national championship in thirty-five years. Though the Midshipmen were underdogs against Syracuse, one of the most storied programs in the sportâs history, the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan made Navy the overwhelming sentimental favorite. That the 2004 NCAA menâs lacrosse national championship game was played on Memorial Day only added to its significance.
Names of other Navy lacrosse players, including Brendanâs brothers Steve and Billy, may have shown up more often in the box score, but Brendan, who wore number 40, was the teamâs heart and soul. It didnât matter that he had only been playing lacrosse for less than three years, whereas everyone else on the team had been playing for at least a decade. His athletic prowess and work ethic were so fierce that the oldest Looney brother immediately became a force as a defenseman.
In practice, Brendan had performed almost exactly as he had in football, with raw determination and zero tolerance for anyone giving less than 100 percent. He had eventually earned significant playing time on the lacrosse team, which often forced opponents to alter their strategies.
Earlier that season, in a game against Georgetown, the Hoyasâ best playerâone of the nationâs top midfieldersâhad run over to the referee in the middle of a game and pleaded for him to blow the whistle. He wanted protection from Brendan, who was playingsuch tenacious defense that the player could barely breathe, let alone think about scoring. Navyâs starting goalie, Matt Russell, a sophomore who lived on the same floor as Brendan and Travis, referred to his teammate as the most âviolentâ lacrosse player he had ever seen. In a sport built around a combination of skill and toughness, being an aggressive player was a good thing.
Yet as soon as the final whistle blew, Brendan was a gentleman. When the teams shook hands after the games, Brendan was one of the first in line.
Navy menâs lacrosse captain Thomas âBuckyâ Morris had met Brendan while they were preparing for academy life at NAPS, but got to know him better after Brendan went out for lacrosse. Though Brendan initially made the lacrosse team as a ârider,â with the specific role of recovering loose balls, his rapid improvement led Navy coach Richie Meade to give him a central role as a defensive midfielder. Playing the position for the first time in his young lacrosse career, Brendan worked closely with Morris, one of the nationâs top defensemen.
Morris was impressed with Brendanâs intensity and wanted to help him learn the sport even more quickly. He knew Brendan had played football and was obviously well versed in team sports, but what inspired him most was the way Brendan watched over and protected his younger brothers, who were both rising stars on the Navy squad.
In the middle of a game that ended in a Navy blowout victory against Holy Cross in 2004, Billy had made a freshman mistake, getting burned on a face-off, which allowed an opposing player to score; he celebrated wildly with his teammates. Shortly after watching his brother get chewed out by Navy coaches on the sidelines, Brendan, a senior, took the field with his sights set squarely on the Holy Cross player who had embarrassed Billy. As the player fought for a grounder, Brendan hammered him with a pulverizing, yet clean, hit.
âOh my God, Brendan just crushed that kid,â a Navy player on the sidelines said to his teammates.
The Holy Cross player was fine, but everyone on the Navy team, including Morris, had seen how closely the Looney brothers stuck together. When Steve or Billy made a rookie mistake, Brendan was the first person in their faces. But if someone else dared to show them up, Brendan would roll through that opponent like a freight train.
Early afternoon rain fell in Baltimore on Memorial Day 2004, yet 43,898 fans still showed up at M & T Bank Stadium, home of the NFLâs Baltimore
Names of other Navy lacrosse players, including Brendanâs brothers Steve and Billy, may have shown up more often in the box score, but Brendan, who wore number 40, was the teamâs heart and soul. It didnât matter that he had only been playing lacrosse for less than three years, whereas everyone else on the team had been playing for at least a decade. His athletic prowess and work ethic were so fierce that the oldest Looney brother immediately became a force as a defenseman.
In practice, Brendan had performed almost exactly as he had in football, with raw determination and zero tolerance for anyone giving less than 100 percent. He had eventually earned significant playing time on the lacrosse team, which often forced opponents to alter their strategies.
Earlier that season, in a game against Georgetown, the Hoyasâ best playerâone of the nationâs top midfieldersâhad run over to the referee in the middle of a game and pleaded for him to blow the whistle. He wanted protection from Brendan, who was playingsuch tenacious defense that the player could barely breathe, let alone think about scoring. Navyâs starting goalie, Matt Russell, a sophomore who lived on the same floor as Brendan and Travis, referred to his teammate as the most âviolentâ lacrosse player he had ever seen. In a sport built around a combination of skill and toughness, being an aggressive player was a good thing.
Yet as soon as the final whistle blew, Brendan was a gentleman. When the teams shook hands after the games, Brendan was one of the first in line.
Navy menâs lacrosse captain Thomas âBuckyâ Morris had met Brendan while they were preparing for academy life at NAPS, but got to know him better after Brendan went out for lacrosse. Though Brendan initially made the lacrosse team as a ârider,â with the specific role of recovering loose balls, his rapid improvement led Navy coach Richie Meade to give him a central role as a defensive midfielder. Playing the position for the first time in his young lacrosse career, Brendan worked closely with Morris, one of the nationâs top defensemen.
Morris was impressed with Brendanâs intensity and wanted to help him learn the sport even more quickly. He knew Brendan had played football and was obviously well versed in team sports, but what inspired him most was the way Brendan watched over and protected his younger brothers, who were both rising stars on the Navy squad.
In the middle of a game that ended in a Navy blowout victory against Holy Cross in 2004, Billy had made a freshman mistake, getting burned on a face-off, which allowed an opposing player to score; he celebrated wildly with his teammates. Shortly after watching his brother get chewed out by Navy coaches on the sidelines, Brendan, a senior, took the field with his sights set squarely on the Holy Cross player who had embarrassed Billy. As the player fought for a grounder, Brendan hammered him with a pulverizing, yet clean, hit.
âOh my God, Brendan just crushed that kid,â a Navy player on the sidelines said to his teammates.
The Holy Cross player was fine, but everyone on the Navy team, including Morris, had seen how closely the Looney brothers stuck together. When Steve or Billy made a rookie mistake, Brendan was the first person in their faces. But if someone else dared to show them up, Brendan would roll through that opponent like a freight train.
Early afternoon rain fell in Baltimore on Memorial Day 2004, yet 43,898 fans still showed up at M & T Bank Stadium, home of the NFLâs Baltimore
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