Through My Eyes

by Tim Tebow

  Not a good idea. At all. I had started out irritated with them and him, and now I was playing angry. The next play was a third down and sixteen. It was supposed to be a pass play, but nobody was open when I looked around, so I tucked the ball under my arm and ran for a long gain and a first down. Oh, and by the way, during the run I made FSU’s trash talking, face-mask slapping, and head-butting linebacker, Geno Hayes, miss.

  As much as I would never find myself rooting for FSU, that university and its football program have turned out some fine players and people through the years. People like running back Warrick Dunn and linebacker Derrick Brooks, both of whom I have the utmost respect for and have looked to as role models for how to live life. Warrick Dunn bought houses for families who needed them but couldn’t afford them. Derrick Brooks helped children, in so many ways, to be the best they could be and took them on trips to stimulate their thirst for learning. It’s hard for me to imagine either Derrick Brooks or Warrick Dunn saying or doing some of the things we experienced that day from some of those FSU players.

  Although the score was still 0–0, the game was over at that point. Trust me—we knew it was over. We just kept playing for the fun of it.

  We were driving, and on a play-action pass from their twenty-two yard line, I stood up after faking the handoff and saw that their defensive end had come free (unblocked) and had me in his sights. I saw him at the very last second and ducked, taking a quick look at him as he flew over my back, and then I spun out and ran it in for a touchdown. I vividly remember running right and then cutting back to the center of the field at the ten just to run over one of their defenders who was there. I did and finished the run into the end zone.

  It’s not often that I shy away from contact, and there are some games where I just like to go right at people. This was one of those games, and as I scored, I thought, This is going to be a great day.

  On defense, we were flying around and hitting people. We stopped them, got the ball back, and drove down the field. I hit Louis Murphy in stride in the back-right corner of the end zone—he did a great job getting a foot down and in the end zone for the score. That was probably one of my best passes that year—and Louis was a big part of that. We went up 14–3. Then it was a bit of a back-and-forth battle, except that our defense was keeping them out of the end zone, making their only option a string of field-goal attempts.

  On the next drive, I threw an out pass to Murphy, and although the ball got away from me a little, Murph made a slick, reaching, one-handed catch. We finished the drive and went up by a score of 21–6.

  In the second quarter we drove down the field again and ran a Mickey (our renamed Power) up the middle from the five yard line, and while I was stiff-arming one guy in the facemask at the one yard line, and with my right hand pressed against his facemask, another guy missed me and hit my right hand, pinning it between his and the other’s helmet. I felt something crack but only as I was getting up and celebrating a new lead: 28–6. I celebrated with the team but didn’t tell anyone about my hand.

  While we were on defense, AP came over to me, grabbed my hand, and saw my reaction. He wanted to examine my hand further, but he knew I wasn’t coming out of the game anyway, so instead he sprayed a cooling spray on it. That stuff was great—the marvels of modern medicine—as it kept me comfortable and able to stay in the game. Every time I’d come over to the sideline, AP would spray it again to give me relief. Percy and I were able to do whatever we wanted to on offense, and Louis Murphy, Bubba Caldwell, and our backs had good games as well. It was really cool. When I threw a touchdown pass to Bubba Caldwell to make it 38–12, Bubba threw the ball up into the crowd—farther it seemed than I had thrown it to him. I was able to finish the game, and we dominated it in all aspects, ending up scoring some more and eventually winning, 45–12.

  The last four minutes on the field, as we were running the clock out, the stands were full as the whole crowd was still there in full force and doing their thing—going just a little bit crazy. There were guys there dressed in Heisman shirts and carrying Heisman signs. The buzz seemed to be increasing about that award with each passing game. And the Florida State game was a big game to be able to play really well as a team and individually, as so many of us did—it was a wonderful feeling and night to enjoy.

  After the game we went to get an X-ray of my hand and found out that it was, in fact, a complete break. I asked AP what the stuff was that he’d been spraying on it and learned that it was some sort of antiseptic, like Bactine or something.

  “But what about what it did for the . . .”

  AP grinned. “Nope. No medical value for breaks at all.” And then he laughed.

  He laughed way too long as far as I was concerned. He really enjoyed that story—I suppose it was a bit of payback for my telling the trainer-induced sunburn story so many times.

  They threw a tiny wrap over my hand to keep the outside world from knowing it was broken. When they were done, we hopped into my dad’s Altima and drove over to the UF track where we had our traditional family tailgate gathering with the Heavener family, good friends of my parents from their college days. My family figured out that something was not right, however, and asked what happened to my hand; they were surprised to hear that I’d broken it in the second quarter.

  And so I had a night hanging out with friends and family. They kept asking if I’d rather go out and see what was going on in Gainesville that night and celebrate the big win. I preferred a quiet evening. For that quiet evening, we ended up hanging out in my buddies’ apartment, playing Catch Phrase until late, watching the West Coast college football games.

  The next morning a group of us headed to the Cracker Barrel at the intersection near I-75 and Archer Road in Gainesville for breakfast. There were probably eight of us—my two brothers, along with Robby’s friend Angel from Miami, a couple of other buddies, and me. The hostess was kind enough to seat us in the back, but before long, someone spotted us. I enjoy interacting with folks a bunch, but sometimes a little privacy is good, because otherwise it gets hard to do just simple things—like eat and talk with family and friends. This was one of those times, as people started coming up one at a time to get my autograph.

  People were bringing over napkins and whatever they could find. Then people started heading out into the gift area of the restaurant and coming back into the dining room with their bags of goodies and getting in the line that had now formed in that area of the restaurant. We spent the rest of breakfast signing.

  And by “we,” I mean all of us. It was funny actually. After a few minutes, somebody mistook Robby for our tight end, Tate Casey, and somebody else thought Angel was our punter, Eric Wilbur. For some reason, we never corrected the mistake, and before long, the other seven were signing as Gator players—that they weren’t.

  So . . . if you’ve got a signed University of Florida Cracker Barrel mug from three days after Thanksgiving 2007, I apologize. At least my signature on the mug is real.

  When the store sold out all their Gators stuff, the manager excitedly came over to tell me. The crowd died down, and we went to pay for our meal. But the manager pointed to a man in the parking lot and told us that he’d taken care of it.

  I ran out to him and thanked him and asked if he wanted anything signed. He didn’t—he just wanted to give something to us. He was very gracious and said it was his way of thanking us for being good role models for his grandchildren who were attending the University of Florida. I asked if he wouldn’t mind calling my father and telling him that, since it would earn me a dollar. My dad refused to pay me, saying that the character-compliment payment program of earlier in our lives had long ago expired. The character thing though—well, he fully expected that to continue.

  In fact, I had to run back inside and pay for my meal, even though it had already been paid for. I’m glad I realized that, otherwise, I was going to have Jeremy Foley, Florida’s athletic director, or Jamie McCloskey, UF’s associate athletic director for complian
ce, at my door for taking “improper benefits.”

  That was the first game that I remember being in a whirlwind of media interest for a lot of different reasons. It was, of course, the last game of the season before our bowl game. Postseason awards were now on everyone’s agenda in college football, and I was blessed to have been included in the consideration for a number of them. I had to go to Orlando for the Home Depot College Football Awards ceremony, and then on to New York the following day for the Heisman Trophy award ceremony.

  As I was flying around to different places for those events and also to do things for the university, Tennessee was preparing to play in the SEC Championship Game in Atlanta—the same Tennessee team we’d beaten 59–20. That was a bit frustrating to watch, as getting to the SEC Championship Game was our primary team goal every single year, and with a 5–3 conference record—with losses to Auburn, LSU, and Georgia—that wasn’t going to happen that year.

  The Heisman Trophy Award ceremony was unlike anything I’d experienced before. I’d never been to New York City, and, of course, our whole family went. We received the invitation on Wednesday, had to go to Orlando on Thursday for the Home Depot College Football Awards ceremony that day, and then the Heisman ceremony was on Saturday. I was excited that my parents, Robby, Peter, Katie and Gannon, and their daughter Abby would all be able to make it, but with that late notice, it didn’t look as though my sister Christy and her husband, Joey, would be able to attend since they were missionaries in Southeast Asia. Uncle Bill Heavener, who, I’m told, is not really my uncle, helped arrange extra tickets for the ceremony, and once he had them, he called Christy and Joey at 4:30 in the morning on Friday, asking if they’d like to come. There were only three flights per week from where they were, and the last one left at 7:30 that morning. Three hours off. There were two seats left on the flight, so Christy and Joey made it, along with Claire, their daughter, who was small enough to sit on their laps. Ironically, they beat my parents to New York.

  We had a great time there as a family. Immediately after arriving, we gathered and Dad prayed that we would be able to let our light shine during the ceremony and throughout the weekend, win or lose. It wouldn’t have been the same without my entire family, including Christy and Joey. Coach Howard and Coach Mick were there and Coach Meyer, too, who had brought his entire family. I certainly view them as part of my family as well. Our loud, gregarious group enjoyed our time with Colt Brennan, Darren McFadden, Chase Daniel, and their families—they were great.

  At one point on Saturday night at a reception before the presentation ceremony, we were at the Nokia Theater with twenty-seven prior Heisman Trophy winners. We were pinching ourselves; my dad turned to me and said, “Can you believe that we’re even here? And that these guys are actually talking . . . to us?”

  We had so much fun, and right before the ceremony started, Danny Wuerffel, who was there as a prior winner grabbed me, took me into a room in the back, and prayed with me. It was a calming, very special moment with someone I respected, someone who had taken an interest in me since I was in high school.

  It was a thrill for me—for all of us—to win. I’d spent a great deal of time thinking about what I wanted to say, about my family, my university, and my coaches and team, and my relationship with God. I received some positive comments afterward from a number of those in attendance about my acceptance speech—I don’t think they realized how long I’d been practicing, from my time sharing Christ as a youngster in the Philippines to that first public speaking class with Professor Webster at the University of Florida.

  That’s also the time when more details of the matters surrounding my birth began to come out. Until then, Mom and Dad would simply say that it was a tough pregnancy and that they, the family, and lots of friends were praying that she would give birth to a healthy son that they would raise as a preacher. In a piece that was to air on ESPN during the Heisman Trophy ceremony, the producer kept asking me questions about the circumstances surrounding my birth, and I told her all I knew—that my parents were told to terminate the pregnancy. She was fascinated with that bit of information, and that detail made it into the Heisman show. As it turned out, a huge viewing audience saw that show, and so the story of my birth ended up generating a great deal of additional interest. It provided a platform on national television for a pro-life message, and now it provides my mom with opportunities to speak to a variety of groups all over the country.

  The next morning, our group of family members who had gathered in New York to share in this moment, headed to the Tavern on the Green restaurant in Central Park on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, for brunch. We’ve seen over the years that, in a group setting, people always call on the minister who might be with them to pray, even though the Lord is thrilled to hear from any of us who call on Him. It’s like he or she becomes the designated pray-er, the expert.

  Our family’s approach is different. If we’re with a group, we always look for the person most likely to be uncomfortable praying in public and ask that person to pray for us. This time, it was my brother-in-law, Gannon Shepherd, who is married to my sister, Katie. Compared to us, he’s simply a newer Christian, so we tried to catch him off guard. Strange sense of family humor, I know. Gannon offered a nice prayer, and it was clear he knew he was not talking to us but to God, but when he asked that the Lord “let blessings rain down,” my brothers and I cracked up and spent the rest of the weekend calling out to him or in his presence, “Let it rain!” We were merciless.

  Maybe not our finest moment, but what are brothers-in-law for, anyway?

  Later that day, I was asked to sign memorabilia, along with the other Heisman winners who were in New York City for that weekend of festivities surrounding the Heisman Trophy Award ceremony. We found ourselves alone with Herschel Walker, the University of Georgia’s great running back. That was one of the most memorable times of my college career, spending time and listening to him reminisce about how he came to attend Georgia and describe some of the highlights of his long and spectacular college and professional football career.

  It was even more special for us because my dad had always held Herschel out as the weight-free model for me to aspire to be like in my exercise and weight-training programs, when I was still too young to lift weights: “Remember, Herschel Walker became the best player in America by doing push-ups and sit-ups, just like you are . . .” I can still hear him today.

  I’d heard people say that we had beaten Ohio State the year before because Troy Smith, their quarterback who had won the Heisman, had gained fifteen pounds on the banquet-speaking circuit afterward. I don’t know if that was true or not, but if it was, I was very motivated to not let anything like that happen to me even though it was very easy to see how it could. I had to take the eating easy, because my exercise regimen declined considerably with my travel. I ended up only practicing a little bit for the University of Michigan, the team we would face in the Capital One Bowl in Orlando, because of my broken hand. But I was still catching balls with my left hand and throwing them back with the same hand, of course, in practice.

  I was also doing the banquet circuit, however. I was a Walter Camp All-American, won the O’Brien Award (where we got to hang out with Troy Aikman), the Maxwell Award, the first of two ESPYs, and won the Sullivan Award as the best amateur athlete, which hadn’t been won by a football player since Peyton Manning ten years earlier. All were terrifically fun, and we made some great friendships. The Barbosas, who administered the Walter Camp Award, stayed in touch and ended up coming down to Gainesville for games the next season.

  We also received a letter from a family who said that their son had accepted Christ after watching my Heisman acceptance speech. That made all the hectic pace of the travel worth every minute.

  When we arrived in Orlando for the Capital One Bowl against Michigan, we had a pretty full schedule of events and appearances. Bowl games can be a lot of fun, but they also can wear you out, because the bowl organizers ask for so many app
earances. Some days are so tightly scheduled that you go from one appearance to another to another. Mix in a little practice and then wonder why at the end of the day you collapse exhausted in bed. And I still was having trouble practicing. Being hurt and not at full strength was frustrating.

  That year, the Bowl organizers had arranged for our entire team to go to a theme park two nights before the game, but I wasn’t going to go. I still get dizzy on roller coasters, so I figured it was a good night to stay in my room and get some much needed rest. Right before they left, though, Officer Stacy called me in my room and said that the head of the amusement park had been calling for the last hour trying to get me there. Officer Stacy didn’t want to put any pressure on me but was simply passing along their request.

  “They just want to meet you,” Stacy said. “They also want you to come in so they can actually advertise to the world and say that you’re there—that’s it.”

  I have a really hard time turning people down, which, depending on the situation, can either be a good or bad quality. And so I quickly got dressed and went to meet them, but I knew that if they asked me to get on a ride, I’d tell them I get motion sickness. Once I arrived, they were so excited that I was there that—you guessed it—they asked me to please try out their new ride, that it was awesome. I looked to Officer Stacy for help, and he tried, but I finally agreed to go for a ride on it. The head of security and the guy managing the ride that night went with me, and we skipped past all those waiting in line and ended up at the front of the line at the new roller coaster.

  Even worse was that because of being able to get to the front of the line, we were on the front row of the front car of the new roller coaster—all of which I feared was bound to bring on one of my dizzy spells.

  I knew this was going to be bad. Very bad. As we took off, I was gripping the bar tightly as the roller coaster began by not only taking us up, but also rolling around and around as it climbed. Over and over, around and around the new—and I’m sure fabulous—ride went for what had to be the longest roller-coaster ride ever. When we finally pulled in after enduring the ride, standing there was an array of folks sporting cameras, taking pictures, and shouting “Tebow . . . Tebow . . . Tebow.”