Matt Suhey: Nittany Lions & Monsters of The Midway & The Heroes of Our Youth

If you grew up in State College in the 1970s and 1980s you knew the name Matt Suhey; he was a heroic football player. Walking along Lake Michigan in the northern suburbs of Chicago on a sunny late summer day it seemed unreal to be here the morning before his funeral.

Matt Suhey had died suddenly and unexpectedly just a few days earlier. It did not seem possible.

In strictly football terms he remains one of the most underrated backs to play at Penn State. Including bowl games, he racked up over 3,000 yards as a fullback. He was a dependable receiver, a hard-nosed blocker and was durable throughout his career.

He was a hometown guy, and part of a family that began their Penn State story in 1914 when Matt's grandfather Bob Higgins came to play here. The Higgins/Suhey family story included players, coaches and spanned through the last game of Matt’s son Joey’s career in January 2012. That is damn near a century, and there is a next generation of Suhey kids.

Matt was a hometown hero ascending to the heights so many of us dreamt about playing pick-up neighborhood football games in parks and backyards. But he was one of us.

Pick-up football games meant rounding up friends to play touch football. Often guys would say “I’m Chuck Fusina” or “I’m Matt Suhey” or “I’m Curt Warner" hoping to emulate their favorite player.

Matt Suhey was about five to ten years older than my contemporaries, but we knew him, we knew his family. Matt’s mother was my Godmother.

Matt rapidly became a starter at Penn State. A personal favorite moment was the lone Penn State TD in a 19-0 shutout at Ohio State in 1978. Matt’s decision had come down to Woody Hayes at Ohio State or Joe Paterno at Penn State. A tough choice with no wrong answers, but family, loyalty and history mattered to him.

At Penn State, there were muddy late fall days when it seemed to be physically impossible for him to carry the ball one more time. In the minds of our generation of Penn State fans, we will forever see Matt in the black shoes, a thick neck roll, the muddied plain blue jersey and white pants. And as he went on to play in the NFL he ascended to even greater heights.

How lucky are so many of us to know that the player we admired was an even better person? How lucky were we to have witnessed some of his pranks, but also to have witnessed his intense loyalty to the people in his life?

Monday at his funeral teammates of Matt’s from Penn State and the Chicago Bears gathered.

These were the “Monsters of the Midway”, these were “Nittany Lions.” The nicknames conjure thoughts of power, of strength, of enduring champions. Childhood heroes forged immortal moments that we thought would never end.

But as we aged, they aged too. And as we get older, the gridiron heroes of our youth, men just a decade or so older are beginning a long era of goodbyes. Although decades have passed, our minds remember those gladiators muddied, bloodied and battered, their uniforms torn, mud caked in their cleats and helmets scuffed and scarred from the fight.

We can still see their hands in the dirt and grass, their breath visible on those cold late autumn afternoons or nights….so heroic.

It is easy to forget that as our youth has fled, so too has their youth. In a beautiful church north of Chicago just miles from Soldier Field and roughly 500 miles as the crow flies from Matt’s hometown of State College there were monsters and lions among us.

Familiar faces, now older but still so recognizable, images of years past played in the collective memory of our minds. Mike Singletary, wide-eyed and focused at middle linebacker. Matt Millen wearing that all white uniform harassing a freshman quarterback in Columbus. Walter Payton’s family, who we got to know in recruiting his son Jarrett.

Years ago, we sat in Walter’s home, Jarrett and I just sitting there listening to two of the all-time greats talking about the lessons learned from football. Walter was already struggling with cancer, and with a liver disorder.

And there was a night with Matt and his wife Donna watching their son Joey playing basketball. The rare Suhey who chose the hardwood over the wrestling mat for winter sports. Matt grudgingly admitted that Joey was probably the first Suhey to dunk.

And a few years later Joey would catch a pass out of the backfield that helped spark Penn State’s 21-point comeback win over Northwestern. That game clinched win #400 for the man who’d coached Joey’s father and uncles and who’d known both his grandfather and great grandfather.

It seems impossible to think how much time has passed. Boys play a game in high school; they grow to men playing that same game in college. The fortunate ones go on to play in the NFL.

They don those uniforms, they take on worthy opponents in a game of speed, power and grace. But it also a classroom of life lessons where we test the mettle of our heart, mind and body against worthy adversaries.

And in those moments of triumph, we create seeming immortality as monsters and lions as gridiron gods. But with the loss of yet another hero in Matt Suhey, we are once again reminded that those immortal moments belie the mortality of the young men who forged them.

The photos and videos are reminders. They capture the history but they can never completely recapture the emotions of those moments as they happened. They cannot replace the sting of the late season cold of our Nittany Valley, or the wind coming off Lake Michigan. We watched the ultimate unscripted drama play out before our eyes. They cannot replace the lifting of our souls to an experience that borders on religious fervor.

And so, in losing Matt Suhey we are reminded that these young men do not remain forever young. We are reminded that they become husbands, fathers, grandfathers. They experience the joys and pains of professional and family life like all of humanity.

What stings is the realization that tomorrow is promised to no one. That no amount of seeming immortality we may witness, or we may grab, that immortality is fleeting. As we say goodbye to another hero gone too soon, we are reminded that each day is a gift, that time waits for no man. And above all, we must relish those seemingly immortal moments, both large and small, in sports and inf family life as we live them each day.