In the wake of national tragedy, Packers linebacker Chris Gizzi stepped into an unexpected role that helped unite a grieving country through the power of sport.
September 11, 2001, changed everything. What was once just another date on the calendar became a moment etched into the national consciousness – a day when time stood still, and the world as we knew it shifted forever.
For many, the memories are vivid, raw, and deeply personal. For the Green Bay Packers, the events of that day touched their lives in a way that would eventually lead to one of the most unforgettable moments in Lambeau Field history.
Back in 2001, the Packers were preparing for a road game against the New York Giants. But before the week could unfold, the world was rocked by the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Like so many others across the country, the Packers organization was glued to the television, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding in real time.
“We were planning for a road trip to New York and somebody down the hall says, ‘Hey, turn on the TVs. Something’s going on,’” recalled Aaron Popkey, the Packers’ director of public affairs at the time. “Many of us did that, like everyone else in the country, just transfixed to these images out of New York.”
Nearly 3,000 lives were lost that day. And while football suddenly felt insignificant, the league eventually made the decision to pause the season, giving players, coaches, and fans alike a moment to grieve and reflect.
When the NFL returned to action nearly two weeks later, the Packers were slated to host Washington on Monday Night Football. It was the first nationally televised game since the attacks – a night when the country, still reeling, was looking for something familiar, something unifying.
Enter Chris Gizzi.
Gizzi wasn’t a star by NFL standards. A linebacker by trade and a special teams contributor, he had wrapped up his Air Force Academy career in 1997 before joining the Packers.
His NFL stat line was modest – 20 tackles, one forced fumble – but on that night, none of that mattered. Because what Gizzi brought to the field was far more powerful than any box score.
Before he was a Packer, Gizzi was an Air Force officer. He didn’t fly jets – his eyesight didn’t meet the requirement – but he served proudly in public affairs.
Even during his NFL career, he kept up his military duties. Tuesdays, the league’s traditional off-day, were spent in uniform, visiting schools, speaking at Rotary Clubs, and representing the Air Force.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, Gizzi was at home when he turned on the television – something he rarely did. The news was already breaking. And when the second plane hit, the reality of the situation became horrifyingly clear.
“You’re listening to what everyone has to say,” Gizzi recalled. “You’re connecting with friends, sometimes not connecting with friends. I think that was probably the toughest part.”
Like many in the military, Gizzi found himself caught between two worlds. The NFL was his job, but his heart – and his duty – belonged to the service.
His commanding officer gave him clarity: “Your role and no words you do are less important. Your job is to play games on Sunday and you practice on other days of the week, and Tuesday you serve the Air Force.”
When the league resumed play, Packers head coach Mike Sherman had an idea. He knew Gizzi’s background and believed he was the right person to lead the team onto the field that night. Not as a linebacker, but as a symbol – of service, of unity, of hope.
There was one hiccup. Gizzi didn’t have an American flag.
Neither did the Packers, at least not one immediately on hand. But thanks to the quick work of the equipment staff, a flag was found and handed to Gizzi just before the team’s introduction.
What happened next is the stuff of legend.
As Gizzi stood in the tunnel at the north end zone of Lambeau Field, the crowd buzzed with anticipation. Then, with the stars and stripes raised high above his head, he sprinted onto the field.
The stadium erupted. The ground, Gizzi remembers, was shaking beneath his feet.
“It wasn’t rehearsed,” he said. “I really didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew once I stepped on Lambeau, the ground started shaking, and it doesn’t do that every time.”
In a stadium that’s seen its fair share of iconic moments – Brett Favre’s heroics, playoff triumphs, and bitter cold battles – this was different. This wasn’t about football.
It was about healing. It was about pride.
It was about honoring something bigger than the game.
No one remembers the final score of that night. They don’t talk about Favre’s stat line or how the defense held up.
What they remember is the image of Gizzi, flag in hand, knees churning high, running into history. For those few moments, the divisions of everyday life disappeared.
For those watching in the stadium and across the country, it was a moment of shared emotion – of tears, cheers, and something that felt like hope.
Years later, Gizzi still reflects on that night with humility and gratitude.
“I think it’s crazy how you remember stuff,” he said. “I’ll talk to a WWII vet or a guy who just enlisted or a gal who is retiring, and they’ll say they remember that day, and all these memories kind of get connected. So, the moment gets bigger and more profound and enjoyable as time goes on for me.”
That connection – the one that stretches across generations, uniforms, and sidelines – is what made that moment so powerful. In a time when the country needed something unifying, something real, Chris Gizzi delivered it. No script, no spotlight – just a man with a flag, a purpose, and a stadium full of people ready to rise together.
And for that, we remember.
