Another football season has begun. That means thrills for many and groans from others. This is the account of my first college football experience which includes a WInsday WIsdom spiritual application for all of us.
A capacity crowd filled the football stadium as my university team battled a Top Twenty opponent. The game was not going well, at least not for our offense. While that unit struggled, the defense competed valiantly to keep our team within fourteen points, aided by a blocked punt for our only score.
Four minutes remained in the game when our team received possession of the football, eighty yards from paydirt. Surprisingly, our offensive coordinator told me to go into the game as the new quarterback.
Why would I be described as the new quarterback and why might that be surprising? Glad you asked.
I was a new quarterback for the team because this was my first year on the varsity squad and new because I was the fifth string quarterback, behind the starter who quit the team three weeks earlier, behind the second stringer who broke his ankle the prior week, and behind the third and fourth quarterbacks who had been embarrassingly ineffective throughout this game.
This was a new quarterback experience for me as well. Not because of the game pressure, but because of my lack of a tightknit relationship with my head coach. We barely knew one another. His job demanded greater involvement with alumni public relations than player development. Dressed in his fedora and overcoat, his demeanor always appeared aloof and authoritative. I was a fifth string newcomer raised to respect authority, even from a distance. To my own detriment, I kept my distance.
I grew up a coach’s kid. My dad was my high school coach. Of course, we were close on and off the field. He was my hero, a future Hall of Fame coach. Our hearts competed with the same fervor; our minds thought of the same strategy and play calls.
We were side by side in the locker room, on the sidelines, at church, at home. Every night, he told me he loved me. He always believed in me while my college coach had no confidence in his new quarterback.
I used the word surprised because when the offensive coordinator relayed the call for me to go into the game. it was totally unexpected, by me and everyone else who knew anything about college football. Suddenly, I had to take off my headset, find my helmet, then quickly add some eye black so I would not look like a scared fifteen-year-old.
Surprised would also describe my head coach. Actually, he appeared shocked that I was standing beside him waiting for instructions. He glanced at me, then looked away and quickly returned to staring at me as if I were waiting for his postgame food order. Stunned, maybe even traumatized, that I asked what play to call, he reached for his hat and thought about throwing it to the ground. Have we come to this?
My surprised coach offered these fiery words of encouragement as he pushed me onto the playing surface for my first college gridiron experience, “Oh (expletive)! Go on in. You can’t possibly do any worse.”
Surprised would also describe the players huddled on the field who barely knew me. I had never taken a snap with the first team offense in a game or practice. I was known as the scout team quarterback who practiced on a different field against our first team defense. The senior starters had never shared the same dining table or the same huddle with me.
As I entered the huddle for my first collegiate participation, the captain of the team raised up, backed out of the huddle, stretched both arms out wide, and greeted my arrival with a screamed expletive. “Who the (blank) is this?”
I simply shrugged my shoulders and blurted out, “Surprise!”
Excited? Yes! Was I nervous? Of course not! I stepped into the huddle, called out the formation, the play, and the snap count. As our team moved into position, I surveyed the defense, seemingly scattered all over the field. Some were growling like dogs after new meat. Some were bent over in laughter.
I did not see my first pass launched on the big stage because I was quickly buried under an avalanche of big, mean, defensive linemen. The wide receiver came back to the huddle and muttered that the pass was too high. He went on to say the football landed in the second row of the stadium. I thought that was excessive commentary.
I had clear view of the second pass hitting a player right in the numbers on his chest, but he dropped it. The fans of both teams cheered, gasped, and moaned, all in one breath. It turned out to be a blessing. “Bad Hands Greene.” who could not hold onto the ball, was wearing a different colored jersey than my team. It should have been an interception, the pick six variety. Instead, my mother’s favorite quarterback lived to try again on third down.
Is uncontrollable shaking of one’s body any indication of nervousness? What about stammering so badly the captain had to translate the next play-call to the rest of the players? Yes, my confidence had been somewhat rattled by seeing our team managers packing up the equipment and our coaches throwing their headsets on the ground in disgust. The home fans began a mass exit from the stadium with thoughts of a lobster roll and brewski dancing in their heads.
As the legendary Yogi Berra so poignantly stated, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over!”
Our football game was still in progress. My third pass was a completion to our tight end along the right sidelines for a first down. The next pass found the halfback in the flat. He evaded a defender and advanced the ball to midfield.
Cheers, some genuine and some sarcastic, erupted from the remaining fans. Players were excited. Our captain shouted expletive-laced encouragement. Coaches repositioned their headsets. This was what I was created to do.
The subsequent play was a pass completion to our wide receiver running deep across the middle of the field until he was tackled at the twenty-yard line. There was still time to score, maybe even tie the game.
Suddenly, everything stopped. The opposing team called timeout. I imagine our brief success shocked their coaches. Who was this new guy hurling spirals down the field, marching his team toward the endzone? They definitely did not have a scouting report on this new quarterback.
If they paused to read info on this new quarterback in the game program, they would be surprised. They were chasing the wind. There was nothing about me in the publication. No picture. No bio. Nada. My name and number were buried somewhere in the team roster.
The next few minutes would become surreal and memorable, even more so than the previous ones. As the opponent sought to regain composure and reestablish their dominance, I did what every quarterback should do in any and every situation. Look cool. I think the current generation of players call it #swag, baller or dripped out. It is all about style. Look cool.
Look cool jogging onto the field for pregame warmups. Look cool in the huddle calling the play. Look cool standing in the pocket to throw a pass while the defense swarms around you. Look cool in success or adversity. Look cool especially during time-outs like this one, because the television camera might be on you.
I knew how to do “cool.” I was definitely dripped out. I practiced this since I was a kid. I had studied the great ones and imitated their movements until I perfected the look. I might not read directions for how to use Great Stuff, but I had quarterback cool stuck all over me.
I slowly unbuckled my chinstrap. I did the walk, the quarterback walk. All the great ones walk the same way. Brady. Namath. Montana. Aikman. Manning. Rodgers. Mahomes.
The cool quarterback walk. Head down, but eyes up. Helmet slightly lifted so the facemask is above the eyes. Shoulders slightly slouched forward. Shuffle toward the sidelines to talk with the coach. It should resemble more of a stroll than a walk. Not too fast, not too slow. Just chill, as if there are no concerns in the world.
With many hours in front of a mirror, I had it all down perfectly. Except, there was a concern. As I turned and looked at the sidelines, I could not find the coach. The whole scene was reminiscent of a Where’s Waldo puzzle.
Where was the coach? I could see a hundred excited crimson-clad teammates moving around. I saw hundreds of special guests with their sideline passes crowding the areas on both sides of the bench. I saw trainers, doctors, cheerleaders, and security personnel. No coach.
I immediately went into “cool protection” so I would not look like some spooked dog searching for his owner. That would not look cool.
I made a quick decision. I decided I would stroll directly down the twenty-yard line until I arrived at the sidelines and then turn right towards midfield. Surely, I would encounter the head coach somewhere along that path.
My head was steady, but my eyes kept moving as they scanned the masses along the way. It crossed my mind I might not recognize the coach since we were not extremely familiar with one another in this type of setting. As I crossed the forty-yard marker, an arm reached out and grabbed me from behind. It happened! I walked right past the coach! Video replays captured his stunned look as the new quarterback passed by oblivious to his presence and instructions.
Wow! Just a little embarrassing. And he thought I could not do any worse? I proved him wrong.
Later that night, I recounted the events of the game with my friends as I described the emotions of my first experience as a collegiate quarterback.
Suddenly, the irony and sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. The difference between the casual relationship with my college coach and the side-by-side one with my high school coaching dad mirrored my present spiritual condition.
In my prep years, I made the decision to stay side by side with God. No more running in circles chasing the wind. No more failures of searching for fleeting happiness in the imaginary world of not. No more free-falling. However, in college, I had become extremely casual toward God and my #1 Textbook.
I had not run a wheel off…yet; but I had drifted into the imaginary world of not, where I was NOT HAPPY with the coach and NOT HAPPY with my life and NOT HAPPY with my school and NOT HAPPY with others around me.
The sideline search turned out to be a much-needed spiritual wake-up call. I played in the game and the newspapers learned my name, but I forgot to love God and love others, first and most. That is the most important thing in life whether you are the star player in your world or the fifth-string flunky in someone else’s universe.
Where are you…really? Spiritually and emotionally? Are you side by side with God? Or are you on a casual spiritual jog through this life?
Do you need a spiritual wake-up alarm to check your direction, alignment, and progress?
This is no time to be casual about loving God and loving others. The #1 Textbook is the only reliable spiritual compass. It is relevant to every circumstance in your life. It is wisdom for every decision and every relationship. You can even look cool while reading it.
Stay side by side with God so you can Love others First and Most.
LOVE FIRST...LOVE MOST 