I was beginning to get a feel for what Mama Maria was all about. Above all, like Coach Swinney, she was straightforward. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything about the challenge ahead of me. But she wasn’t trying to discourage me. She was just being realistic and making sure that I knew full well what I would be up against. Once she realized that I was serious, she was completely on board. You could see it in the firm look of her eyes and the slight curl of a grin at the corner of her mouth. She was poised and ready to help in any way possible.
Once she knew I was committed, she was too.
So, I promised Mama Maria that I would, in fact, graduate in just three years, like I’d promised my mom. She agreed, and then we shook on it, my enormous hand cupping her significantly smaller one.
She didn’t waste any time getting down to business. “Okay,” she declared as we shook hands, “but I’m going to be on your rear like I’m your mama. Every single day. There will be no letup and no excuses. You can complain, but keep it to a minimum. We don’t have time to waste on bellyaching.”
I knew that Mama Maria meant every word. It was an important lesson for me. When you’re taking on a challenge, especially a difficult one, it’s critical to make certain everyone involved knows what will be expected of them. This was going to be far from a stroll in the park, and Mama Maria wanted to be sure I genuinely understood that.
As she had promised, Mama Maria stayed on my rear for the three years I spent at Clemson. She quickly learned how to connect with me. She saw how motivated and dedicated I was at heart; when I was tempted to take the easy way out—and there were times when I was sorely tempted to do just that—she knew exactly what to say. For instance, she knew how to push my competitive buttons when my commitment faltered.
* * *
WHEN YOU’RE TAKING ON A CHALLENGE, ESPECIALLY A DIFFICULT ONE, IT’S CRITICAL TO MAKE CERTAIN EVERYONE INVOLVED KNOWS WHAT WILL BE EXPECTED OF THEM.
* * *
I’d say something like, “I’m not gonna do this. It’s good enough. I’m gonna take the L (loss) on that one.”
Mama Maria would lock eyes with me. “Yeah,” she’d say with a slight grin on her face, “I don’t believe you’re ever gonna take an L.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll do it.”
She even got on me when I was away from school to accept an award. “At some point you just have to say no,” she said in a teasing, scolding voice. “Don’t you have enough awards already?” That made me laugh, but Mama Maria was making a point. As wonderful as awards and honors are, they shouldn’t interfere with the task at hand. Commitment meant focusing on what was of genuine importance.
As the school year got underway, I quickly learned where things were on the Clemson campus: my classes, dining halls, libraries, most every place I would need to be for the next several years. I still recall the first time I walked onto the field at Memorial Stadium, also known as “Death Valley.” (Visiting teams gave the stadium that nickname, but it was also built close to a cemetery.) The stands seemed to rise all the way to the sky. Memorial Stadium has a capacity of more than eighty thousand—about double the population of the town I grew up in. I’ll admit, it was daunting, particularly given my role as the would-be leader of the team those thousands of fans cheered for. Those first moments brought the challenge I was facing into perspective.
* * *
MY FOOTBALL CAREER AT CLEMSON BEGAN FROM A VIEWPOINT THAT I WAS FRANKLY UNACCUSTOMED TO: THE SIDELINES.
* * *
My football career at Clemson began from a viewpoint that I was frankly unaccustomed to: the sidelines. However intent Coach Swinney was on building the team around me, he still had a solid starting quarterback in senior Cole Stoudt. With Stoudt leading the team, I was determined to make the most of my backup role by learning as much as I possibly could. I studied, watched those around me, and practiced with the focus and intensity of a starter. Remember: prepare, then prepare some more.
Even though I was second string, I still got a bit of playing time. Through three games, I completed twenty-nine of forty-one passes for 479 yards with four touchdowns and no interceptions. Meanwhile, Cole was struggling some as quarterback. He threw only eleven interceptions his entire college career, but ten of those were during his senior year. Cole’s difficulties and my performance in limited duty eventually gave the coaching staff sufficient confidence to name me the starter.
I came out of the gate ready to perform. In my first career start against the North Carolina Tar Heels, I set a school record with six touchdown passes, throwing for 435 yards in a 50–35 Clemson victory.
But my freshman season was riddled with challenges—challenges that came in the heartless form of injuries. In October 2014, I broke a bone in my right hand while playing against the Louisville Cardinals. I left in the first quarter and never reentered the game. I missed the next three games as the bone took time to heal.
* * *
MY FRESHMAN SEASON WAS RIDDLED WITH CHALLENGES—CHALLENGES THAT CAME IN THE HEARTLESS FORM OF INJURIES.
* * *
In our next game against Georgia Tech, I came out of the game with what I first thought was just a strain. I wasn’t so lucky. I had torn my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my left knee.
I sat out the next game against Georgia State. Most everyone expected I would have to miss the next game against in-state rival South Carolina, but I wasn’t about to let that happen. Fitted with a brace, I continued to practice. The medical team gave me the go-ahead to play against Carolina, but with strict rules. No crazy scrambles. Get rid of the ball quickly. Go down before being tackled.
That all made sense, but I also knew the promise I had made to Coach Swinney that, as long as I was the quarterback, we wouldn’t lose to Carolina.
And we won the game.
It was a very painful but powerful lesson in being willing to sacrifice yourself to keep your commitments.
I underwent surgery to repair my ACL the Friday before our postseason bowl game against Oklahoma. As my freshman year ended, I was all the more determined to make the next season memorable by preparing—then preparing even more.
Academics at Clemson were every bit as challenging as football. I took as many as twenty credit hours every semester to reach my goal. That included the summer as well as the conventional academic year. This was particularly tough; summer football workouts were longer and more physically demanding (South Carolina heat) and the academics were every bit as challenging, with classroom material getting compressed into a much shorter time frame than a usual semester. The term summer vacation didn’t apply to me during my years at Clemson.
The regular season was no less demanding. One time I had three major tests the same week we were playing against rival Florida State University in one of the biggest games of that year. It was crazy trying to prepare for everything at once. I may have gotten some sleep, but I can’t say for certain just how much. Still, I passed all three tests, and we won the game against FSU.
Even though that was a particularly tough stretch, my everyday regular-season schedule was anything but easy. My day often began at four o’clock in the morning, since that was the only way I could grab a shower and some breakfast prior to a 5:30 a.m. workout. Then I had classes beginning at nine for a full day, followed by 7-on-7 film study. Practice came after that. I fit in meals when I could.
I usually got back to my dorm room late in the evening. As I took a quick break before getting to my homework, I would enviously watch my roommate getting ready and heading out for an evening of fun with other people from the dorm.
Every so often the urge to grab my coat and go with him was almost overwhelming. I desperately wanted to hang with my boys, to be a regular college kid. I hungered for the kind of fun that so many others took for granted.
But keeping my promise to my mom, Mama Maria, and myself was far more important to me than any sort of evening entertainment. So, I’d turn on my desktop lamp, sit down, and bury myself in my studies
. I won’t say it was easy, but I stuck with it, often still at the books when my roommate returned after a night out.
* * *
I DESPERATELY WANTED TO HANG WITH MY BOYS, TO BE A REGULAR COLLEGE KID. I HUNGERED FOR THE KIND OF FUN THAT SO MANY OTHERS TOOK FOR GRANTED.
* * *
Fortunately, I also had Mama Maria to keep me on track. She did more than her share to shore up my discipline when I started to waver. And she did not put up with any sort of excuses or pleas for a break. We were supposed to meet every day promptly at one in the afternoon, and more than once I called her intending to bail on our session.
“Mama,” I’d say, trying to make myself sound exhausted to evoke even a shred of pity, “I just can’t make it in today. Too much going on.”
Inevitably, there would be a snort of disgust at the other end of the line. “Uh-uh. You’d better get your butt in here. We’ve got work to do!”
I always did as she told me.
Throughout my three years at Clemson, no matter what was happening on the football field, Mama Maria never let my focus on my schoolwork fade for even an instant. She knew what I wanted to achieve, and she was going to do her part to help me get there. She helped organize my notes and gave me study tips and advice on how to make the best use of my time when taking a test. Hers was an unquestioning support, and I recognized that.
She helped me prepare so thoroughly for my studies at Clemson that I took up the habit of texting her every time I finished a project, paper, or some other task. On several occasions late in the summer of my third year at Clemson, I texted Mama Maria that I was “down to five”—a countdown of how many credits I needed to graduate.
At Clemson, I began to understand that commitment meant sacrifice. It would always mean giving up something you wanted or valued to pursue a goal of far greater significance. As I watched my friends in school go to parties, play video games for hours on end, and just hang out, I couldn’t join them. I had goals that I had promised myself and others I would achieve. If I wanted to keep my word to my mom and Mama Maria, I was going to have to give some things up. I was learning about the value of priorities.
Of course, it helped that the school’s overall dedication to me went beyond my ability to play football. As I like to say, Coach Swinney helped me develop a hunger for education; Mama Maria made certain I remained hungry and committed to being the best student I could possibly be. Coach Swinney, Mama Maria, and Clemson all recognized that my athletic and academic goals would be challenging to achieve. None of them flinched in the face of those challenges. In that sense, dedication mandates challenging yourself—looking for obstacles to overcome instead of avoiding them. It’s bonding with others as well as ideals, not based just on what may have occurred in the past but, through dedication, what you wish to bring to the future.
* * *
AT CLEMSON, I BEGAN TO UNDERSTAND THAT COMMITMENT MEANT SACRIFICE. IT WOULD ALWAYS MEAN GIVING UP SOMETHING YOU WANTED OR VALUED TO PURSUE A GOAL OF FAR GREATER SIGNIFICANCE.
* * *
Dedication means not taking the easy way out, whether that’s selecting a school based on more than just wins and losses or working with a student who’s in a high-level athletic program but planning on graduating in only three years.
I learned that I wanted to be the kind of leader who doesn’t back down from a challenge, stays committed to the goals he’s laid out, and always keeps his word. With Coach Swinney, Mama Maria, and the entire Clemson community, I had wonderful and inspiring examples to follow.
PASS IT ON
•When you think of the importance of keeping your word, what does that mean to you? Does it mean keeping your word without exception or occasionally compromising it? How do you see that commitment in others? Do you admire those whose word is their bond, their pledge of honor? By the same token, how do you treat others who are not as committed to keeping their word? Do you have a different relationship with them than with those whose word you can always trust?
•Have you ever broken a commitment you’ve made? How did that make you feel? Were there repercussions? What can you do to make sure you do better in the future?
YOUR CHALLENGE
Commit to something that, on the surface, you’re not really all that excited about. Maybe it’s a project at work or a family matter. Even though you’re not completely enthusiastic, try to stick to your word and maintain your commitment as much as possible. Once it’s done, think about how you feel—was it particularly rewarding to keep your word when it would have been easy to beg off? Was it more rewarding than keeping your word about something you truly believe in?
CHAPTER 5
FAILURE: THE BEST TEACHER THERE IS
I have no doubt that failure is the best teacher there is. It’s blunt, unforgiving, and pulls no punches. And, in my case, one particular example of failure happened on one of the biggest stages you can imagine.
In 2015, Clemson compiled an undefeated 12–0 regular season and a No. 1 ranking in the polls. In the ACC Championship Game against No. 10 North Carolina, I threw for 289 yards and three touchdowns and ran for two more. Most important, we won the game, claiming the ACC Championship for the first time since 2011. On an individual level, I was also named the ACC Championship Game MVP.
We moved on to the College Football Playoff, selected as the No. 1 seed. In our first game of the tournament, we beat Oklahoma 37–17 in the Orange Bowl. I threw for 187 yards and a touchdown and ran for 145 yards and another touchdown.
Next up was the ultimate challenge: the championship game against powerhouse Alabama. Between my passing and rushing yards—478 in total—I set the record for most total yards in national championship game history. But even though I threw for 405 yards and four touchdowns, we lost the game 45–40.
Special teams were a challenge for us all night in that particular game. Perhaps the most obvious example was Kenyan Drake’s 95-yard touchdown on a kickoff return. At the time, it pushed Alabama to a double-digit lead. Making matters worse were Alabama’s onside kick that led to a touchdown as well as a missed field goal by us. We had needed a complete game from all parts of our team, and we simply didn’t deliver.
Still, honors and awards for me followed the national championship. I finished third that year in the voting for the Heisman Trophy, the most prestigious award in college sports. I won the Davey O’Brien Award, presented annually to the best college quarterback. I was also named the 2015 ACC Player of the Year and ACC Offensive Player of the Year.
All the awards and accolades were great, but I was devastated by the loss in the championship game. In a way, losing out on a national championship was more wrenching than it would have been if we’d never even gotten close to that point. I was deeply conflicted. I was getting all this praise for how I had played—and I knew I had played well—but all the praise in the world rings hollow when it’s overshadowed by defeat. I wrestled with a flood of emotions for days on end.
* * *
I WAS GETTING ALL THIS PRAISE FOR HOW I HAD PLAYED—AND I KNEW I HAD PLAYED WELL—BUT ALL THE PRAISE IN THE WORLD RINGS HOLLOW WHEN IT’S OVERSHADOWED BY DEFEAT.
* * *
But the Alabama game taught me another lesson that’s critical for being an effective servant leader. As I came to understand in the painful days following that devastating loss, losing is a far better teacher than winning. Granted, we all want to win, and winning makes you and those around you feel great. Everyone’s happy when they’re winning. You love everyone and everything.
But losing forces introspection—not only about what contributed to the loss but about what you personally can change to achieve success moving forward. And when you look inside yourself, that serves as a model for others to do the same. Losing is never fun, but, ultimately, everyone benefits if you approach it as an opportunity to learn and grow.
Looked at another way, losing makes you a student, whether you want to be one or not. If you don’t study what went wrong, what you could have done di
fferently, then it’s obvious that you never cared much about the outcome in the first place. I’ve never met a single athlete who could just shrug off a loss without thinking about why it happened.
Losing, I’ve come to learn, also presents challenging leadership obstacles. For one thing, you first have to get over your own disappointment. Then it’s up to you to help those around you do the same—to encourage them to learn everything they can from the experience while leaving much of the sting behind. Finally, as a leader, you have to point the way to rebound from failure.
Over the weeks that followed the Alabama loss, my teammates and I reviewed the game in exhausting detail. We looked at film of every play repeatedly, with attention to how each and every player on the field performed. We all wanted to see any sign, any hint of what might have gone wrong.
* * *
WHEN YOU COME UP SHORT IN ANYTHING YOU TRY TO ACHIEVE, BE AS METICULOUS AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN BE IN STUDYING HOW YOU FAILED TO ACHIEVE SUCCESS.
* * *
That’s a leadership lesson I’ve carried with me. When you come up short in anything you try to achieve, be as meticulous as you possibly can be in studying how you failed to achieve success. It can be humbling and even painful, but it’s the best way to stop history from repeating itself.
Pass It On Page 6