Through My Eyes

by Tim Tebow

  When we got back to Gainesville, we had a leadership meeting and a team meeting. The leadership meeting was with Coach Meyer, Coach Mick, the coordinators, and some of the player-leaders. The defensive player sincerely apologized, and we went on our way with that behind us.

  Still, there was no denying that it had become a surprisingly tough season. If we weren’t winning in perfect fashion, then we were very dissatisfied. That’s a tough standard to live with. And I think that because we had such a high standard and such high expectations—Best Ever—we put unnecessary pressure on ourselves at times rather than just going out and playing the game. We’d been looking so hard for a way to motivate ourselves in the off-season, and that title of Best Ever seemed to get everyone motivated and thinking the right things. But in actuality, what we really needed to do was focus on doing whatever we could to get ready to win games. The labels could always come later.

  And honestly, we should have relaxed. We were a team stretched tight like a rubber band. We were probably starting to fray at the edges, and that was in no small part because of the pressure that we’d put on ourselves. I wish we had all taken a step back at some point, but charging ahead always seemed like the right thing—keep our focus, keep working harder. We needed to appreciate where we were, where we’d been, and who we were. But in that moment, this was a very tough thing to do.

  We pushed ahead and got ready for our annual skirmish in Jacksonville. Even though they had a lot of talent and a lot of good players, Georgia wasn’t as good as the year before. Of course, that didn’t stop them from talking their usual trash during pregame. They came out wearing these new uniforms with black helmets, and we just went to work on them. I threw two touchdown passes in the first quarter and then rushed for a touchdown in the second, breaking former Georgia Heisman Trophy winner Herschel Walker’s all-time SEC rushing touchdown mark. To do that against Georgia, in my hometown, made it that much better. I kept that ball and gave it to my dad for Christmas.

  After a first half like that, we knew we were in control, and we went on to beat them handily, 41–17. The only controversy came when Brandon Spikes tried to poke a guy in the eye. Coach Meyer suspended him for the first half of the next game, because what he did was wrong. He shouldn’t have done that, without question. Brandon would tell you that too.

  At the same time, though, people are so naive about what happens on the field. Spikes said he was retaliating for someone’s trying to do the same to him earlier in the game, and I believe him. After all, I had three occasions in that game as well when guys were trying to grab my neck or gouge my eyes. And you do not want to know what happens in piles in every game, with guys trying to grab someone in places that could cause some serious pain. It’s awful, but it’s not like Spikes invented this stuff.

  I agreed with the punishment as a way to hopefully deter this in the future—Spikes himself ended up agreeing to sit out the entire next game because of the outcry—but I think people were singling him out unfairly. Maybe we could get more pictures from piles or maybe get the referees to pay more attention—I’ll bet something like that happened to me at least forty times in my college career. A lot of good players that I played against unfortunately engaged in stuff like this.

  With Brandon out for our next game at Vandy, our concerns about being without one of our best players on defense were eased by the hope that we could repeat our solid victory over them from the previous year. While we didn’t put up the kind of numbers that our offense was used to, our defense had a stellar performance, as we beat them by a score of 27–3.

  There was no doubt we were better than they were, but as with some of the earlier games that season, our play was only good, not great. This was especially true on offense where we encountered a carefully designed game plan that they executed well. They had a solid cornerback, Myron Lewis, who stayed on Riley Cooper all game. They gambled that he could stay on Coop without help, and then they had the rest of their guys available to help on Hernandez and the rest of our offensive threats. Lewis played great, and that was a game when we missed some of the receiving talent—Caldwell, Murphy, and Harvin—that we’d lost the last few years to the NFL.

  People everywhere were looking for a reason to explain what was off about our offense, and often that reason was Percy Harvin’s absence. While there’s no doubt that not having Percy’s explosive ability hurt us, in my opinion, the person we missed most was Louis Murphy, who I’d always thought was publicly underappreciated. Murph was the guy that we were going to on third downs when we had to have it, because he was going to find a way to get open and beat man coverage and win the play. He and I were always on the same page. I could look at him a certain way and he’d know what I was thinking. He was also the hardest working receiver I’d ever played with. Other guys worked really hard, too, but every single day my freshman through junior years Louis would stay after practice, keep working, and then work more on his own.

  His drive was clearly exhibited on a play that year. While we were missing him, he was playing well for the Oakland Raiders. Zach Miller, the Raiders’ tight end, caught an eighty-six yard touchdown pass that never would have happened but for Louis’s hustle to get out in front of the play and block three different guys at different times. Three. I love that. That’s what I mean about Louis Murphy.

  As we prepared the next week, we continued to try and refine our offense and make improvements based on what each game was showing us. This was crucial because the next game was at South Carolina, and it was tough, as always. With the sense that we still could be playing better ringing in our ears, I was pleased that we were able to make that game one of the best games of the year. Very early in the game I hit Coop on a skinny post (almost a straight line pattern toward the goal post, almost down the exact center of the field) for a touchdown. Even though we didn’t score a lot that day, I did a good job of managing the options and audibles to get us into some good plays. There was even one fourth down and one, at their twenty-five yard line; I audibled to an option to an overload that wasn’t even in our game plan for the week. We were able to get the edge, and I pitched to Demps, who scored on it.

  In general, the game was going much as we’d hoped it would. Unlike the Vandy game, we were playing more like ourselves, executing better, and maintaining possession. Then, in the third quarter, I was running down the middle, when I cut it inside and tried to sidestep someone going low for the tackle and at the same time hurdle him. He hit my leg, and I flipped over him, landing on the back of my head. I got up and started walking toward the wrong sideline, when Coop grabbed me and pulled me back to the huddle. On that next play the offensive guys helped me call the play because I was still gathering myself as to exactly where I was.

  AP was always very alert and aware, so when I got to the sidelines after the drive, he asked if I was okay. I was dizzy but didn’t let on to him that I was anything but okay. We never told anyone, but Coop and the rest of the offense knew. It went away quickly and I was fine the rest of the game. We won, 24–14.

  After dispatching Florida International University, FSU was coming to town for my last game in the Swamp. Senior Day. It was an emotional week, between a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday and the knowledge that my last game was coming. I could see that Coach Meyer was pretty emotional that week, too, so I tried not to think about it too much, but we spoke of it some during the week leading up—our last game together in the Swamp. We talked around it a little, that we wouldn’t be able to spend as much time together in the future when I was no longer playing, but neither of us had the heart to bring it up directly.

  We had really great practices as a team that week, and the coaches’ speeches before the game made for a great atmosphere. It started with Vitamin Addazio. He’s one of the best at pregame speeches, anyway, which is why Coach Meyer nicknamed him Vitamin Addazio—because time with him gave us a charge. That day his talk was packed even fuller than usual, as he spoke about the seniors, what the group had accomplished, an
d our overall level of character. The other coaches spoke as well, and by the end we were all a mixture of being ready to play and never wanting it to end.

  By pregame warm-up time, I was throwing the football badly. I wouldn’t have said that I was so emotional that it was throwing me off, but I’d never had that happen before. I don’t know what happened. I asked David Nelson to come into the locker room so I could throw the ball to him in there to continue to get loose even after pregame.

  Eventually they began reading off the names of seniors, and one by one they’d run out onto the field. I hadn’t thought much about what I was going to do when they announced my name and I ran out on the field by myself—for that one last game. Other people did stuff when they got called. I figured I would just go out of the tunnel like every other game, give Coach a hug, and go win the game.

  When I was waiting in line—I was the last one— I was seeing the other guys go out, and they were getting hugs and everything. It got so emotional, and I really didn’t even think I was going to get emotional, but by the time it was my turn and I was up—I was already crying. I took off out of the tunnel, one last time, and reached Coach Meyer, who was also crying.

  So many lunches. So many times hanging out at his lake place near Gainesville. So many film sessions. So many discussions. So many Bible studies. So many plays called. Injuries and chipped teeth. So many moments that we would always remember. He would always be there in my life, but it was going to be different. I later heard that fans were getting emotional as well when they saw us—it was impossible for us not to be emotional, too. I’m not sure why I ever thought that I wouldn’t.

  That was pretty much the end that day for FSU. Game over.

  Somehow, the emotion of the moment and the extra throwing with David changed everything—when the game started, I began hitting all my receivers. I played my best game of the year against FSU. Probably because I was playing FSU. We killed them. We had great checks. They were covering our receivers really tight, but our guys were still able to create enough separation that I was able to put it on them. Anything and everything we wanted to do, we were doing on offense.

  Behind a great offensive line, I threw three touchdown passes, and ran for two more. I even fumbled late in the game, but for once I didn’t beat myself up too much about it. The fumble came at the end of a good play and we were killing them by that point. It still bothered me . . . but it was a really awesome play.

  It was good to beat them four times.

  After the game, we went to the Hilton, where we’d planned a surprise celebration for my mom’s birthday. All her friends and everybody in town were there, about a hundred of us in all, in what proved to be an incredibly happy occasion on an otherwise bittersweet day. As good as it felt to beat FSU and close out the regular season undefeated, it was hard to shake the knowledge that my time was coming to a close. Of course, before that could happen, we had to face the biggest test so far this year.

  The next week was the SEC Championship Game against Alabama. Carlos Dunlap got arrested during the week for driving under the influence of alcohol, and Coach Meyer understandably suspended him. I was furious with Carlos.

  I don’t get why anyone would take substances that would affect their thinking anyway, but how someone could be so reckless and thoughtless, not only toward himself, but also toward both innocent bystanders as well as his teammates as we prepared for such an important game, was beyond me.

  His loss really hurt us, both as a distraction during the week and during the game. Not only was he a good run stopper, but he was someone who could have brought pressure on the pass rush against their quarterback, Greg McElroy. As it turns out, we couldn’t do that all game. That hurt us.

  They started the game off better than we did. We fell behind, but after every lead we came back. Unfortunately, we simply couldn’t stop them. We trailed 12–10 in the second quarter and then 19–13 at the half. Looking back, I should have been more unsettled than I was at halftime, but I was certain we would come back to win. They were controlling the line of scrimmage on both sides of the ball, however, and were simply crisper than we were.

  As the second half began, they didn’t miss a beat, playing solid football that we couldn’t counter. They had a good plan for us defensively, by switching up their coverages and bracketing our receivers. On defense, we just couldn’t stop them enough. Or even at all, really. We ended up losing on a very long night, 32–13. On that night, they had the passion and focus and were the better team.

  After the game, I was, as you probably can imagine, overwhelmed by emotion and could not hold back the tears. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Things weren’t supposed to end here like this. The feeling I was faced with now was different from after our last loss—the Ole Miss game in 2008. Disappointing as that loss was, I knew I could still do everything in my power to change the course of that season, and I did. I’d approached this game the way I’d approached every game since the Ole Miss game: I’m going to do everything in my power to make the future what I want it to be. On this day it hadn’t been enough, and it was an incredibly hard thing to swallow. And worse, it was the end. There was no bouncing back, at least not for our National Championship chances.

  Before I could take the podium to address the media, Coach Saban came and found me. He was quite gracious. He told my family what a class act I was and how my determination last year had become the focal point for Alabama this season. As it turns out, while we were searching during the off-season for the motivation that would drive us to becoming the Best Ever, Coach Saban was telling his players that they had to match my determination. All year, Alabama was using my drive as their measuring stick. Nothing was going to shake off the pain of that loss, but I appreciated his comments that night more than he probably realized.

  That game is one that will always be with me. It’ll always hurt like all the St. Augustine losses while at Nease. To lose an SEC Championship Game, and an undefeated season, and a National Championship, all in one fell swoop . . . well that was tough. We believed we were the two best teams in the country and whichever one of us won that day would win the National Championship game.

  It ate at me, but that’s life. Sometimes it doesn’t break your way, yet the Lord has a plan for it all. I’d rather there be fair winds and following seas all the time in my life, but that’s not always what God has in mind for us. But either way, we are to honor Him and bring Him glory. Sometimes, people see more of your witness when you’re facing adversity than when everything is going your way. People expect you to be a good winner, but they know how agonizing it is to lose. When you are able to reflect God’s light during those times of great disappointment, it can have quite an impact. I try to keep that in mind.

  I know that somewhere people may be watching you or me, and how they see us handle the adversity that comes into our lives could make a difference in how they handle something they face in their lives.

  The next week, I went to Orlando for the Home Depot College Football Awards ceremony again. There was no pressure that year—I knew I wouldn’t win anything. We’d had a good year, but statistically other guys had been better.

  There was a function the night before the Home Depot Awards, and as I walked into the ESPN Club at Disney’s BoardWalk, I saw her outside the window, looking at us. We sat at our table—the exact same spot in the exact same restaurant from which Uncle Bill (Heavener) had called my sister Christy in 2007 to see if she could come to the Heisman ceremony two days later. This time, however, I was thinking about the girl outside the window. The way she was looking at me, pointing toward me.

  My dad tells me that he was trying to get my attention to introduce me to someone “important,” as he says it. I don’t recall that, because I was focused on someone else important. I asked Robby to go outside and bring the girl and her family through security, and I met her. Kelly Faughnan had been diagnosed with a brain tumor the prior year, and following surgery, she had asked her parents i
f they could come to Disney, not only for a vacation, but also to hopefully meet me at the Home Depot Awards. I was both flattered and shocked. Then, I had an idea: since I didn’t have a date for the following night at the awards ceremony, I asked her if she’d walk the red carpet and attend the event with me.

  She agreed, and Uncle Bill also offered to give Kelly and her family a tour of Full Sail University’s Orlando campus the next afternoon. It’s a fascinating place to see, training people in entertainment, media, and fine arts.

  They were late to their tour the next day and, in fact, ended up rescheduling it altogether. Turns out they were busy dress shopping for the event—I hadn’t even thought of that.

  We had a great night, talking, walking the red carpet together, and enjoying each other’s company through the event. The Lord provided everything—we walked the red carpet more slowly than anyone else, because the surgery had left her balance a little off, but at the same time, I enjoyed stopping for everyone who wanted something signed. It was the perfect speed for both.

  At the end of the evening, I turned to my mom and said that, sure enough, I didn’t win anything.

  She paused, and I could tell that I was going to get some of Mom’s wisdom.

  “You had the best night of all.”

  Right again, Mom. Right again.

  Going to the Heisman that weekend was fun. Although I had won the Campbell Award, the “Academic Heisman,” we knew I wouldn’t be winning the original Heisman that year. I knew I wasn’t going to win, so that took all the pressure off. I’m the only player who has ever been invited to three of them, but I’m still not entirely sure why they even invited me. At the same time, I wasn’t going to turn down another one of those fun New York family vacations that we’d gotten used to the past few years.

  While we were there, we got a chance to visit with Mark Ingram, and we adopted him into our family, since he’d made the trip by himself. At first he thought we were nuts—we showed him how we were breaking people’s hands on the sidewalks of Manhattan. Not literally breaking them, but breaking apart couples. For some reason, starting in 2007, Robby, Peter, and I were trying to see how many couples who were holding hands we could get to unclasp hands. I’m not sure why we did it, but we got some looks, followed by an occasional look of, “Wait. I think that was Tim Tebow who just made us let go . . .”