by Tim Tebow
On top of all that conditioning, spring football practice in 2006 went well also. I knew that it was Chris Leak’s team as the starting quarterback. He was a senior, he knew the system, and he had a lot of experience. I didn’t know if I’d even be able to contribute that first year, but I certainly hoped to have the opportunity to do so and was prepared to compete for playing time. Coach Meyer always said that he felt blessed to have two leaders at the quarterback position that year.
I played pretty well in the Orange and Blue Game that spring and led my team to victory, but the thing I was most proud of? I never lost once in Coach Mick’s mat drills, and after that first year of drills, he told me that I wasn’t going to be doing them anymore. As a quarterback, they apparently didn’t want to risk my getting hurt trying to open a bathroom stall door.
And, thankfully, throughout everything, Coach Meyer didn’t pay attention to any of the media reports. Some sports writers took it upon themselves to write articles proclaiming that my style of play would never work in college football. In many ways I thought I’d silenced this debate from my freshman year of high school with how I’d played, and yet here I was again, four years later, hearing the same old “playing position by body stereotype” argument—only this time it was disguised as analysis:
My type of quarterback wouldn’t work in college.
I didn’t have the right body type to run the spread offense.
I wouldn’t survive in the SEC with my style of play against the kind of defenses we would see.
I could help the team more at a different position.
I should be a tight end.
Or a fullback.
I read the articles, and they simply served as more fuel for all my workouts. I would show them, and I would stay a quarterback.
After all, I think I did okay in high school. My first summer at Florida, my mom and I went to pick up a trophy at an awards ceremony at the National Quarterback Club in Washington, DC. I won for high school, Vince Young for college, and Ben Roethlisberger for the pros. The trophy was enormous—it came up to my waist. Making matters worse, I couldn’t check it for the flight, so I had to carry that huge trophy through the airport and onto the flight. Embarrassing.
Chapter Ten
Getting My Feet Wet in the Swamp
In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
—1 THESSALONIANS 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 m
y 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.
The next week was Alabama, again at home. It was also the weekend of activities in support of the one hundredth anniversary of Florida Football Celebration Gala. We wore throwback uniforms and helmets. It was a big weekend, and I was heading into it still learning and accepting my role. Finally, I had gotten past the second-guessing about ch
oosing Florida over Alabama, and even the lack of a clearly defined role didn’t change that. As much as I loved it at Florida, it was hard not to think back to the difficulty I’d had choosing between the two schools. Though I was perfectly happy with the role I’d been playing for Florida, in all honesty there were times that first season when I wondered if I would have been playing more or even starting at ’Bama. Despite those normal “what if” thoughts that crept in from time to time, I had no regrets—none whatsoever—about my decision.
I did talk to Coach Mike Shula before and after the game. Of course, he was kind, as ever. He asked about my parents and the rest of the family and said again that he had a great time recruiting me and would always wish the very best for me. As always, he was great to be around.
It was a fun football game. The coaches had installed a play-action pass in the game plan for me that week, which I was looking forward to having a chance to run. Unfortunately, we started that game with Alabama’s scoring a defensive touchdown on a botched snap, so I didn’t go in as early as I might otherwise have, until we got a bit of rhythm going with Chris and the offense. But then I had a chance to go in a little while later. We had a fourth down and goal to go from the one yard line. They put me in, and although someone hit me at the line of scrimmage, I had such momentum that I carried him into the end zone with me. That was a sweet feeling, to do that at home against Alabama.
Later in the game we called that play-action pass they had specifically installed for me; I threw it down the sideline and completed it deep into their territory. We continued down the field and scored on that drive. I didn’t have many plays in that game, but the ones that I did have were pretty big. John Parker Wilson, Alabama’s quarterback, had a tough day, which helped us pull ahead. Once again, Reggie Nelson sealed the win with an interception late in the game, adding an exclamation point to the win, since he ran that pick all the way back for a touchdown.