That’s how I knew what I needed to do going into my junior year.
My junior—and last—year as a student-athlete at Clemson was everything I had worked so hard to achieve. We had a great season, and after routing the powerhouse Ohio State Buckeyes 31–0 in the semifinal national playoff game, we once again faced off against Alabama. Since we had tangled with them before and come up short, we knew full well what we were up against. Many football analysts had said that, at their peak, the 2016 Alabama team’s defense was one of the greatest in college football history. As quarterback and one of the on-field leaders on offense, I knew we all had to bring our very best effort.
While the game was tense and competitive throughout, things began to look bleak for us in the third quarter. The Crimson Tide were up by ten points—24–14. Under Coach Nick Saban’s leadership, Alabama was known for finishing strong. If they were ahead by double digits at this point in the game, they were extremely likely to win. In other words, they didn’t make a habit of losing as the clock ticked down. We knew that from the game a year prior when Alabama simply built too big a lead for us to overcome.
I had to step up.
The lead changed hands three times in the fourth quarter. It began when I found wide receiver Mike Williams open for a 4-yard touchdown barely a minute into the final fifteen to trim Alabama’s lead to 24–21. Then, with a little more than four minutes left in the game, we seized our first lead when running back Wayne Gallman scored from a yard out.
Still, we knew Alabama was far from finished. The Crimson Tide moved down the field with a combination of efficiency and creative play calling. In a bit of razzle-dazzle, receiver ArDarius Stewart took a backward pass from quarterback Jalen Hurts and fired a strike to tight end O. J. Howard for 24 yards. Hurts broke loose the next play, escaping from a collapsing pocket and slipping past and through defenders for a 30-yard touchdown run to make the score 31–28 in favor of Alabama. Once again, the Alabama players showed that they rose to the occasion in crunch time.
There was 2:07 left on the clock.
You’ve probably heard about athletes and others who experience a remarkable level of calm and focus when everything around them is deafeningly loud and chaotic. The speed with which things occur seems to slow down dramatically. That’s precisely how I felt when we got the ball back with the national championship on the line. In fact, I was so focused that I remembered what quarterback Vince Young said to his University of Texas teammates just before their last-second touchdown that defeated Southern California in the 2005 season championship game: “Let’s be legendary.”
That’s what I said to my teammates as we huddled up. I felt this truth to my core. Three words that meant one thing: all the work, all the sacrifice, and all the dedication came down to just these few seconds. What happened was up to us—not just one person but everyone involved with the team.
I completed passes to Williams and tight end Jordan Leggett, both of whom made fantastic catches for large gains. But however much we had moved the ball, time was edging away. We were at first and goal with just fourteen seconds left.
We caught a break with a pass interference call on Alabama that placed the ball at the 2-yard line with six seconds remaining. In that moment, I thought that if we couldn’t push the ball in, we were certainly close enough for a game-tying kick and overtime.
But my teammates and I were determined to be legendary. And, again, I really couldn’t hear the crowd roaring in the background. I felt at peace and knew what I was going to do.
Being legendary didn’t mean settling for a field goal.
* * *
BEING LEGENDARY DIDN’T MEAN SETTLING FOR A FIELD GOAL.
* * *
Amid the tangle of bodies that collided after the ball was snapped, receiver Hunter Renfrow managed to slip past the defense. I took the snap, rolled right, and tossed the ball to Renfrow as lightly as though we were playing catch in the backyard.
It was one of the easier throws I’d made all night, but we were national champions as a result. For just the second time in Clemson football history, we stood at the top of the heap.
Overall, I ended up throwing for 420 yards and three touchdowns, good enough to be named the game’s MVP. Every bit as satisfying was that, in two games against Alabama, I threw for a total of 825 yards and accounted for eight touchdowns. In the fourth quarter alone, I completed twelve of eighteen passes for 130 yards and two touchdowns. From a team perspective, our twenty-one points were the most fourth-quarter points scored against the Crimson Tide the entire season.
It’s difficult to express the emotions and experience of winning that national title. Naturally, our success was a culmination of grinding it out day in and day out, remaining focused, and, as I experienced in the title game itself, finding a sense of peace and balance when everything around us was noise and chaos.
It also showed the value of revisiting failure. By breaking down every aspect and element of the game we lost to Alabama the year before, our team was able to retool our game plan to take advantage of what we identified as Alabama’s few vulnerable points. The painstaking effort had truly paid off.
I think we all learned another lesson from that first loss that helped us in the rematch. Simply put, the past is past. Move on when you’ve gotten everything you can out of an experience. Study it and go to school on it, but don’t dwell on failure. If you’re looking back all the time, it’s impossible to see what you have in front of you. I know we as a team benefited from a forward-looking mindset. As for me, during those final seconds, the last thing I had on my mind was coming up short again.
* * *
SIMPLY PUT, THE PAST IS PAST. MOVE ON WHEN YOU’VE GOTTEN EVERYTHING YOU CAN OUT OF AN EXPERIENCE. STUDY IT AND GO TO SCHOOL ON IT, BUT DON’T DWELL ON FAILURE.
* * *
On an individual level, I became the first player since 2004 to win the Davey O’Brien Award in consecutive seasons. I also won the Johnny Unitas Golden Arm Award, given to a junior or senior college quarterback. While the award celebrates on-field performance, it also emphasizes character, scholastic achievement, and qualities of leadership. For me, that made the award much more than just a measure of athletic success.
But there were individual disappointments as well. Once again, I was one of the five finalists for the Heisman Trophy. Once again, I came up empty, with Louisville quarterback Lamar Jackson receiving the coveted award. I was disappointed but very happy for Lamar. He deserved it as much as anyone.
But, as I’ve stressed before, though personal achievements are fine and good, nothing comes close to the value of success as a team. A servant leader looks past individual success to consider the group as a whole. And, here, there were no disappointments.
I was learning to prioritize my leadership goals. While I didn’t win certain individual awards, our team’s national championship was of far greater importance to me. Failure was teaching me another valuable lesson: losing happens to everyone, but the sting doesn’t hold on forever if you learn from the loss and get right back to work—becoming all the more prepared, both mentally and physically.
PASS IT ON
•How did you react the last time you failed at something that mattered a great deal to you? You were probably upset, but did you get caught up in your emotions? Did you do anything besides get angry and frustrated? Or did those emotions lead you to something constructive, something that you could do to better prepare yourself for success in the future?
•As a developing servant leader, consider how others impacted by that failure reacted to it. Was their reaction similar to yours? If so, did you do anything about that reaction or merely join in?
YOUR CHALLENGE
The next time you have to deal with a failure or setback, reevaluate your reaction. It’s okay to be angry or frustrated, but instead of getting caught up in those emotions, make a conscious effort to focus on what you can gain from the experience that may prove useful moving forward. Review the events that
led up to what occurred. Could you have changed anything that happened? Could you have prepared in a different manner? If it’s helpful—and it probably will be—write down any ideas that occur to you. Bear your thoughts in mind the next time you encounter a similar situation or challenge.
CHAPTER 6
NEVER GET TOO HIGH, NEVER SINK TOO LOW
Winning the national title was the experience of a lifetime. But, to be honest, it didn’t even come close to comparing with what took place a few weeks prior. That was when—outfitted in my cap and gown, wearing a multicolored bow tie—I walked across the stage at Littlejohn Coliseum in mid-December 2016 to receive my bachelor’s degree in communications from Clemson.
* * *
I WAS THE FIRST PERSON IN MY FAMILY TO RECEIVE A COLLEGE DEGREE.
* * *
I was the first person in my family to receive a college degree. My mom cried. Behind my smile that spread from ear to ear, I was crying a little bit myself. I could hear my siblings and other relatives cheering in the packed arena.
Shortly after the graduation, Clemson’s Instagram account posted a picture of me receiving my degree. The post said:
“Walking across the stage as a proud Clemson graduate! Thank you Deshaun!”
No way, I thought the moment I saw it. I immediately posted my response:
“Noo, THANK YOU Clemson University! Best 3 years of my life!”
I meant that and still do.
As an aside, my determination to graduate in less than three years became fodder for others. I remember how Coach Swinney reacted one time as my graduation neared. I needed only five more credits to complete my degree, and during a press conference a reporter asked a question that sort of dissed what I was trying to achieve.
“How many of us here were five hours short of graduating in two-and-a-half years?” Coach Swinney shot back. “Raise your hand. Quick.”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
Even Mama Maria had some fun as my graduation neared. My last class, having to do with the importance of mental and emotional balance, seemed like just the sort of laid-back class that I wanted after so much hard work. Mama Maria purposely never told me that there would be a final paper I would have to write!
My time at Clemson taught me lessons I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. Not all of them took place on the football field. Those lessons and others were foremost in my mind when, on November 8, 2016, I announced I was declaring for the 2017 NFL Draft.
As the draft approached, football naturally dominated my thoughts. I had a great deal of excitement—and more than a little uncertainty.
On the one hand, being in a position to join an NFL team was the culmination of a lifelong dream. Now that I was on the edge of achieving it, I struggled to keep my emotions in check. I was hungry just to get started.
But, as I said, I was also anxious. Coming out of Clemson, most scouts and analysts projected I would be taken in the first round of the draft. Sports Illustrated, Pro Football Focus, and ESPN had all ranked me as the top quarterback available. NFLDraftScout.com had placed me second. Overall, the scouts placed me as high as the seventeenth overall prospect.
* * *
BEING IN A POSITION TO JOIN AN NFL TEAM WAS THE CULMINATION OF A LIFELONG DREAM.
* * *
All that praise was wonderful to hear, but it still left many questions unanswered. Which team would select me? Just how high would I go in the draft? What if one or more other quarterbacks were selected before me? What would that say about how NFL scouts, executives, coaches, and others judged my talent?
Of course, there were doubters as well. Some scouts cautioned that I was still inexperienced in reading defenses. Others questioned my decision-making. There was also some concern about my passing accuracy. (Since I could run as well as throw, some people assumed running would be my first choice rather than throwing the ball. Nothing could have been further from the truth.)
Two things in particular were helpful at this point. The first was the advice my friend Cam Newton had given me: never get too high; never sink too low. Cam, an NFL star quarterback, had sent me this advice in a text after our loss to Alabama my sophomore year, and it has stuck with me ever since.
I first met Cam at his 7-on-7 camp in Atlanta going into my junior year of high school. The camp was an intense exercise, using only seven players per side to focus on each individual’s skills and execution. After the camp, Cam selected me to be the quarterback for the all-star 7-on-7 team he was going to take to nationals in Florida. He traveled down there with us, and I got the chance to talk to him and make a personal connection.
Understandably, I was in awe of Cam when I first met him. He was several years older than I was, and he was everything I aspired to be—a talented player with just enough swag to radiate confidence and not slide into cockiness. We clicked instantly.
Over the years he stayed in touch, texting or calling me every now and then just to see how I was doing or to ask if I needed anything. He became my mentor. Whenever I hear the nickname D-Watt—what Cam calls me—I know I’m going to learn something of value.
It was his text in the wake of the Alabama loss that really got me back on track emotionally.
Basically, Cam told me to stay as mentally balanced as possible—never letting the highs push you into the stratosphere or letting the lows drop you so much that you thought you’d never be able to get up again. Balance, he said, was everything. Taking success too much to heart left you vulnerable to disbelief when things went wrong. By the same token, immersing yourself in failure could make it seem more permanent than it was.
He also urged me to accept both love and hate—because when you’re successful, you’ll always have those who love you, but you’ll also always have haters, people who will try to tear you down simply because it’s what they do.
According to Cam, the sweetest way to make them shut their mouths is to win.
I took that advice to heart. It would have been all too easy to coast into my junior year of college having given up on both a national championship and my goal of graduating early. Based on the success I had enjoyed, I could have decided that I had earned my stripes. Let someone else do the heavy lifting. Instead, I turned my attention to those things that had gotten me to where I was: football and academics. Far better to stay even-keeled and focused rather than rushing into some sort of foolish knee-jerk reaction I would likely regret. So here I was, college degree in hand, looking toward the draft.
The second thing that made me feel hopeful was a pre-draft visit I had with the Houston Texans in April. During the visit, they interviewed me and then ran me through a series of questions to gauge my knowledge of strategy and general football IQ.
* * *
FAR BETTER TO STAY EVEN-KEELED AND FOCUSED RATHER THAN RUSHING INTO SOME SORT OF FOOLISH KNEE-JERK REACTION I WOULD LIKELY REGRET.
* * *
It was both fun and challenging. One of the exercises involved my learning a particular route; more specifically, the offensive staff drew up a route on the whiteboard, erased it, then left the room for fifteen minutes. When they returned, I was supposed to be able to teach them the route as though they were seeing it for the first time.
When they came back, I walked them through the play as though the quarterback were right-handed. Then I flipped the mechanics of the play and showed them how it would go with a left-handed quarterback.
They were astonished. I just smiled and told them I knew that play like the back of my hand. I didn’t say that to be arrogant. I wanted to show them the kind of quick study I could be.
All that lasted for most of the morning, and then we broke for lunch.
We went into the facility’s cafeteria to eat. After I got my food, I didn’t see anybody I really knew all that well, so I just sat down in the corner of the room to eat my meal. Other players started to drift over to join me. At first they were fellow Clemson grads such as defensive tackle D. J. Rea
der and wide receiver DeAndre Hopkins. Defensive end Jadeveon Clowney joined us not long after that—even though he had played for rival South Carolina, we decided to be generous and let him sit down.
Soon about twenty players were crowded into a tight circle. We pushed a couple of tables together so everyone could have a seat. I was flattered that even though the room was filled with a former No. 1 draft pick and many All-Pros, so many guys wanted to talk to me.
Immediately, I felt at home. Even though the draft hadn’t happened yet, I felt I was in the right place. I thought I could really contribute to something special. The chemistry and vibe were there.
I also sensed a real opportunity for leadership. The Texans had done well the prior year, finishing first in the AFC South but losing in the divisional playoffs. Even though I would be a rookie—a complete newcomer to the team—I felt as though I could really help this team succeed with my play as well as my leadership.
By the time the draft approached, I was confident I had done pretty much all that I could to place myself in the best possible light, both professionally and personally. In many ways, there was nothing more I could do. That helped me let go of a good deal of my nervousness. My agent, David Mulugheta, urged me to relax and enjoy the experience as much as possible. At this point, whatever happened, happened, he told me.
I think I’ve cried in public only once. That was on draft night, after the Houston Texans traded up in the draft field to select me twelfth overall. I was the third quarterback taken in the draft, after Mitchell Trubisky (Chicago Bears) and future star and Super Bowl champion Patrick Mahomes (Kansas City Chiefs). After all that hard work, my dream had finally come true.
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