by Michael Vick
And instantly, my team started looking at me like I was a leader—their leader.
By the time it was my turn to play as a redshirt freshman in 1999, my skills had improved dramatically. I was faster than everyone, and quicker too. My athletic talent could still take over, but now I had a greater knowledge of the game from a cerebral perspective. I learned to make better decisions on each play, and how to make good decisions on broken plays as well.
My college debut came against James Madison on September 4, 1999, and I was literally unleashed to the college football world.
I had butterflies like never before. All week long, I was asking my teammates questions about what to expect:
“What’s it like being out there on the field?”
“What’s it like playing college football?”
This was my dream. I was nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” they told me.
“You’ll be all right.”
“You’re fast,” a teammate said. “You’re the fastest dude out there.
You’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I replied. “This is my first game. So what if you see me breaking thirty-yard runs in practice? That’s practice—”
“Yeah, but you’re practicing against a great Virginia Tech defense,” he said.
On the thirty-minute bus ride from the hotel to the game, I fell asleep. It was only a half hour, but it felt like a two-hour nap. We got to the stadium, and there were people everywhere. I can’t explain the way I felt.
I remember going to the locker room, getting changed, and standing in the tunnel repeating to myself, This is it. This is it. This is it.
I touched our good-luck charm, a rock. I’m gonna need it, I said to myself.
Standing in that tunnel, all I could think about was my mother. No matter what happened in that game, I knew it wouldn’t affect the way she felt about me. I was still going to be her baby; I was still going to get that kiss from her after the game. In her eyes, nothing would change about me. It helped settle my nerves.
We ended up getting the ball first. Of course, I thought to myself. Just my luck.
Jogging onto the field, I looked up to the sky. It was a bright, sunny day. Here we go, I said to myself. Here we go.
At that point, my biggest battle was mental. I knew I had the abilities. I know what to do, I told myself. I’ve studied James Madison to a T. I know what they’re going to try to do.
Before I knew it, I was in the huddle. The first play I called was a pass play—deep comebacks against a single high, meaning you can throw to the comebacks outside. There was a guy wide open downfield. But I was so nervous, instead of throwing to the guy downfield, I threw a flat route. And not just that, but I threw it into the dirt.
The whole stadium grew silent. They saw how wide open the receiver was. They saw how I messed up.
After punting on our first drive, we turned it around. I scored on a 3-yard run on our second possession. On our third drive, I called a quarterback draw on second and six. The play was called “Bronco Joe.” I took a three-step drop, then went up the middle. Next thing I knew, I was by myself, running into the end zone for a 54-yard touchdown.
This is kind of cool, I said to myself. I just, like, ran past everybody.
In the second quarter we scored 12 more points, which included a 60-yard pass on one of our drives and a 7-yard touchdown run with less than nine minutes to go. Unfortunately, I never returned for the second half because I injured myself when I jumped over a guy into the end zone and fell awkwardly—spraining my ankle. (The injury also sidelined me for the next game.) But I threw for 110 yards and ran for three touchdowns in the James Madison game, a 47-0 victory. Fans said it was the best half of football they’d ever seen. And it had the whole city of Blacksburg buzzing.
My college career was really ignited in our third game that season against Clemson—when I returned from my injury. Statistically, it wasn’t one of my better games. I had three interceptions—the only time in my college career. Clemson was different from James Madison. But a particular play helped my college career explode.
It was third down, 14-11 in our favor, with little time left in the fourth quarter, and Clemson had just scored 11 unanswered points. With their momentum, they would probably tie the game with a field goal or win with a touchdown if we didn’t convert a first down. I stepped up to the line of scrimmage. Scanning the field, I saw my tight end against a cover 3 defense and an out-of-place linebacker. Typically, throwing to your tight end against that type of defense is a no-no. But I saw it, went against my rules, made the throw with confidence, and completed a first down. We ended up scoring 17 points to close out the game and win 31-11.
My coach later told me, “A quarterback who was rattled, scared, or not sure of himself never would have made that play in a clutch moment.”
Our game at Rutgers in week five became a considerable breakout game that propelled me into the Heisman Trophy conversation, and our biggest win in 1999 came in the regular season finale against No. 22-ranked Boston College.
I’ll never forget the way the clouds looked that day against Boston College. It was raining, it was cloudy, but the sun was peeking through. The game meant everything to us because it was an opportunity to secure our spot in the BCS National Championship.
I went out and played an almost perfect game. I passed for three touchdowns and nearly 300 yards, and rushed for 70-plus yards and another score in a 38-14 victory. I’ll never forget my teammates carrying me off the field after we had accomplished our goal, which was to go 11-0 and earn the right to play for a national championship. My teammates and I put ourselves in a position to take the team where we wanted to go.
We were headed to the national championship game.
I was flying. In high school, perhaps I was still learning the purpose behind my wings. I knew I had them. But there were others who were better. There were others, like Ronald Curry, who had seemingly more promising futures. But after redshirting my first year at Virginia Tech—working, building, learning how to utilize my skills—I was prepared for takeoff. Now, I was in flight. And all I wanted to do was fly higher … and higher … and higher.
In a way, the year was a landmark season for Virginia Tech—putting the program, the school, and me on the national map. I had one of the best seasons of any player in the country, completing 58 percent of my passes for 2,000-plus yards and thirteen touchdowns, and also rushing for nearly 700 yards and nine more scores in eleven games.
My life was changing. I received awards—a lot of awards. I was mentioned in the national press. My highlights were on ESPN. My name was everywhere. Two years before, I was second to Ronald Curry. Not now. All of the big dreams Coach Reamon encouraged me to dream became realities.
On the other side of things—the personal side—it was difficult. I wasn’t used to signing autographs. I would walk around on campus and people would scream my name—then approach me requesting my signature. When I walked into class, everyone stared at me and wanted to talk to me. Everyone wanted to be my friend. Everyone wanted a piece of me. I had no idea that good performances on the field could bring about friendships and fame.
When I was a kid watching the NFL on television, I saw the fame and fortune of guys like Emmitt Smith, Steve Young, Troy Aikman, and Brett Favre, but I didn’t know what came along with it. I solely dreamed of being a good football player. That’s all. I didn’t understand the concept of signing autographs—didn’t even think about it. You can’t prepare for that. And it was overwhelming.
In December I finished third in the Heisman Trophy voting with 319 points, behind winner Ron Dayne (Wisconsin running back, 2,042 points) and Joe Hamilton (Georgia Tech quarterback, 994 points). I finished just ahead of NFL peers Drew Brees (Purdue quarterback, 308 points) and Chad Pennington (Marshall quarterback, 247 points).
After the new year I traveled to New Orleans with Tech to play Florida State in the 2000 BCS Nokia Sugar Bowl, the
year’s national championship game between the top two teams in the BCS poll. I was only nineteen years old on the biggest stage of college football, and more than eighteen million people were watching.
Walking onto the field was a surreal feeling. Ever since I was a kid, I had dreamed of that moment and tried to imagine that feeling. To be playing in that game and living in that moment was almost incomprehensible. I remember taking the first snap and realizing, This is my dream—playing in a national championship.
The first five minutes of the game, I didn’t even know where I was. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. And after the first few possessions, I had a headache because the crowd was so loud. I couldn’t hear my teammates and had to scream at the top of my lungs in the huddle. I eventually settled down and zoned in on the task at hand.
We started off slow and trailed 28-7 late in the second quarter, but we clawed back and took a 29-28 lead at the start of the fourth. In the fourth, however, Florida State scored 18 unanswered points to win the title, 49-26. I played well, passing for over 200 yards and a touchdown and rushing for nearly 100 yards and a touchdown, but I would trade playing well for a win or title any day.
After the game, I reflected on what it took to get there—how my teammates and I had gone undefeated to put Virginia Tech football on the map; yet in the end, we lost. I was upset, but I was also confident that the following year, we’d once again have a chance to win. I had to be happy with what we accomplished—an 11-1 season, the best in Hokies history.
After the season, ESPN invited me to the 2000 ESPYs—the annual gala honoring excellence in sports—in Las Vegas, Nevada. It seemed so far from Ridley Park’s unit 667 in Newport News. ESPN named me the National Player of the Year for college football.
I never really thought I would be on that big a stage. I took my mom with me, and the experience meant a lot to us. It was a chance for me to take her somewhere nice like she did so many times for me when I was a kid. It gave us some quality time. She had the chance to meet many famous athletes, like Peyton Manning and Michael Jordan. It was awesome for us to experience the event after everything we’d gone through in life—how hard she had worked to take care of our family and how hard I had worked to get where I was. I thought to myself, You’re almost there, but you still have a lot of work to do to achieve greatness.
My redshirt freshman season in 1999 catapulted me to a level far beyond what I had anticipated, and it raised expectations for my sophomore season that would be difficult to reach.
The loss in the Sugar Bowl left me hungry to accomplish more as a sophomore. I worked extremely hard during spring practices. I also spent a lot of time in the weight room, which helped me get stronger and even faster (I ran a 4.25 forty-yard dash in spring testing, the second-fastest time in school history). One memorable moment in the weight room was in June, just prior to the beginning of preseason camp. I was lifting, and some of my teammates came in and said that they had seen on SportsCenter that I was selected by the Colorado Rockies as the 887th overall pick of the Major League Baseball draft. I didn’t really believe them at first; I couldn’t believe someone was interested in me playing baseball. But when I found out it was true, I thought it was pretty cool. I hadn’t even played baseball since I was in the eighth grade, other than practicing a little with the team at Warwick during my senior year of high school. The whole situation just showed that people recognized my athleticism.
As the 2000 season approached, it seemed as though I was on the cover of every magazine in the country. I was gaining popularity and receiving all types of national exposure. There was so much hype around me and the Hokies, and we had a great team returning with an explosive offense. We were loaded with Lee Suggs at running back, along with wide receivers André Davis and my former Warwick High teammate, Andrae Harrison. The only thing I wanted was to achieve at the highest level. I really wanted to win a national championship, but I also desired the Heisman Trophy so I could bring it back to my Newport News neighborhood.
I don’t know if I can fully explain the Heisman hype and the pressure that came with it. The Department of Athletics at Virginia Tech created a special website tracking my performances and the Heisman race. They developed a huge PR campaign supporting me, which I was grateful for, but I can’t say that it didn’t become a distraction and add pressure.
Our season started well. We won our first eight games and climbed to No. 2 in the AP and, most importantly, BCS polls. We were getting close to playing for the national title again. Late in the season against unranked Pittsburgh, however, I suffered a high-ankle sprain that limited me the remainder of the season. I sprained my ankle during the second quarter, trying to stay back and make a big play when I could have easily made it downfield for a shorter gain. My team stepped up big-time and won the game, 37-34.
The injury ended up eliminating me from the Heisman race. I wanted to win the Heisman, not for myself, but for Newport News. Bringing that trophy back to my city was the dream that fueled me. I was just a kid with dreams, who grew up in poverty like so many others there. I wanted to bring it back. I wanted to be an encouragement to others in the city that I loved. The opportunity was right there, and something that I couldn’t control—an injury—prevented me from seizing it.
I’m convinced that the injury happened because I lost sight of what was important. I was consumed with the Heisman race, and my focus was on me. I was still concerned with the team, but I also entered each game knowing that I had to produce stats and be efficient. I put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to play above expectations, lead my team, and win the Heisman Trophy. I was at a point where the pressure affected my play; I was playing hesitantly and indecisively and was afraid to make mistakes.
The injury severely limited me in the biggest game of the year—November 4, 2000, against Miami—when we were ranked No. 2 in the country and they were No. 3. The winner would most likely take the Big East crown and potentially the conference’s BCS berth in the national championship game: the 2001 FedEx Orange Bowl.
I was day-to-day all week prior, spent a good deal of time in a special Fortis Brace, and was a game-time decision. I didn’t start the game, but attempted to play after we fell behind. I lasted only nineteen snaps. I gave it my best shot and tried to be there for my team, but I just couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t take the pain-killing shot, which would’ve numbed me, potentially allowing me to play some more (I’m afraid of needles). Plus, I felt it would be selfish to go out and play. I thought I would be hurting my teammates more than helping them.
All I could do in the second half was watch as we went on to lose 41-21, essentially ending our national title hopes. It was excruciating being unable to play in a game that I still believe we would have won if I’d been healthy. Every year, it seemed, an injury slowed me down.
After the loss, the Heisman talk mostly ended. Though that was disappointing, it may have helped me play better in the final game of the season and our bowl game. It was like the weight of the whole world was lifted off my shoulders. We beat Virginia 42-21 to close out the regular season and then defeated Clemson 41-20 in the Gator Bowl, where I was named the game’s MVP.
We again finished 11-1 and were ranked No. 6 and No. 5 nationally in the final AP and BCS polls, respectively. I finished the season with a 54.2 completion percentage, passing for about 1,500 yards and nine touchdowns while rushing for nearly 700 yards and nine touchdowns.
As for the Heisman, I finished sixth in the voting. Chris Weinke, the quarterback at Florida State, won the honor. Future NFL players Drew Brees and LaDainian Tomlinson finished third and fourth in the voting.
Though I had two years of college eligibility remaining, I began weighing the possibility of turning pro, especially since there was word that I could be the first overall pick in the NFL draft—something that had never before happened for an African-American quarterback.
It was a tough decision. I had become so accustomed to living a balanced life at Virginia Tech. I was h
aving a blast; I was on my own, in control of my life and career, and in charge of the offense at one of the top collegiate programs in the country, which had contended for the national championship the last two seasons.
I knew moving to the NFL would mean greater responsibility. Even though there would be no schoolwork involved, there would be more of a need to dedicate myself to perfecting my craft on the football field, and there would be more pressure to win games. I knew all the things that came along with playing professional football; I just didn’t know if I was responsible enough to do those things, and if I was ready for it. But as time went on and I saw the opportunity present itself, along with the potential to go No. 1, it seemed that everything I wanted was right there in front of me.
But it was hard because I would have to tell my coaches and my mom that I was going to leave Virginia Tech. When I finally made my decision, I had an emotional conversation with Coach Beamer. He called me and told me, “Regardless of what you do, I’m going to support you … to the very last day.” Coach was crying on the phone, and I had tears in my eyes. I told him, “Coach, I’m leaving. I have to do it, not only for myself but for my family.”
It was one of the toughest decisions I’d had to make at that point in my life. I was used to being around Coach Beamer and my teammates—it was comfortable. The Virginia Tech program provided a family atmosphere, and they had given me the opportunity to come and run the program. They put all their trust in me. Virginia Tech meant a great deal to me, so leaving was a very hard thing to do.
It was difficult to leave Tech and turn pro because I had not yet received my college degree, which was important to me and my family—especially my mother. I left school with fewer than forty credit hours remaining (I think thirty-six, to be exact) to qualify for graduation. I promised my mom I would eventually go back to school to complete my studies and earn my degree.