by Tim Tebow
Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.
I told my teammates gathered that Jesus promises to take on the weight of the world, so that we don’t have to. All we needed to do was follow Him—the yoke was used for leading cattle or oxen, plowing or pulling a cart. He would be responsible for the pressures we might have felt.
I then looked around the room and said, “Guys, we are going to win the National Championship tonight. And when we do, we are going to give so much honor and glory to Jesus Christ. It is going to be awesome.”
Somebody had a guitar, and for the next couple of hours, we just sang hymns and other worship songs. There were a lot of bad voices in that room, but none of us cared. The Bible says to “make a joyful noise to the LORD” (see Psalm 98:4), but it doesn’t say anything about a “good” noise—thankfully. You could feel the experience we just went through together, even moments later as we met up again in the lobby, having changed into suits and ties.
I walked up to Coach Meyer and told him that I had prayed about it, and that I was going to change the scripture on my eye black to John 3:16.
“You can’t. What are you thinking?” was his immediate response. “Philippians 4:13 is such a great verse,” he continued. We both knew that it was the same superstitious streak bubbling up in him that caused him to sit on the forty-fifth row at Florida Field when waiting for my announcement as to which university I was going to attend, three years earlier.
I repeated that I was changing it to John 3:16. He looked into my eyes and could tell that I knew it was the right thing to do. He paused. “Yeah, that’s a great one, too. Okay, that’ll be great!” And, excited about it, he bounded onto the bus.
After getting dressed in my uniform, I passed Coach Mullen in the locker room, and he immediately noticed the change.
“What’s that verse about?” he asked.
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.”
His jaw dropped. “Can you do that with every verse in the Bible? I just name one, and you quote it?”
I laughed. “Unfortunately, no.” Thanks to my parents, I had memorized a lot in my life, but not all of them. Of course, I stacked the deck—I made sure that I knew the ones I was writing under my eyes.
During pregame warm-ups, I walked over to Coach Meyer. He’s always so focused, but I figured I’d loosen things up a little.
“Hey, don’t you have like a million-dollar bonus if we win?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
“That seems fair. Meanwhile, I think I get an extra orange juice at training table if we win. How ’bout we just split that bonus?”
“I would if they’d let me.” He seemed sincere. The NCAA’s stance on paying players—or not paying them—seems unfair to me, with the preposterous amounts of money being made by schools, television, coaches, and the like. And the players?
Just a thought.
But a serious one—for serious consideration by serious people.
I love Christmas and gift-giving, but it was a pain to have to scrimp every winter to try to get enough together to buy decent presents for everyone in my family (another reason to not have a girlfriend—I couldn’t have afforded even one more Christmas present). In fact, that year, when we had a couple of days off before going to Miami for the National Championship Game, I went home and spent several hours in a pouring rain on Christmas Eve, weeding my mom’s garden. She loved that garden, but after years of chicken manure and Mr. Bell’s biddies (the young hens), those weeds were hard to keep up with. That was the best present I could afford to give her. And Mom made me feel as though it was the best present she could have received—whether or not it really was.
I guess I didn’t do a very good job on closing the deal for a championship-game bonus juice, and moments later, we were under way.
Neither team scored in the first quarter. Both sidelines could attribute it to nerves, but Oklahoma did some really nice things on defense. They had previously run a four-man front (four defensive linemen) during the season but switched to a three-man front for the game. It took us a little while to adjust, and in the meantime, I threw an interception early in the game. I had only thrown two all year, as we had done a really nice job taking care of the ball during the season. This was not a good time to change that.
In the second quarter, we jumped to an early lead, when I connected with Louis Murphy on a twenty yard touchdown pass to make it 7–0. Oklahoma quickly tied the score at 7–7, and then I was picked off again, deep in our territory. Frustrating, but I didn’t have time to get down on myself. It was a time to forget what was behind—but learn from it—and press on toward what was ahead.
Our defense made a great fourth-down goal-line stand, and then after our series we punted, and they drove down to our six yard line, at which point we picked off a pass from Sam Bradford. The two teams had led the nation in fewest turnovers during the season and now had combined for three in the first half. It was 7–7 at halftime.
Game on.
Thirty minutes for the rest of our lives.
After all of those hours, days, and months in the weight room, it was time for all of that to pay off. And it did.
I told Coach to give me the ball on a possession early in the third quarter and carried several times as we moved the ball down the field. At the one, I was so exhausted that they took me out and Percy Harvin, who actually turned out to have a hairline fracture and not just a sprain from that FSU game, scored on a direct snap and we led, 14–7.
After Oklahoma tied it, we took the lead with a short field goal, 17–14.
Oklahoma drove down the field looking to take the lead, but Ahmad Black picked off Sam Bradford at our twenty-four yard line. It was the fourth quarter; we needed to put the game away.
We mounted a drive with three critical plays, each with a different guy who had made huge plays for us all year.
On third and twelve, they came out in a perfect defense. I scrambled to my left and Riley Cooper kept moving after he ran his pattern, cutting right, and broke away as I released it across my body. He made the catch between the safeties for a twenty-yard gain. First down.
David Nelson made what may have been the biggest catch of the game on a second down and eleven, down the middle on a post between the safeties who were in a Cover Two (zone defense, with each safety responsible for his half of the field).
On third and six from their ten yard line, I hit Aaron Hernandez on a shovel pass to set up a first and goal.
Finally, I hit David Nelson again, on a jump pass from the four yard line, for the touchdown that put it away, 24–14.
Moments later, we had the ball back. As we were running out the clock, I thought an Oklahoma player gave me an extra shot in the pile, so I scrambled up and directed a Gator Chomp toward him with my arms. The referee appropriately flagged that—not my finest moment—and the only personal foul of my career—but it was worth it.
Game over.
After the final touchdown I walked over to Coach Meyer. He pulled off his headset, opened up his arms, gave me a great big hug, and said, “Atta boy. Great job. You finished. I love you.” It was a great feeling to hear him say that, after filling all the roles he had in my life as a coach, a friend, and a father figure.
As great as that was, how much greater will it feel when we get to heaven and Jesus takes off his headset, opens up His arms, gives us a big hug, and says, “Atta boy. Great job. You finished. I love you.” I talk to kids about that all the time—finishing strong. It’s great for football. You have to finish in football; you have to learn how to finish in the weight room, through the line, finishing a sprint; everything gets hard. Finish. Eventually some people are going to stop, some people are going to
quit, and some people are going to start going slower, but the people who can finish and finish at the same pace or stronger than when they started, those are the ones who are going to succeed; those are the ones who are going to be great. Those are the ones who are going to have an impact in this world and on the lives of others around them. How much more so in life to finish strong. For yourself. For the world. For others. For the God who created you.
In addition to living by this motto myself, I talk to prison inmates about it. I started visiting prisons my freshman year and have been to quite a few, even visiting death row. I really enjoy speaking with those guys—they are so hungry for people to interact with them and share anything at all that is encouraging. I tell them that they might have had a bad first, second, or third quarter, but they can still have a great fourth quarter. They can finish strong in life—wherever they are—and it starts by having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. When a person comes to know Christ, he not only has a home in heaven and is born into God’s family as His child, but he can also have hope—hope to salvage his remaining time on earth by finishing strong with purpose. And when they find that relationship, they not only assure themselves a place throughout eternity with their heavenly Father, but they also find that He still has a plan for them to finish life strong right here. Even though they’re in prison, even on death row, they can still finish this life stronger and still make a difference for themselves in eternity.
When I leave this world, I want to leave something behind that keeps on making a difference in people’s lives. When you finish strong in life and get to heaven, God’s going to say, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21, NIV).
I see it more in terms of rewards in heaven than just leaving a legacy on earth, because if one is not careful, focusing on a legacy could easily become material or “thing” focused. But a legacy that left eternal fingerprints on the lives of others would be a legacy to be remembered in this world and the next. The legacy God intended each of us to leave has to do with the impact our lives have had on the lives of others whom He calls us to serve. It has to do with the difference our lives make in the world—in our families, with friends, at work, at school, with our coaches and teammates, and all those others around us. Our legacy should be about building in the lives of all those others, doing something for others that will not only last in their lives here, but for eternity. That’s why building a school or a play room in a hospital is going to leave a legacy of lasting and eternal consequence, not just a name on a plaque or a stadium.
What I can leave behind: a life that is marked by always trying to do things the right way, building a foundation in others, something that lives beyond me, helps people, and, more important, causes them, in turn, to want to help other people. Finish strong and you help not just yourself; you help others.
• • •
That night we had a celebration party back at the hotel for family and friends. I was so exhausted that I ended up getting sick on the bus coming back from the game as well as at the party.
The next morning, after some rest, we were on the bus to head to the airport and fly back to Gainesville. Even though I was scheduled for surgery—I had been dinged on the third play of the year against Hawaii—I was excited to get back and celebrate with my friends at school. Coach Mullen and I sat together on the bus, reminiscing about all we had been through together and as a team. He was headed off to Mississippi State and would be missed as a coach and a friend.
It was a fun trip home.
And so we were the national champions. All that we had worked for in 2008 came to fruition in that moment, and we enjoyed it for a few days. In all honesty, I wasn’t particularly troubled by the BCS system at the time; after all, it worked to our benefit by putting us in the National Championship game. I can, however, certainly see the unfairness in it at times.
As someone who has always pushed for people to evaluate me on my merits and not any preconceived notions, I couldn’t help but feel for the kids at Coach Meyer’s old school, Utah. What else could they have possibly done? They were 13–0 with a decisive win over Alabama in the Sugar Bowl to close out their season.
Imagine for a moment if the NCAA implemented one of the many calls for including major college football in a playoff system or compensating players. How hard could those be to implement?
Just another thought.
Chapter Nineteen
Matching Their Intensity
Godliness actually is a means of great gain when accompanied by contentment.
—1 TIMOTHY 6:6
I’m told that ninety-four million people searched for John 3:16 on Google during and immediately following the National Championship Game. I knew that the verse would be seen by a ton of people, but that was beyond anything I would have imagined.
I thought and prayed about my upcoming decision a lot.
I thought I’d have a chance to finish strong in college. Since I’d always preached about finishing strong, I wanted to act on what I’d said. But then again, there were some who thought that maybe I should go pro after my junior year—once a college player has been in college for three years, he can choose to make himself eligible for the NFL draft. By leaving early, I wouldn’t risk a debilitating injury in my senior year, but I would risk the chance to be a part of one of the greatest college teams of all time and one of the greatest football recruiting classes of all time, especially if we could win a third National Championship to go with the ones in 2006 and 2008.
Between my dilemma of staying or going and Coach Mullen’s leaving Florida for Mississippi State, our celebration after the National Championship was short lived. There were a lot of question marks hanging in the air. I really didn’t want to leave Coach Meyer. He and I had become more like brothers than simply coach and player. I would text his children on a regular basis, and he and I had lunch together in his office almost every day during the season, just talking. That relationship was a major factor in my decision.
Although I had thought about it and prayed about it a great deal, Coach Meyer and I hadn’t spoken a word about it. We returned from the National Championship game the following day, Friday, and met at a restaurant on Newberry Road in Gainesville, Ballyhoo Grill, on Saturday, just down the street from the university.
It was Coach, my parents, and me. We talked and went through all the pros and cons of the decision. Coach made it clear that he wanted me to stay for selfish reasons, that he liked coaching me and hanging out in his office with me. He also thought that with one more season, my career might go down as one of the best in college history. I wasn’t sure about that, but I agreed that I loved my time with Coach and at Florida. Still, Coach Meyer tried to be objective and helpful, even offering to call people he knew in the NFL and try to get an informal gauge on my draft status.
At one point, my dad and Coach Meyer left the table, and my mom reminded me what we’d just heard about the incredible number of Google searches of John 3:16 that week just because I’d worn the verse on my eye black.
“Timmy, I doubt that people follow professional quarterbacks in the same way. Or if they do, there’s no guarantee that they’d ever follow you in the pros the way people follow you here.”
I nodded.
“Ninety-four million people on Google for John 3:16? Think of the influence you can keep having on kids and others if you stay another year,” she said.
Although there are plenty of popular professionals, what she said made sense to me—we were leaning that way anyway. We knew that the platform God had given me as the Florida quarterback was a big one; who knew what it might be next? Bigger? Smaller? I knew God would give me a platform wherever I was—he does that for all of us—but I wanted to make sure I didn’t give up the one He had already given, if I could continue to use it for His glory for another year.
There was more, though. For me, it all came back to finishing strong, to practicing what I’d been preaching. The thought that I’d be with Coac
h Meyer and that I could finish my college career strong, and that we’d make something extremely special out of it—win or lose—was very appealing, and I would graduate this upcoming December. There would be plenty of time to go and pursue my dream of playing quarterback in the NFL, if that’s what God had in mind. If not, He’d close that door, anyway.
I was also trying to figure out when I would have shoulder surgery, which I needed. Between workouts and the Combine, that might be challenging to schedule.
For now, I felt that I wanted to finish college strong, to do the best I could, and to be there for my teammates and Coach Meyer. To have a great senior year.
I didn’t tell Coach Meyer that yet, though, but asked if I could speak to my family for a bit. He left to drive back to his office, but he did notice that I didn’t take him up on his offer to call NFL coaches and scouts. Thirty minutes later, I called to ask him to meet me downstairs in the stadium. I figured that he knew, since he wasn’t seated in the stadium on the forty-fifth row, but I told him anyway that I was staying.
He and I celebrated and decided that I would announce it publicly the following day, at the National Championship celebration that the university was holding for us and the Gator Nation at Florida Field.
And Monday I had my shoulder surgery.
Once I’d decided to stay, I turned my attention to the season. After our experience with the 2007 season, we knew that we needed to fight complacency and continue to press on the accelerator to stay where we were while everyone else was chasing us.
While I’d made my decision to stay, not everyone was able to do the same. We lost several good players to graduation and the NFL draft including Percy Harvin and Louis Murphy. Brandon Spikes, however, chose to stay for his senior year, which made me happy.
The remaining players came in and tried to focus to prepare to repeat as national champs, but there were many distractions for a lot of the guys. For the most part, everybody was focused a lot like we were before the 2008 season, but it was always a problem finding just that right edge. You can tend to get complacent with the day in, day out stuff, because, frankly, you know you’re a good team and have a lot of good players. I mean, you’re the national champions, so you must be fairly talented to begin with, but you have to be on guard all the time so that complacency doesn’t begin to set in.