Finally Free (6 page)

All through summer camp my redshirt season, I looked lost in practice. Even through the regular season, I looked lost. But I'll never forget it: I was sitting in the film room before our bowl game—the Music City Bowl against Alabama—studying and watching film. That's when it clicked.

Cover 1, you can do
xyz
.

Cover 2, you can do
xyz
.

For each defense, I finally understood the things I could do. And that was pretty much the game. Up until then, it was all cloudy; I didn't understand. From that point forward, going against the scout team, I looked for two high safeties or a single-high safety, and I read the defense. From that point forward, all I had to do was learn the offense because I had already learned the defense.

Between my physical and mental maturation, coaches told me I started to look like the best scout-team player to ever play the game. I learned how to be a leader. I learned how to be the best. And it all came down to that day in the film room when it clicked.
It's when my raw abilities came to fruition because they were combined with a refined physical and mental game. It's when it started to show.

During the spring of my redshirt freshman season, I was competing with junior Dave Meyer for the starting quarterback position. I had an opportunity to lead the team come fall if I earned the position in spring practice. Virginia Tech could be
my
team. My college football dreams could become a reality.

I'll never forget the day I found out I was No. 1 on the depth chart.

I spent January, February, and March learning the offense. And on the first day of spring practice, I put everything I learned together. In the fall, I had felt lost. But now, the game felt easy.

Dave and I started out dead even. We each had two weeks with the first-string offense and two weeks with the second-string. We had full practices on Saturday and were evaluated on Sundays.

On one of those Saturdays, I remember going 8-for-10 with 133 passing yards. I specifically remember a touchdown pass I had to our tight end on a broken-arrow route against a cover 3 defense—which was rare. But because of my vision, I saw it in the drop back.

That night, I went home to Newport News. People don't realize this, but I used to get incredibly homesick. It felt so good to see my family, and when I came back for practice, I had completely forgotten about the depth chart. When I saw it, I got butterflies: “Vick—No. 1, Meyer—No. 2.” The first person I called was my mom.

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.