Through My Eyes (15 page)

In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

—1 T
HESSALONIANS 5:18

By the time
the regular season rolled around, I was feeling relatively comfortable in the offense. There was a lot to learn, but I was pleased that I had come in early and been there for spring practice. The offensive plan was getting more familiar, and I was getting more comfortable with my ability to execute it at some level if given the opportunity.

Before I knew it, our opening game had arrived—against Southern Mississippi—a home game at the Swamp. It really did seem like it was still part of an earlier childhood dream. I remember how excited I was to walk off the bus and through the Gator Walk, a gauntlet of exuberant fans, into the stadium. And to run out of the tunnel for the first time. To be a part of all the excitement. Putting on the uniform with my new number, 15 (when I arrived, Bubba Caldwell already had my high school number, 5), and heading out for my first pregame warm-ups as a Gator. As we gathered in the tunnel, seeing the footage of live alligators on the video board and hearing the voiceover: “The Swamp. Only Gators get out alive.” The crowd working itself into a frenzy. It all still seemed like a dream, but it was one that my teammates and I were living.

I had grown up watching Florida quarterbacks from Danny Wuerffel to Doug Johnson and Rex Grossman, and I’d heard about so many others like Wayne Peace and Kerwin Bell. Robby, Peter, and I had played so many games together on the farm over the years, those three-man football games. I remember saying I was Danny Wuerffel or one of the others when I was the quarterback, or Ike Hilliard if I was the receiver, or Lito Sheppard when I was the defensive back. And now I was getting to be part of it all.

Finally, the voice of the Gators boomed “Heeeeeeeeere come the Gators!” as we rushed out of the tunnel. Coming out of the tunnel with “Tebow” on my back for the very first time was such a thrill for me and for my whole family. The goose bumps were everywhere. Something you think about your whole life, and then in a surreal rush it’s actually happening. I felt blessed.

Throughout the game, I had a headset on listening to everything that was being said. It was great and I was so excited. It’s a wonder I was even able to keep up with all that was going on during the game. We threw a pick to them early, which they converted into a score, keeping it close for a while. But our defense manhandled them throughout the game, and eventually we took charge.

We were just beginning the fourth quarter, after my first sideline experience of listening to a stadium full of fans swaying, singing “We Are the Boys of Old Florida,” and I got the call to go in. I thought I’d have a shot to go in because we’d just gotten a turnover on about their six yard line, and sure enough the coaches threw me in. The first play of my career was supposed to be a handoff play out of a shotgun formation to Kestahn Moore. I was nervous even calling the cadence, but once the ball was snapped, all the nervousness went away and—this may seem odd to say—it was just like I was playing football again.

The ball was snapped way low and to the left, so I ran and picked it up. I didn’t even think; I just reacted to the situation, which was fun. I picked the ball up, ran left, stiff-armed a guy, dove, and laid out toward the end zone, scoring a touchdown. I was so ecstatic at scoring my first touchdown that everybody watching must have seen it, like the guy who hits his first home run in baseball and fist-pumps and laughs all the way around the bases. After I scored, my excitement bubbled over as I just kept running around and giving everybody a hug. I was so pumped up.

In practice the next week, we prepared for Central Florida, and I had a little bit more in the way of snaps, plays, and involvement, since we anticipated and hoped that we’d be far enough ahead to get me into the game. I went into the game for a few series in the second quarter and had some success. I handed off to Kestahn Moore once we got down close to the end zone, and he scored—a good start for me. I felt like I had some nice passes and decent runs. So far, so good. I did, however, throw an interception too; and anytime you throw a pick in a game, it stays with you for a while. Some good moments, some not so good.

The game played out as we hoped and planned, and so I got to play a lot in the second half. I had a decent day of passing, and that gave the coaches a chance to see that I was more than just someone (“playing position by body stereotype”) who could run around a little bit. It’s one thing to be strong in the weight room or in Coach Mick’s mat drills, or to do well in sprints and the physical competitions in practice or in the off-season, but it was important for them to see firsthand that I could actually break tackles and run. I think that’s when it translated in their minds that I could play quarterback at the University of Florida, because I was never again allowed to be tackled in practice. Leading up to the Tennessee game, with the coaches now having a different perspective on my athletic talent, and in particular my ability to play quarterback, they put in a special package for me—all runs and all from shotgun. I was pretty excited to be able to have a specific and planned chance to contribute—against a team ranked number thirteen in the country.

On the first play they called for me, I had a running back with me, faking the option to him, but instead I just kept the ball and kept going. I broke through the first wave of defenders, the defensive line, running as fast as I could, and I got past the linebackers. At that point I could see that there was nothing between me and the rest of the field but Jonathan Hefney, a safety. I remember looking into his eyes and thinking,
he doesn’t want any part of this
. He went for my ankles and made a good tackle, a solid tackle. It was then, though, right at that moment, that I knew I could play in the SEC. Hefney was one of the better safeties in the conference, and he chose to go low, at my ankles rather than try to take me on straight up.

With that positive play of ten or fifteen yards coming the first time they’d called my number that day, I figured they’d probably call my number again, which they did. Throughout the game, I was able to consistently get in there on different plays and help the team in a variety of ways. Finally, in the fourth quarter, we were on the short end of the score, losing 20–14, and we were faced with a third down and six yards to go for a first down; Chris Leak ran for it and was stopped just short of the first-down marker.

Now we were facing fourth and a long yard, almost two yards, for the first down. Coach Meyer called a timeout, and I’m standing there before him, staring at him,
willing
him to put me in. I saw him looking straight at me, no doubt thinking,
He’s only a freshman
. This was the biggest situation in the season so far against one of our biggest rivals. It was probably our last drive of the game—Coach was faced with a big decision.

He didn’t hesitate in sending me out there. I’d like to say that as I ran onto the field, I was thinking about proving him right or winning the game, but all I could think was,
Holy cow, this is the loudest place I have ever been in
. The crowd was going crazy, absolutely crazy on fourth and a very long one.

Seeing all the linebackers cheating in so close behind the defensive line brought me back to the moment. I had to get this first down. I just kept thinking,
I have to get this, I have to get this
.
I’m going to run as fast as I can, downhill
. I thought of Coach Mick and those mat drills. I was going to get this first down,
If they get in my way, they will pay the price; they’re going to take some punishment
.

I clapped my hands—it was a silent cadence because of the crowd noise—took the snap, and hit the hole quickly, running as fast as I could. I knew we had gotten the first down as soon as I hit the hole because I could sense that my momentum carried me well beyond what I felt was sufficient; I was so jacked up that I popped off the ground as we unpiled. Two plays later Chris Leak hit Dallas Baker on a crossing route for a touchdown, and Reggie Nelson ended Tennessee’s last drive to try and score with an interception. Not only had we beaten Tennessee, 21–20, but in my first Southeastern Conference game I had really helped the team. I felt like I had substantially contributed to the result and helped out all the guys who were the mainstays, the studs on the team, guys like Brandon Siler, Ray McDonald, Joe Cohen, and Dallas Baker, all those guys that I looked up to. It was an awesome feeling to have helped those guys and the rest of the team win a big game.

So far, so good.
I had played in three games in a limited role, and it had gone pretty well. I understood that I was a very willing freshman among very talented and experienced upperclassmen, and rather than feeling impatient about my position on the team, I was pleased just to contribute. Chris threw a real pretty ball, and I knew it would be his team all year long. I was fine with that. I equated my situation to what Jesus said: if you’re faithful in little things, I’m going to give you more.

That’s how I approached the season. That’s why my few plays in the Southern Miss and UCF games were so big to me and the Tennessee game plays were huge. Not just for my confidence, but for the coaches’ confidence in me as well. Taking care of the little things, one play at a time.

For me, more important than winning the quarterback job was earning some playing time, being part of the team, building the trust of the coaches and my teammates, and being able to contribute. That’s what I took so much pride in and what I wanted to accomplish. I hoped to carve out a role for myself that contributed to the good of the team in every game.

After we returned from Tennessee, I was asked to meet with Zack Higbee, a member of the University of Florida’s Sports Information Department. Zack was our assistant to Steve McClain, our sports information director for football. I headed up to Zack’s office, which was tucked inside the west stands of Florida Field, wondering what he needed from me.

As it turned out, I’d been receiving a number of requests for personal appearances in and around Gainesville—even though I hadn’t been playing a lot. Florida was trying to come up with a plan that might accommodate some of those requests, while still giving me sufficient time for football and classes. Zack became the point man for UF and me in this effort with the community. Between the two of us, we devised a plan for dealing with requests, giving highest priority to the ones where people needed help the most and we might be able to make a difference.

He suggested we visit the hospital. I’d never done a hospital visitation in Gainesville before, but we headed to the oncology floor at Shands Hospital at the University of Florida to see a longtime Gator booster. He was there with his wife, and they were struggling with his recent cancer diagnosis.

I suppose I was there to encourage them, and maybe I did, but a good bit of the reverse happened. They did a lot to encourage me, and as I walked out of the room, I realized that I really enjoyed hospital visitation for the opportunity it gives everyone—patient and visitor—to be encouraged, lifted up, and joined together in fellowship.

Zack started making arrangements for us to go to the hospital on a weekly basis, especially to the pediatric wing. I loved seeing the kids. I hated that they were going through challenges at far too young an age, but I absolutely loved them and their spirit. I always came away encouraged and inspired by their courage. I could only pray that I left them lifted up a bit with a measure of encouragement for that day, the next, and every day beyond.

That next weekend Kentucky visited the Swamp, and we all knew that we couldn’t have a letdown after such a big win against Tennessee the week before. On my first three plays I had long runs of twenty and thirty yards, taking us down to inside Kentucky’s ten yard line. On one of the runs I broke to the right, running toward their sideline, and stiff-armed their safety who had come up to try and make the tackle. I actually stiff-armed him all the way out of bounds, and the officiating crew called it a personal foul on him. Not a bad break as it turned out.

We were inside the ten yard line after the half-the-distance penalty was assessed, and the coaches replaced me with Chris. I was fired up from the entire drive, but I noticed some booing from our home crowd as I left the field. Chris handed off, and we scored, but the booing really dampened my spirit. There was no need for it. I knew the boos weren’t aimed at me, but it was embarrassing to be a Florida fan at that moment. Sure, Chris Leak and I were competing for playing time, but at the same time, we got along fine and the coaches were doing a great job in coordinating our playing time effectively for the good of the team. We were winning, we were undefeated, we had good plays in a row, and we scored. As a fan, what more could you want?

Being a competitor, I wanted to be out there helping and felt that I was ready to be involved whenever the coaches felt they needed me. The hardest part was not knowing—warming up to stay ready and then not knowing when your number will be called. It was a “wait, then hurry up, and then wait again” situation, like much of life. You never know when an opportunity to help, to do something good, to lift up someone, or some situation will come your way. Always be prepared so that you can do your best when it’s time.

Later in the game we ran a fake option right, and then I spun around to the left and threw a comeback screen to Dallas Baker. We scored on it—my first touchdown pass in college—but they called holding on Phil Trautwein. As we came back into the huddle, Phil, who was a sophomore, apologized to me. He was a hard worker, team leader, and a true asset. Of course he hadn’t meant to be penalized. I looked him in the eye and said, “No problem. That was only my first passing touchdown in college
ever
—don’t worry about it.” That became a running joke that I still remind him of.