Through My Eyes (16 page)

The next week was Alabama, again at home. It was also the weekend of activities in support of the one hundredth anniversary of Florida Football Celebration Gala. We wore throwback uniforms and helmets. It was a big weekend, and I was heading into it still learning and accepting my role. Finally, I had gotten past the second-guessing about choosing Florida over Alabama, and even the lack of a clearly defined role didn’t change that. As much as I loved it at Florida, it was hard not to think back to the difficulty I’d had choosing between the two schools. Though I was perfectly happy with the role I’d been playing for Florida, in all honesty there were times that first season when I wondered if I would have been playing more or even starting at ’Bama. Despite those normal “what if” thoughts that crept in from time to time, I had no regrets—none whatsoever—about my decision.

I did talk to Coach Mike Shula before and after the game. Of course, he was kind, as ever. He asked about my parents and the rest of the family and said again that he had a great time recruiting me and would always wish the very best for me. As always, he was great to be around.

It was a fun football game. The coaches had installed a play-action pass in the game plan for me that week, which I was looking forward to having a chance to run. Unfortunately, we started that game with Alabama’s scoring a defensive touchdown on a botched snap, so I didn’t go in as early as I might otherwise have, until we got a bit of rhythm going with Chris and the offense. But then I had a chance to go in a little while later. We had a fourth down and goal to go from the one yard line. They put me in, and although someone hit me at the line of scrimmage, I had such momentum that I carried him into the end zone with me. That was a sweet feeling, to do that at home against Alabama.

Later in the game we called that play-action pass they had specifically installed for me; I threw it down the sideline and completed it deep into their territory. We continued down the field and scored on that drive. I didn’t have many plays in that game, but the ones that I did have were pretty big. John Parker Wilson, Alabama’s quarterback, had a tough day, which helped us pull ahead. Once again, Reggie Nelson sealed the win with an interception late in the game, adding an exclamation point to the win, since he ran that pick all the way back for a touchdown.

The following week, we faced our fourth straight SEC game, but thankfully it was our third in a row at home. We needed that—since we were facing LSU, who was ranked number nine in the country going into the game. We were ranked fifth, but we weren’t really focused on that. We were simply trying to play well each week. In addition, Gainesville was hosting ESPN’s GameDay coverage that week, which only added to the madness and led to a few interviews before the game about the two-quarterback situation Florida was using. Some people weren’t sure our offense would hold up. Louisiana State had an unbelievable defense with Glenn Dorsey, Tyson Jackson, LaRon Landry, and Chevis Jackson, all of whom went on to become NFL players. In fact, the first three were all taken within the first six picks of the NFL draft in the years they were eligible to be selected.

That week in practice our coaches once again put in a few special plays for me and showed us a play from their days at the University of Utah. In that play they put their bigger fullback in at quarterback in the shotgun, and after he took the snap, he stepped forward like he was going to run. Instead, he stepped back and tossed the ball to the back of the end zone to a receiver who had made a fake block at the line and then released into the back of the end zone for the pass. When they showed us tape of the play from a game, it had resulted in a score against the U.S. Air Force Academy.

When we ran it on the practice field, I ran it wrong the first time out of the box—when I got the ball, I faked the run by running almost all the way to the line of scrimmage, but then I stopped, jumped, and threw the ball to the receiver who had worked his way into the back of the end zone. It worked, and the coaches liked the way it turned out and decided to keep it in the game plan as a jump pass.

We also had a play-action pass that I repped and repped and repped, both in practice and then even on my own afterward, in which I ran all the way to the line of scrimmage then dropped back to throw downfield, where we had one receiver on a post and another on a wheel route.

Early in the LSU game, they put me in, and on my first play they had me counter to the left; I then jabbed to the right and came back to the left, got about eight yards downfield, and then met their safety—right in the hole. I hit him square and head-on and just started driving him downfield for about ten more yards while others joined to push the pile—both on offense and defense—and we ended up gaining another fifteen yards in the scrum. I spun out of it, released, and almost scored a touchdown, except a guy tripped me at the last second. That was actually one of my favorite plays at Florida. The next play they kept me in for had me run a counter right and then a little draw play; then they put Chris in, and he threw a swing pass and had fourth and goal from the one. They put me back in, and I ran a goal-line dive play to the right and met Luke Sanders in the hole. Luke was a great linebacker for LSU and had actually been my host player when I took my official visit to the school. I got the better of the meeting on the field, though, and we scored.

Throughout the first half the momentum and advantage kept swinging back and forth—first to us, then to them, and back again to us. We got the ball with a minute or so to go in the half and drove down the field to inside the ten yard line. They put me in for a run, and we took it down to the one. We called a time out, and Coach Meyer pulled me over and asked if I thought we should run the jump pass or not.

“Tim, you cannot come down with the ball. The half will run out.” His concern was that the clock would run out on us since we didn’t have any time-outs left and we wouldn’t be able to get the field-goal unit onto the field to set up to at least kick a field goal. “Got it?”

I nodded. I’m sure he could see my eyes blazing, ready to go in.

“All right, let’s run it. One more time: either throw a touchdown pass or throw it out of bounds.
Don’t get tackled, and don’t come down with the ball
.”

So we set up, snapped the ball, and ran the jump-pass play, but Tate Casey, my go-to receiver on the play, was held coming off the line of scrimmage and prevented from releasing to the back of the end zone. He finally broke free, but by that time I was gulping hard and double and triple clutching the ball in the air, trying to stay up just long enough for him to break free. I finally let it go at the last second, even though he was barely coming out of his break. He was stumbling, so I just lobbed it in the air to the spot close to where I was calculating he’d end up. Tate, who was falling over but trying to hold himself up long enough to make the play, reached out as the ball floated toward the ground and caught it in his lap for a touchdown.

That’s how the legend of the jump pass started.

Coming out of the locker room for the second half, we got the ball early in the third quarter in great field position, and when I was put in the game, we called the play-action pass, “Shift Swap Ace Right Run Pass 95 Zombie Stay Pistol H Cross.” I’d practiced saying it all week for obvious reasons.

I took the snap in the shotgun, ran toward the line of scrimmage, and then dropped back into the backfield with what seemed like the whole LSU defense coming toward me. It must have been the whole defense, because no one covered Louis Murphy, who later told me he was so wide open it made him nervous. He caught my pass, took two steps, and just fell into the end zone. No one was anywhere around him, so we always kidded him from then on that he couldn’t even run into the end zone, he could only fall in.

Late in the game they put me back in to try to run the clock out. We were running power right, power left. Counter right, counter left. We were successful in running, using up time on the clock and wearing down their defense and winning the game, 23–10.

There we stood after the first six games—undefeated. All the momentum was still behind us, and the potential out in front of us.

By grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

—E
PHESIANS 2:8–10

After the Louisiana State
football game, we went to Outback Steakhouse for dinner, a whole crowd of us—my parents and brothers and sisters and a whole group of friends who had come in for the game from all directions. Since it had been a day in which I accounted for all three of our touchdowns—my passing stats for the game were two-for-two for thirty-six yards and two touchdowns—I found myself to be pretty popular, at least at our table.

What my parents remember most about that scene that day was the time I took with a really sweet but shy little boy in the middle of the throng of well-wishing Gator family and fans. My parents have learned not to be surprised when I do something like that; I’ve always got time for little kids, the kind of time I remember many others, like Uncle Dick, taking with me when I was growing up. Kids can be fragile and are so impressionable. They need lots of encouragement to help them see their potential; and, besides that, they’re fun to be around. At times, I find I can be a lot more myself around them—a kid.

My dad reinforced that lesson that night, telling me, “You were on the GameDay set after the game, and they showed everyone in the country your jump pass, but your time with that little guy was the best play of the day.”

I suppose it could have been the pressure of the Auburn week and preparing for our game with them at their place on the Plains, but if anything, we took Auburn too lightly: they weren’t as good that year as their usual Auburn teams. The rest of the practice week was uneventful and pretty much the same as any week of preparation for an SEC game.

I was really looking forward to the game in Auburn. It was great being at Auburn. I loved their grass, their early-arriving fans, guys wearing ties to the games but still going crazy. I’m told the atmosphere was always electric for Florida games. That day was no exception.

My first play of the game I ran a counter-right and took it in for the score. I also learned a painful lesson on that play—as I scored, I eased up a bit even though I saw a guy coming at me from the side. I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep me out. He hit my shoulder just as I crossed the goal line, and the hit sprained my shoulder. It was a relatively mild sprain, but it was irritating, because I had brought it on by easing up.

The game went back and forth between us, and I only played on about three snaps, one of which was in the backfield simply as a decoy with Chris as the quarterback. It was the fewest number of plays I played in a game all year, which was a little bit frustrating, watching from the sidelines and feeling that I could help the team more. What made it worse was that we did not play well, and as a result we ended up losing to a team that we shouldn’t have, 27–17. And, to add insult to injury, on that one play, I’d hurt my right shoulder, which ended up nagging me throughout the rest of the year.

After the game, a reporter asked me how I would handle the loss. I gave them the verse that my parents had reminded us of ever since we were children, 1 Thessalonians 5:18:

“In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Six and one. Gimpy shoulder, and back searching as a team for that momentum again.

We had a bye that week, which gave us a chance to work on fundamentals. Also during the bye, I had a little more downtime than I’d had recently and had a chance to catch up with some friends.

Right before school started, I was the celebrity judge of a talent show along with Matt LaPorta, a UF baseball player; I think Coach Meyer’s wife, Shelley, may have been one too. This one girl, in addition to being really attractive, was talented and bright. Everything she did was awesome, and she had a hysterical sense of humor, so at the end of the night, I gave her a perfect score. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Matt asked her out that night before I could even think about it, but she wasn’t interested. I didn’t give her another thought.

The following week, Butchie Rowley, a good friend and fellow teammate, invited me to go to a movie with him and a girl he knew from high school. He said he was hoping to ask her out on a date, following this movie, and that maybe I’d want to go in case she didn’t seem interested; then the night wouldn’t be so awkward for them. Butchie is a guy who shares my principles of how I think Christ wants us to relate to women—with respect, first and foremost—and he was trying to go about it the right way. Still I declined, thinking that the night sounded plenty awkward for me in case the two of them hit it off.

He insisted, and I found myself as the third wheel as we went to pick her up. It was, of course, the girl from the pageant, and by the end of the evening, it was clear that she and Butchie would remain friends, but she and I clicked.

We went out for a couple of weeks, but it never got serious. My family tells me that I’m the pickiest person they’ve ever met, and that may be true. Between my mom and my sisters, who have such amazing character qualities it’s a tough standard for anyone else to meet. Plus, I’ve not yet been willing to devote time to make a relationship work.

Meanwhile the team tried to get refocused and headed to Jacksonville for our sixth SEC game in a row. I, of course, was looking forward to that week because it was the Florida–Georgia game. That was enough in and of itself, but Jacksonville was also my hometown and my parents’ first date was to the Florida–Georgia game. I had grown up going to that game every year, so I was excited to finally play in it, but nowhere near as excited as my dad was. He grew up in an era in which Georgia was the big rival, and he spoke about this game much in the same way that I’ve heard Coach Steve Spurrier was always focused on beating Georgia when he was coaching the Gators. Quite honestly, we were beating Georgia pretty regularly when I was growing up, so they weren’t nearly the archrival for my generation that Florida State became.

I remember going to Florida–Georgia games in the pouring rain and coming out of most of them pretty happy. Of course, there were a few of them that ended up very sad, like the year when Georgia quarterback Quincy Carter beat us. Several times we had a Pop Warner game beforehand, and we’d change in the car on the way to the Florida–Georgia game. As soon as the game was over, we’d head home, where my brothers and I would play in the backyard, mimicking the players we had just watched during the game.

My brother-in-law, Joey, went to Georgia. In fact, his entire family are Bulldogs, but—get this—most of the people at the church his dad pastors agreed to become Gator fans during the four years I played at Florida.

I was ready. I went into the game on the first drive and had a really good run on a 97 Q Power call, a quarterback run up the middle. I played on and off for the rest of the game, but the worst part of the game for me came in the second half when I was stood straight up on a tackle by a defender, and then got stripped of the ball by another player. My fumble was recovered by Georgia on our own ten yard line, and they scored a few plays later to cut our lead to 7. I was mad at myself, even though I’d been practicing good ball security—I just had several guys ripping on it while I was being stood up, and I didn’t hang on. There was no excuse for it, whether I thought I was doing well on good ball security or not; it wasn’t good enough. To me, and Coach Meyer, I’m sure, it was unacceptable. Very irritating. We hung on to win, 21–14 but didn’t play very well offensively that day.

The whole next week I worked on ball-security drills by myself after practice, trying to make sure what happened in the Georgia game that Saturday didn’t happen again, and I worked to hold on to the ball with as much force as I possibly could.

That next week I heard that the coaches debated playing me even more since we weren’t playing our best on offense, but it was decided, instead, to stick with the approach we’d followed so far. Chris Leak still started in our game at Vanderbilt, of course, but I did play a little more, and it went well, including a thirty-yard run. Early on, things were clicking on offense, even to the point where, after one touchdown, Butchie Rowley, our holder on extra points and field goals, after fumbling the snap for the extra point after a touchdown, just picked it up, looked into the end zone, and completed a pass for a two-point conversion.

After a while, though, we stopped moving the ball effectively, and they mounted a comeback, scoring thirteen unanswered points in the fourth quarter. Chris struggled, throwing three interceptions on the day, totally out of character for him. Toward the end of the game, having just scored, Vandy lined up for an onside kick, still sitting on the short end of a 25–19 score.

I was out there on the hands team, too, to make sure we recovered the onside attempt, and I was able to cover the kick along with Dallas Baker. It was similar in some ways to the Georgia game of the week before, in that we found a way to get an ugly win over a team that was overmatched.

The day after the game, Robby called. It was a call I knew could come at any time, but I still wasn’t ready for what he told me—it was so hard to hear that our beloved, faithful, and protective Otis had died. The limp had gotten better over time, but he had cancer and was thirteen years old. Because of football, I couldn’t go home to help bury him. He was a great dog, and a great friend. Robby buried him down by the lake on the farm. Otis was an incredibly tough loss, and it was even more difficult because I was away from home.

In general
it had been getting easier to be at school. Much like things on the field, school had also been going well. It was my first time away from home, but it had been a good experience. I was attending several churches and hadn’t settled into any particular one. I was staying busy, which probably helped with the transition.

When I came to the University of Florida, I was tested for my dyslexia and because of it, I was allowed time and a half to take all my exams. I used that extra time my freshman year, and carried a 4.0. I’m not sure how necessary it was, however, as I was usually able to read and process most of the questions in the allotted time; and having 50 percent additional time didn’t seem to make any answers that I didn’t know come to mind. In fact, it invariably made me late to my next class, so by the end of my freshman year, I’d quit taking the extra time I was allowed.

Football-wise,
we were in the middle of a tough streak. We were winning, but we weren’t playing very well, and so we weren’t really entertaining any serious thoughts that we were on our way to anything truly special that year. We were still focused on getting to the SEC Championship Game and winning that, but even in that commitment, I don’t think we were very confident or excited about any other opportunities—like the National Championship—which we hoped might be in our future. There were a number of one-loss teams logjammed around the country, and they were all playing pretty well. We were just barely hanging on in games and then ending up on the good side of the score—except for Auburn, of course. It just seemed as though it was going to take something special to really fire us up and get the juices flowing again.

When South Carolina and the “Old Ball Coach”—Steve Spurrier—visited the Swamp, things didn’t change much. As the game wore on, it became clear that the South Carolina game made it four in a row in which we still weren’t playing very well. Other than a second quarter touchdown, our hopes of moving the ball regularly against South Carolina’s man coverage just didn’t pan out like we’d expected, although Chris Leak had one of his best games of the year. He passed for 258 yards that day, and in that performance he passed Danny Wuerffel to become the all-time passing leader in Gators history. Still tied at seven early in the fourth quarter, the coaches called a play for me on third and short yardage to try and get the first down; it was a fake run, roll out, in which I was to hit fullback Billy Latsko in the flat near the side of the field. I overthrew him by about a foot too high and, despite that, Billy made a great effort to make the catch, but I had overthrown him by too much. We had to punt, which was very frustrating and indicative of the way the game was going.

South Carolina took the lead, 16–10, with eight minutes to go—we blocked the extra point—and with four minutes left we started what seemed like it could turn out to be our final drive of the game. We faced a fourth and two from our own end of the field. They might have been able to run the clock out if we didn’t get the first down to be able to keep the ball and keep the drive alive. We called 97 Q Power. For a brief moment I saw nothing but daylight on the play, but then a guy crashed into me from the side. Despite that, we gained enough for the first down and kept the ball. We kept moving down the field, and eventually we had the ball at South Carolina’s twelve yard line.

We needed a touchdown. Coach Mullen called a run play for me, and after I hit the hole right up the middle that our line had opened, I jump-stepped over their safety at the five yard line, like a hurdler, dashing in for the score. The extra point was good, and we led 17–16. South Carolina still had time to move the ball and try and get into field-goal range. And move the ball they did. They eventually got down to our thirty-one yard line and, facing a fourth down with a few seconds left in the game, lined up for a forty-eight-yard attempt for the win.

By that point, I was praying full-time. We were holding hands on the sidelines, and when Ryan Succop went in to set up to try the kick, I just closed my eyes. I didn’t want to watch; I was just praying and praying. I don’t think my prayers were particularly rational and well thought out, but more like:
if You let us win this game, I will do as much as I can to honor You.
Truth be told, I should, and hope I would, do the same thing if Succop hit it sixty-five yards dead-center-perfect to beat us. To be honest, in that moment, I don’t even know exactly what I was praying—I was just praying.