Through My Eyes (18 page)

Tennessee’s freshman cornerback, Eric Berry, was covering Coop, and Riley was supposed to come in just underneath him. Whatever he did, Coop needed to ensure that he came in flatter than Berry—that is, closer to me and in front of Eric Berry. Riley was young and didn’t run the route just right, and I was young and threw it anyway—when I should not have. Then the even-younger Eric Berry came in underneath Coop and picked it. I did all I could to run him down, but I couldn’t catch him. Instead I watched his back as he put distance between us, taking it ninety-three yards for a touchdown to put them back into the game. I still remember the play call: “Far Trio Left 60 Houston”—some things you just never forget.

I was frustrated with the interception and frustrated that I didn’t catch him. And I took pride in running well for a big guy. I didn’t have the same straight-ahead speed, but I have good agility and quickness.During my time at Florida, there were very few guys I couldn’t run with. Each year, somebody would challenge a new guy to race me in quickness agility drills—guys like Ahmad Black, David Nelson, and Aaron Hernandez. Aaron was so mad when we raced that year—his freshman year, and my sophomore year. He was sure I couldn’t beat him even once. I did. Then I beat him again. And again. We raced over and over, finally quitting with my holding a 34–2 lead in our races. Don’t get me wrong—I never broke into the top group with guys like Joe Haden, Percy Harvin, Chris Rainey, and Jeff Demps. But I could run a bit, which was part of why I was annoyed with Berry’s touchdown.

It was now 28–20, and they forced us to punt. In their series, their running back, Arian Foster, never got a clean handoff from Tennessee quarterback Erik Ainge, resulting in a fumble. Dustin Doe, one of our linebackers, picked it up in full stride and took it all the way back to the house. With that touchdown, we were up fifteen, and from that point, we proceeded to bury them.

Early in the fourth quarter I hit one of our wideouts, Louis Murphy, on a deep pass, and we scored moments later, this time on the old familiar play: 97 Q Power, our name for a quarterback run up the middle. We ended up changing that name because I’d audibled to it so often, shouting, “Power Power,” that people finally figured out what it was. We switched it up and started calling it “Mickey,” as a tribute to Coach Mick, who was always so focused on developing power in us.

By the end of the game, we’d gained over five hundred yards of offense on our way to an unexpectedly lopsided 59–20 win. Coach Meyer was proud of us; we kept competing all game long, and guys kept stepping up to make plays when we needed them. To win my first SEC start at quarterback gave me a huge sense of place and purpose. It was a good Tennessee team that we demolished. Thanks to the guys up front on the line and those guys at the receiving end of passes, I ended up with four touchdowns (two in the air and two on the ground). And thanks again to our receivers’ catching skills and running with the ball after the catch abilities, we averaged almost twenty yards per completion. Personally, it felt really good, but what felt better was that we’d done it together. It had been a team effort—truly—and a huge win for us.

I was simply relieved that we’d won such a big game and was relaxing with my family that evening when the guys on ESPN started talking about me as a Heisman candidate. Up until then, I was simply thinking about starting and winning our games. It was fun to hear, but I quickly realized that I didn’t have time to focus on it—I needed to get back to focusing on preparing to start and our piling up wins.

The good feelings lasted one more week, but we could feel that things weren’t exactly right, not yet where they needed to be, even in a win. We beat Ole Miss on the road, in my first start away from the Swamp. We knew they had a pretty good team and they were well coached, but some people still took them too lightly, to the frustration of many of us. We got a lead and played pretty well, but there was an undercurrent of things to come in that game.

I ended up with some surprisingly big numbers for the game, throwing for over 250 yards and rushing 27 times for 168 yards, with two touchdowns passing and two rushing. As a result, I was named the SEC Offensive Player of the Week for the second time that year after our 30–24 win, but the biggest takeaway from that game was how very sore I was following the game. From around the four-minute mark of time remaining in the game, I may have carried the ball every single time as we ran out the clock and kept the ball away from Ole Miss.

I’m not sure why it unfolded that way in 2007, with my running as much as I did, as we had some very talented running backs, but for some reason we struggled to develop a rhythm with our running game, trying to incorporate all our backs into the game.

With that win, we cut Mississippi’s all-time series lead over us to one, and with SEC scheduling, we were going to be able to tie the all-time series up with them the next season in Gainesville. To be honest, I don’t think any of us thought about that at the time, but one thing is for sure: we weren’t paying any attention to Auburn just one week away.

Honestly, Auburn didn’t seem
like a particularly good team in 2007. They have had great teams before and after, and Auburn and Florida have been known to play some of the most dramatic football games in SEC history. Highlights include Kerwin Bell’s leading Florida to eighteen fourth-quarter points to erase a seventeen-point deficit and beat unbeaten number four Auburn, 18–17, in 1986 (note: every Gator fan in the western hemisphere claims to have been at Florida Field for that game—just ask one), or Steve Spurrier clinching the Heisman Trophy with a field goal to beat Auburn in 1966, and plenty of other Auburn–Florida moments as well.

Auburn had started the season ranked as high as number fourteen but lost two early games at home, to Mississippi State and South Florida, and hadn’t looked good in the process. However, for the second year in a row against Auburn, right off the bat things didn’t go our way. I think we all underestimated them, both coaches and players.

Auburn clearly had more momentum and played with more passion as the game began. They shut us down early. We went three and out on our first possession. In the meantime, they were slowly and methodically moving the ball against our defense. Every time they got the ball, they were holding it for five to seven minutes, chalking up first downs and maintaining possession as they ran the clock down. We weren’t taking advantage of our possessions, and they were running the ball trying to shorten the game. They scored twice in the first half, and it was 14–0 at the half.

We tried to rally the troops in the locker room and came back out after the half, and on the first drive we hit a deep post down to the goal line. Down, 14–0, we really needed a touchdown, but Auburn’s defense and their defensive coordinator, Will Muschamp—who grew up in Gainesville—rose to the challenge. The first play was 97 Power . . . and a linebacker came straight through and blew me up in the hole. No gain. We couldn’t score on second or third down, either, and had to kick a field goal.

Looking back, I think the reason we lost that game was because we didn’t put that ball in the end zone to score that first touchdown right after we came out in the second half. It would have been 14–7 and we’d have been right in it while laying claim to that ever slippery momentum. Instead, we kept playing from behind, but we did keep playing. Things weren’t going well with our passing game, so they started running me a lot, counter left, counter right. We kept fighting and finally tied it with two touchdowns in the fourth quarter at 17–17.

Our tying touchdown came on an out route that I threw to Cornelius Ingram—whom I played basketball against when I was at Jacksonville Trinity Christian Academy and he was at Hawthorne High School—in the end zone.

With a couple of minutes left in the game, we got the ball in pretty good field position and then called a screen play to Percy. The screen was a good call and Percy tried to turn a good play into a great play as he usually can. But as he was trying to cut to the outside, a defender swiped his leg and tackled him for a seven-yard loss. We were in bad shape, because that hindered our ability to do anything on second and third down. I hit Kestahn Moore on second down, then on third down and long yardage to go, the pass was broken up and we had to punt.

Auburn took the punt and marched the ball down the field and then kicked a game-ending field goal to beat us at home, 20–17.

It was so frustrating because we had the ball with an opportunity to win and I couldn’t get it done. Right or wrong, I put the loss squarely on my shoulders. I’d let everyone down. I felt like that T-leaguer again, wishing I had the ball in my hands one more time at the end of the game to try and make things right for us. It was a tough one to take.

I was praying a lot at different times in that game too. Obviously my earlier point about God’s not necessarily favoring a particular outcome over another would seem clear. I guess it was an answer to prayer. Just not the answer I wanted.

The next night Coach Meyer and I had a long talk, mostly about handling defeat. His words were quite helpful to me. We went through and read a number of different Bible verses together, focusing on how God won’t give us more than we can handle. We spoke about how God has a plan for our lives and our lives together as a team. As we talked, we both realized that we didn’t feel we’d played our best. I think it was good for us both that night to be spiritually encouraged in the process. We talked about God’s having a plan for everything, even though we don’t know what it is. And while we might think we have a lot on both of our plates, we each took comfort in knowing—through God’s past faithfulness—that no matter what is on our plates, He will never leave us and will help us handle whatever it is.

Of course, that night with Coach Meyer wasn’t all theology; we also talked about the game some. In that last series I felt like I could have helped before we got into second and third down and long yardage.

The competitor in me wanted to say, “
Just give me the ball all three plays and let’s see what happens
.” Instead, we had a good talk about how we’d handle it the next time and how we’d handle this loss going forward. It was a good opportunity for me and Coach to have that bonding experience and to be able to talk about those things that matter most as well.

I felt really blessed again.

Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.

—I
SAIAH 40:31

I know I made it
to class that next week. I always did. I was well into my major of Family, Youth, and Community Sciences with a minor in Communication. Choosing my major was easy—I knew I wanted to be working with people and youth, possibly in a not-for-profit setting, and figured that zeroing in on that made sense. I never looked back.

But as much as I loved what I was studying, that week was a tough one. There were so many distractions, it’s amazing I got anything done. Dealing with that loss was hard enough, but what complicated things even more was the game on the horizon. The following Saturday would be my first trip back to Tiger Stadium in Baton Rouge since Coach Meyer shook his head at me from across the field before that LSU–Florida game when I was in high school. Although we were still in a stunned state of mind that Sunday, a day after the Auburn loss, Louisiana State students took it upon themselves to do their best to make me feel welcome as we prepared for our visit the following weekend.

It started with a few choice voicemails that Sunday afternoon. Not one of them was worth listening to, but sadly they needed to be heard so that appropriate measures and precautions could be taken. Messages coming in like this one: “Hey, Tim Tebow, you’d better tell your family to stay inside because we’re going to find your parents tonight and they’re going to end up in serious pain.” Messages like that—uplifting, positive messages demonstrating good sportsmanship and goodwill toward all.

Of course, everyone on the team had been briefed on what to do if we got messages like that, received intimidating or threatening mail, or were confronted in any way that seemed to jeopardize our safety or that of our families, friends, teammates, or coaches. And so I contacted Coach Meyer and Officer Stacy—Officer Stacy Ettel of the University Police Department was always on hand to keep us safe—to make the coaches aware of what was happening.

By Monday afternoon, the calls were coming in constantly. My cell phone vibrated nonstop, and I had to keep it continually plugged in because the battery was dying every ninety minutes or so, without my ever picking it up at all. Hundreds of calls and text messages were being sent every hour from rabid LSU fans. Crazy, violent, or sexual messages, or all three. Really weird stuff from similarly weird senders. Some of them, but not many, were even literate.

It was such a busy week for me and for us that I simply didn’t have the time to deal with getting a new phone with a new number, but I must admit, even though I was no longer taking the calls or listening to the messages, it really got me pumped up to see how much I was in the thoughts of LSU fans. I really was a concern to them and their football team, I guess. In a way it was flattering, but it got old quickly. As best I could figure, someone at LSU or in the surrounding area got my number and gave it out, and I was told that there were announcements at bars around Baton Rouge along the lines of, “This is Tim Tebow’s number. Call or text him and give him a hard time.”

As we were on the bus that Saturday afternoon heading into the stadium, Jim Tartt, our junior offensive lineman, reached over and grabbed my perpetually buzzing phone. He answered, at random, one of the many calls still coming in and exploded at the caller. It wasn’t pretty, but I was glad I had Jim on my side. The caller probably thought it was me letting him have it. Oh well . . .

I appreciated that the guys were defensive of me—we were all in this together, and now we were headed into the unfriendly confines of LSU. When we were just a few miles out from the stadium, it started getting really crazy. The place and its proud fan base were just going nuts. Fans were banging on the side of the bus as we drove by, and as we were getting closer to the stadium, more and more people were banging on the bus. To its credit, the LSU security detail, which was assigned to us, was doing all it could do, trying to pull people away from our bus. We got down under the tunnel, and there were more of them—sitting and hanging from the stands above us, looking down and screaming at us.

I always made it a point to be the last one off the bus. As guys got off, I would stand at the top of the steps, in position to be able to shake all the players’ hands as they came by and give each one a hug before they got off the bus. I was standing there hugging people and watching as Coach Meyer and the defense got off the bus. Coach Meyer was already fired up, when one of the fans, from across the ropes beyond which fans weren’t allowed to venture, threw a beer on him.

Everything started to escalate after that, and I thought there would be a fight right there around the bus between their fans, our players, and our fans who had also gathered there to welcome us as we exited the bus. In the middle of this ridiculous scene were our parents who were right up there at the front of everything, along with my family, of course. If it wasn’t such a potentially explosive and dangerous moment, it would have been laughable—all of this over a football game. Coach Meyer unbuttoned his jacket, dropped his briefcase, and put his hands up in the air to get us, our families, and our friends fired up. Of course, it got the LSU fans going crazy too.

From all the time I’d spent with Coach Miles during recruitment, I knew this whole display would have bothered him as much as it bothered us. It looked like it was going to be a full-fledged pregame brawl. Not exactly the type of warm-up for the game the coaches usually planned—at least for us. It was stunning, some of the things that people were saying to my parents and the parents of other players. Fans were three feet away from them, calmly cursing at them with every four-letter word and more. There were girls who’d come up to my dad and mom and direct vulgarities at them, followed by, “What are you gonna do about it?” For anyone wondering, that is
not
what I’m looking for in a spouse.

We probably used way too much energy too early in dealing with this melee. We all ran into the locker room, still dressed in our suits and much more worked up than we needed to be at this stage in the pregame process. After we got dressed and took the field, the whole pregame was so exciting. Way too exciting. The whole student section was chanting “_____ ______, Tebow,” (you can fill in the blanks—but don’t think churchy words) for much of the pregame, which got me even more fired up, if that was even possible. If anything, I probably did some stuff to egg it on too. My veins were coursing with adrenaline and anger, and I couldn’t wait to take the field and get the game started.

Coming into the game, LSU was ranked number two in the country, but we opened the game playing like the better team, while they were playing cheap. From the outset, Tyson Jackson, Glenn Dorsey, and their other defenders that made up what some say was one of the best defenses ever in college football, were all talking trash to us, and I was loving it. When they were hitting me on an option play to make the stop, they were still trying to hit me while I was already on the ground.

We kicked a field goal on our opening drive and then held them and forced them to punt, after which we drove the length of the field again, down to their two yard line. I faked the run, bootlegged out to the left, looking for Kestahn Moore in the end zone; but he was covered. I kept running all the way to the sideline, looking for someone to come free, then I stopped and backed up for just a moment and momentarily tucked the ball. That’s when the three guys around Kestahn finally stepped up for just a split second, thinking I was getting ready to run it in. At that moment Kestahn came open, and I threw it to him—pushed it into the air toward him, is probably more accurate—and he made an amazing grab around his knees for the touchdown, and the kick for the extra point put us up, 10–0.

That was one of my favorite plays of my entire career.

They scored a touchdown, and we tried to put together a drive after taking the ensuing kickoff but ended up having to punt. They had a few very long drives, keeping the chains moving and the clock running down. That was frustrating, but we still led, 10–7. We got the ball, drove to their six yard line, and called a pass play, while also anticipating a heavy blitz. Instead, they dropped back into pass coverage, blanketing our receivers, and so I kept the ball, cutting back left, and then dove into the end zone to stretch our lead to 17–7. I happened to have scored in the end zone designated as the LSU student seating area, and so I took the liberty of celebrating with my teammates right there, all of us jumping around for just a while for the benefit of our mockers. No doubt some of them had placed a call or two that week also.

I may have crossed the line, then, but it had been a long week and a long day already, and all thanks to the antagonistic attitude of the LSU crowd. I jogged over to the corner of that end zone and acted like my hand was a phone and dialed a number and yelled, “Who’re you all calling now?”

For some reason, that seemed to get them even more worked up.

We got the ball to start the second half and started marching right down the field on our first few plays. Then, on a play that seemed to sum up the inconsistencies of the 2007 season, I handed off to Kestahn, our most talented running back, who had already made that fantastic touchdown catch, and at the end of a beautiful little ten-yard run he simply tripped, unforced and untouched, and fumbled the football. LSU recovered.

That got the crowd back into it, and we felt the game beginning to change at that point. They drove down the field and scored to make it 17–14 after a fake field goal, when just moments earlier we were looking at moving in to take a 24–7 lead. We kept fighting, though. We scored on a thirty-seven-yard pass to CI (Cornelius Ingram) on a well-designed play drawn up by our coaches. They blitzed us, and we read it and beat the blitz for a touchdown to CI, taking our lead to 24–14.

Even after they scored to cut our lead to 24–21, we had chances to put it away, but throw together a couple of drops, an off-target pass, and lining up in a wrong formation a little later, and we were punting again. They converted several fourth-down plays for first downs to keep the drive alive, and in that, their final possession, they marched down the field, scoring with just over a minute to play.

Talk about a frenzied atmosphere.

On our final possession, I ran the ball out to around the fifty, and then on the last play we had time for a Hail Mary, but I overthrew it, just past Coop’s hands, and they hung on to win by a heartbreaking score of 28–24.

The game was ultracompetitive, ultraexciting, and one of my favorites to play in because of the atmosphere that surrounded every aspect of it, from the week leading up to it, the bus ride in, the rowdy stands—everything. Annoying as those phone calls were, the LSU fans made it awesome. Really. And we came away with our health, which is why I can probably be so generous with my praise for their totally unacceptable behavior in civil company.

At the same time, the loss was also devastating to me and to all of us, because we felt like we’d played one of our best games up to then. Statistically it didn’t look like much—we only scored 24, and we lost—but, still, to do that against a team of their caliber was something. We just needed to find a way to finish it off and win the game. It was crushing for all of us to come so close and do so many things well as a team yet just not do enough to win.

That game reminded me how the little things can change a game. That’s why as a team and as the leaders on a team, you can never take the little things for granted. The things that lose games are not necessarily an individual drop or breaking a tackle or something like that—that’s going to happen in every game—but what’s going to change the game is an error of going the wrong way or not having the ball high and tight. Those are mental errors.

We didn’t make big mistakes in that game; it was just a series of little things that tripped us up. That always gets me, because it’s not for a lack of talent. It’s that I didn’t focus quite enough or consistently enough, didn’t care enough in my mind to tell myself to do it the right way every time. And that’s what was so frustrating— we had so many opportunities on both sides of the ball to do some little thing here or there to win the game. To execute a little better. To make a better block or a better read in pass coverage. On one of those fourth downs, or when they faked the field goal and got a first down, if only we could have read the play sooner and stopped it, we could have won the game. If we had executed better on any of our drives offensively, we could have won it. If we had put it in the end zone just one more time, if Kestahn hadn’t fumbled, if CI hadn’t gone the wrong way, if I had stepped up and made one more play, seen one more open receiver. There were so many what ifs in that game. And so many things that should never have happened. Things we gave away—they weren’t taken away by better play—we just didn’t execute fully when we could have.

Maybe, too, the pregame frenzy had sapped just enough of our mental edge by the time all the screaming and voicemails had stopped.

One of the biggest differences between my sophomore and junior years was that we wouldn’t tolerate those little mistakes any longer. We used those experiences in 2007, like those we recounted and remembered from the LSU game, to learn and grow and get ready and better for 2008.

As dejected as I was with our inability to perform those little details that could have won the game for us, I walked away from the LSU game feeling really good. To go into a hostile arena like that at LSU, with that pregame atmosphere so thick you could cut it with a knife, to face that kind of adversity and play the way we did—fighting all the way to the end—there was something satisfying in that. And to lose because we just weren’t finishing off some of the small things left me feeling confident that, with some adjustments and better attention to some of those little things, we’d be able to handle a lot of challenges from there on out.