Shane Dale Assistant Sports Editor

Pat Tillman's death seems like a microcosm of Sept. 11, 2001 here in Arizona. In the weeks that followed the terror attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the entire nation - Republicans, Democrats and independents - came together. Congress sang "God Bless America" on the steps of Capitol Hill in the ultimate symbol of political unity.

It didn't last long, but it didn't have to - just long enough for the pain to subside.

Arizona and Arizona State University now share the same mutual respect for someone who was, as one writer put it in a letter to The Arizona Republic, "The definition of what it means to be a man."

The UA and ASU, much like America's political left and right, have a profound dislike for each other. Sometimes, it goes beyond the simple context of, "Ha, we beat you guys." That was evidenced at the last UA-ASU basketball game in Tempe, when the Sun Devil student section began shouting profanities at Arizona head coach Lute Olson. Or when UA senior safety Clay Hardt exited Sun Devil Stadium after his final game in a Wildcat uniform by giving the maroon and gold-clad fans the finger.

The rivalry will continue. The contempt and name-calling will be back. Of course, it's hard to believe Pat Tillman would have it any other way.

After the last three days, there's not much else that can be said about Tillman. He was a hero not for his death, but for his sacrifice in leaving millions of dollars behind for a thankless and not-so-highly-paid job doing what he believed was right - protecting the rest of us. He was a man of humility, declining to speak publicly on his decision to leave the Arizona Cardinals to serve his country.

He and his brother, Kevin, who passed on a promising Major League Baseball career to join Pat in combat, are indeed examples of what it means to be a man. They're the definition of selflessness and courage.

These words have been repeated in newspapers and other media outlets across the state, nation and world since Friday. Do they mean any more coming from a proud Arizona Wildcat?

Probably not, and nor should they. Respect and admiration transcend petty university rivalries. I had the opportunity to see Tillman play in Sun Devil Stadium both as a Sun Devil and a Cardinal. I even had him on my fantasy football team a couple of times (he was always good for seven or eight tackles a game).

I was selfishly disappointed when I heard Tillman was leaving the Cardinals. I was worried that my (admittedly) favorite football team was headed from bad to worse.

But that's the difference between Tillman and myself, between Tillman and, well, almost everybody. First, Tillman passed up a better offer from the St. Louis Rams out of a sense of devotion to the Cardinals. Then, he passed up the Cardinals for an even greater sense of loyalty.

Down here in Tucson, it's hard to comprehend how anyone could be proud to be a Sun Devil. We understand now.

Tempe and Tucson share a mutual respect for Tillman, just as Republicans and Democrats did for America after 9/11. Conservatism, liberalism, libertarianism - all thrown out the window. We were all Americans.

Partisan politics and hate-filled protests resumed shortly thereafter, and the upcoming presidential election will be one of the most divisive in U.S. history. Similarly, next season's UA-ASU football game in Tucson will be filled with the same kind of disdain. Wildcats and Sun Devils will taunt each other, the victors poking fun at the losers filing out of Arizona Stadium at the end of the game.

And that's how it's supposed to be. But not right now. Right now, one man has temporarily frozen hell - and the Arizona desert - over.

Every Arizona Wildcat sends his or her best wishes and prayers to Pat Tillman's brother, wife and the rest of his family.

Right now, we're not Wildcats or Sun Devils. We're Arizonans.

We're Pat Tillman fans.

Shane Dale is a political science senior. He can be reached at sports@wildcat.arizona.edu.