had walked 20 miles over the weekend, including a depraved uphill climb to Dan Snyder’s ATM in Landover that led to pregame access on the field.
The man just wanted to return home to Hastings and his VFW post, where Hullander has been in good standing for 70 years.
And what have you done lately?
A replacement bus was hours away. Nowhere to catch a cab. Night falling.
Jensen, a Vikings fan from Nebraska, started barking orders when he saw his fellow vets peering under the hood and fretting about their flight. Beer coolers were shoved aside to accommodate luggage and front-row seats were cleared to make room for our true heroes.
“We had the capacity, so it was a no-brainer,” said Kevin Olson, a retired colonel from the Minnesota National Guard who works with Serving Our Troops. “It’s part of our societal commitment to honor their sacrifice.”
Clock ticking, the race began to Virginia on I-395 until we ran smack into America 2022. Around 5:30 p.m., just shy of the airport, the freeway turned into a parking lot.
Demonstrators protesting genocide in Ethiopia had blocked southbound traffic. Operation Delta Dash was in jeopardy. Until the travel gods for once delivered a lucky break.
Their flight to MSP had been delayed 90 minutes. Plenty of time to navigate the gridlock. The hero leaguers were dropped off at the curb, bags were unloaded, and everyone made it to their gate as the jetway was closing.
“It’s a testament to how resilient, flexible and clever military men and women are to troubleshoot, find a solution and execute it,” said Hudella.
From FUBAR to HOOAH, mission accomplished.
Time to head back to the Pink Taco.
Or perhaps to the beginning.
Destination D.C.
Miami in mid-October was the original destination when the schedule was released in the spring. A unanimous decision among the knuckleheads with whom I rumbled last year in L.A., an epic debut for this keyboard warrior who had forgotten how an NFL road trip can bring out the primal reveler in all of us.
This is a social mashup of longtime high school friends, professional colleagues, vets and vouched-for interlopers. All damn smart, successful and cool people who do not suffer fools and control the velvet rope into this funhouse with an iron fist.
Every one of them should have the middle name, “I know a guy.”
I am a plebe among good fellas. Henry Hill parking cars at the cab stand. A grateful tagalong who cherishes the planned chaos and random encounters of a dude’s weekend that make the rat race worth running.
South Beach beckoned, but airfares were outrageous. Detroit in December was suggested because the group had never been there. As a native, I appreciated their salute, but had no interest in being a Motown tour guide in the dead of winter and quickly steered them away.
Washington emerged because of the Jensen connection and military appreciation week leading up to Veteran’s Day. Several of my guys already have leadership positions with Serving Our Troops. A shotgun marriage was consummated. Destination D.C.
Meanwhile, the unicorn Vikings were leaping rainbows and everyone in the NFC behind the undefeated Philadelphia Eagles. Snyder’s perennially dysfunctional Commanders are a toxic mess with their litigious owner maybe preparing to sell, or about to be blackballed by his fellow NFL owners, not to mention possibly being indicted for stiff-arming Congress and skimming shared revenue from the cartel.
With sunny skies and temperatures in the upper 70s all weekend in Washington, who needed Miami?
Feels like I'm hugging Dave Huffman
The knuckleheads maintain the Vikings are undefeated on their 15 road trips.
Odd because they claimed to be 12-0 after last year’s victory over the Chargers. Odder because several recounted in precise detail being heckled and showered with debris during ugly losses in Seattle and New England – beatdowns I recall covering on the beat.
Forget it. They were rolling.
And I have no energy to fact check their itineraries. All I know is I’m 2-0 after Sunday’s latest escape, a 20-17 comeback win over the bumbling Commanders that further charmed this once-in-a-decade magical season.
We sat in the second deck behind the Vikings bench in a sea of purple. Even my younger brother, Kevin, who flew in from Detroit for the party, managed to pull on a Gophers shirt for the occasion.
I was the only one wearing a green Fenway Park T-shirt. Arm’s length remains in my DNA. Who needs all that therapy?
Joe Gallagher wore a white No. 72 road jersey, with the purple-and-gold armbands. Game worn by the late Dave Huffman himself.
The event planner and longtime supporter of Serving Our Troops was a critical member of this crew. Gallagher, who lives in Woodbury, is not a fan of flying. So, he drove 17 hours to meet us, carrying precious cargo.
Gallagher loaded his wife’s Honda CRV Thursday morning with 12 cases of Schell’s beer from New Ulm and 14 cases of various hard seltzers for the party at Jensen’s and the bus ride.
Feeling nostalgic, Gallagher wanted something special to wear to the game. He called his good buddy, Sammy Casalenda, who spent 22 years as an assistant Vikings equipment manager.
You might remember Casalenda handing Randy Moss the water bottle that the mercurial wide receiver used to squirt an official on the sideline in Dallas, which caused an uproar and the league to fine Moss $25,000.
He still has the bottle, signed by Moss, “Dear Sammy, thanks for getting me in trouble.”
Gallagher loved Huffman, the former Notre Dame star offensive lineman who played 11 seasons with the Vikings before retiring in 1990. Huffman became a talk radio star in the Twin Cities before he was killed in November 1998 in a drunk-driving accident outside Chicago.
“I said, ‘Sammy, who’s one of your favorite players?’” Gallagher recalled. “He got really emotional talking about Dave, who was one of my favorites, too. He was such a larger than life individual.
“He just told me some fun Dave Huffman stories, and that if anyone asks, tell them what a great guy he was.”
The older Vikings fans got it. Even more touching was a shared moment with a stranger in the parking lot after the game.
A nearby Washington fan approached Gallagher to talk about how living in D.C. he loved watching Huffman play for Notre Dame and counted the Vikings among his favorite teams.
“Stand up, Joe, I gotta hug you,” the man said. “It feels like I’m hugging Dave Huffman.”
Casalenda told Gallagher he has several game-worn Huffman jerseys from the Vikings and Notre Dame that he would like to give to Huffman’s widow and adult children.
Perhaps something that can be arranged by someone who knows a guy.
The Pink what?
Anybody traveling to Washington likely has a tourism agenda a mile long. So much history, so many museums, so many monuments. And, as far as I could tell, not an insurrectionist to be found!
Let’s be honest, though. On a trip like this, you dump your bags at the hotel and drop anchor at the nearest bar.
For us in the Navy Yard district near the Nationals ballpark, that would be the Pink Taco. Stylish, accommodating, slightly overpriced but with heavy pours and brisket tacos to die for.
We closed it down both nights. But, yeah, about that name.
I was the first one to get a query text from my better half Sunday morning asking why I dropped $200 at a strip club. Every wife back home looking at bank ledgers had similar questions for their innocent spouses.
“No, dear, just good quality Mexican food and margaritas. You’re still picking me up at the airport Monday, right?”
I said last year in L.A. that maintaining sanity in loony times like these is about valuing relationships and leaning into collective experiences among friends and strangers. Letting good times organically unspool instead of doom scrolling and identifying with the worst of humanity.
Nothing changes except the color of the leaves.
This was not so much another lost weekend of partying but an opportunity to celebrate the selflessness of our voluntary armed services. To cherish the security blanket that they provide so we can live our privileged lives without worrying about foreign invaders storming the Capitol.
We have Florida Man and a militia of morons with low self-esteem, bear spray and mommy’s credit cards for that.
It is not often that you get to crack crab legs and talk about climbing into the cockpit of an F-22 fighter jet with an Air Force pilot in the same backyard you can watch the president fly over in Marine One, as Joe Biden did Sunday morning at the Jensen house.
Did I mention the general and his wife rolled out a seafood boil for dinner and a Bloody Mary bar before the game?
Silly me.
Southern cuisine, cold beverages and better company is good for the soul. Knowing people with access like that is good living. Kind of like Minnesota’s professional football team.
If you’re busy picking nits and fearing what’s possible, why bother pulling on your Vikings gear and investing in their weekly roller coaster ride?
Sure, this may all end badly again, like it has in 1970, ’73, ’74, ’76, ’87, ’98, ’00, ’09 and ’17. A conveyor belt of heartache.
Or maybe 2022 will be different. The sea has parted so wide Minnesota may clinch the NFC North by Thanksgiving and wrap up home field and a postseason bye before Christmas.
If not the Vikings, who?
If not now, when?
Think about Operation Delta Dash and embrace what is possible, not lament what may be doomed to fail.
Just ask a vet. After you thank them today of all days.
