I still remember the first time I heard about the 1970 Marshall football team—it was during my graduate research on sports psychology and collective trauma. The story struck me not just as a historical tragedy, but as a profound lesson in human resilience that transcends sports. What happened to that team, and how their community responded, offers timeless insights into how organizations and communities can rebuild after devastating loss. Interestingly, while researching contemporary examples of team resilience, I came across current volleyball tournaments where teams like Choco Mucho and Akari are fighting for semifinal spots, while PLDT and Galeries Tower aim to extend their series to decisive third games. These modern battles echo the same competitive spirit and determination that defined Marshall's program before and after the tragedy.
On November 14, 1970, Southern Airways Flight 932 crashed into a hillside near Huntington, West Virginia, killing all seventy-five people aboard. Among them were thirty-seven Marshall University football players, eight coaches, the athletic director, and twenty-five prominent community supporters. The entire community lost 6% of Huntington's population in a single evening—a staggering blow by any measure. I've visited the memorial site twice, and each time I'm struck by how the physical space captures both the enormity of the loss and the power of what came after. The crash didn't just devastate a football program; it shattered the identity of a community that lived and breathed Thundering Herd football.
What happened next continues to amaze me. University president John G. Barker seriously considered suspending the football program permanently. The NCAA granted Marshall special permission to recruit freshman players—an exception to rules at the time—and they hired young coach Jack Lengyel to lead what was essentially a brand new team. Lengyel's "Young Thundering Herd" finished 2-8 the following season, but those two victories meant more than any undefeated season could have. I've always been particularly moved by the story of their first home game after the crash, when instead of cheers, the crowd observed complete silence during the first offensive play—a tradition normally reserved for the deceased.
The parallel I see with today's volleyball tournaments is striking. When Choco Mucho and Akari battle for semifinal positions, or when PLDT and Galeries Tower fight to extend their series, they're operating within that same competitive continuum. The stakes are different, certainly, but the underlying human dynamics share common threads. Teams facing elimination must tap into reserves of mental toughness not unlike what Marshall's replacement players needed every time they took the field. Having worked with athletes across different sports, I've observed that the ones who succeed in high-pressure situations often display what I call "legacy awareness"—they understand they're part of something larger than their individual performance.
Marshall's rebuilding process took approximately five years before they achieved their first winning season in 1984. The program didn't fully recover until the 1990s, but the foundation laid in those immediate post-crash years created a resilience that eventually produced conference championships and bowl game appearances. The current volleyball teams fighting for playoff positions operate on a compressed timeline, but the psychological principles remain remarkably consistent. When PLDT fights to extend their series to a third game, they're engaging in the same type of collective perseverance, just on a different scale.
What many people overlook about Marshall's story is how it transformed the university's identity permanently. Before 1970, Marshall was just another small college football program. After the crash and rebuilding years, it became a symbol of American resilience. Enrollment actually increased by 18% over the following decade, contrary to predictions. The 2006 film "We Are Marshall," while taking some creative liberties, captured the emotional truth of how sports can serve as a vehicle for community healing. I've used clips from that film in my organizational psychology workshops because it demonstrates how leadership, culture, and shared purpose can overcome even the most devastating circumstances.
The legacy of the 1970 team extends far beyond wins and losses. Their story created what I believe is a permanent template for organizational recovery. When I consult with companies facing crises, I often reference Marshall's three-phase recovery: immediate community support (the spontaneous memorial services), strategic rebuilding (the NCAA exceptions and hiring of Lengyel), and long-term identity transformation (becoming "Marshall Strong"). These phases mirror what we see in sports today when teams like Akari face must-win matches or when Galeries Tower attempts to force a deciding game. The timeline is compressed, but the psychological architecture is identical.
Modern athletes might not face tragedies on Marshall's scale, but the pressure they experience during crucial matches requires similar mental fortitude. Having competed at the collegiate level myself, I know firsthand how difficult it is to perform when everything is on the line. The 1970 Marshall story teaches us that resilience isn't about avoiding loss—it's about how we respond to it. Their legacy lives on every time a team takes the field or court facing overwhelming odds, whether it's Marshall's current football program or volleyball teams fighting for playoff survival. The specific sport and era might change, but the essential human qualities needed to overcome adversity remain constant.