Because I committed to Clemson so far in advance of graduating from high school, my decision stirred up a bit of anxiety and, to be blunt, outright gossip.
Deshaun Watson says he’s going to Clemson, but what is he doing spending a weekend at Auburn? How many other schools are trying to lure him away, tempting him to back off from his dedication? There must be some school out there that’s making a better offer!
That sort of chatter continued even after I began my Clemson career and we captured a national championship. After we won the national title, I remember seeing a blog that repeatedly asked how I had ended up at Clemson. Where were the Georgia Bulldogs when this kid was available? How about in-state rival South Carolina? Who else was asleep at the switch?
It’s all kind of funny now, but the experience showed me what dedication is all about in an environment of doubt and speculation. Here, dedication meant blocking out a lot of the static and noise, sticking to my promise, and focusing on what I had to do to best follow through on my decision.
DEDICATION MEANT BLOCKING OUT A LOT OF THE STATIC AND NOISE, STICKING TO MY PROMISE, AND FOCUSING ON WHAT I HAD TO DO TO BEST FOLLOW THROUGH ON MY DECISION.
In actuality, my dedication to Clemson never wavered in the least. For one thing, it’s not as though I was choosing a school whose program was completely in the tank. Over its history, Clemson has had many ACC championships as well as successful bowl game appearances. Additionally, part of the appeal for me was Clemson’s dedication to develop the program with me as its centerpiece—I would be lying if I said that didn’t hold a lot of sway.
This situation would also give me tremendous opportunities to work on my leadership skills. Had I gone to a different program, I would have likely had to share leadership with more established players. While I would have been perfectly happy to do that, I recognized that Clemson would offer me a more complete leadership role. That was something I wanted to embrace.
But, as I mentioned in the previous chapter, in talking with Coach Dabo Swinney, I could also sense his level of dedication. I could see the commitment in his eyes, the way he looked at me when he outlined what he intended to do and just how he would make it happen. I trusted that he was going to follow through. That was the sort of servant leader I aspired to be—someone who always kept his word. It was one of the most valuable lessons of leadership I took away from my decision to commit to Clemson: the absolute importance of keeping your word.
One of the first people I met after arriving at the Clemson campus never played football. But our first meeting turned out to be the beginning of a relationship as valuable as any I’ve had on the field.
Maria Herbst was and, as I write this, still is an academic advisor at Clemson. With a PhD, she’s earned the privilege of being referred to as Dr. Herbst, but I call her Mama Maria.
Just as Coach Perry at Gainesville High made me into far more of a quarterback than I had been, Mama Maria made me into more of a student than I had ever been—and at times that wasn’t a particularly easy job.
Mama Maria was my tutor at Clemson from the moment I arrived on campus until three years later when I graduated. When we first met, I told her that I planned to graduate from Clemson a year early. I didn’t want to be one of those NFL players who leaves school for the pros only to wait twenty years or more to go back and complete his degree—or, worse, one who never bothers to go back at all. I had promised my mom I would graduate, and I wasn’t about to pursue that goal halfheartedly.
MY MOM HAD IMPRESSED ON ME THE VALUE OF AN EDUCATION. SHE INSISTED THAT IT WOULD GIVE ME OPTIONS, AND, UNLIKE MANY OTHER THINGS IN LIFE, IT WAS PERMANENT.
My mom had impressed on me the value of an education. She insisted that it would give me options, and, unlike many other things in life, it was permanent.
“Deshaun,” she said, “you can never take away someone’s education. As great a football player as you are, that’s going to end eventually. But once you have an education, that’s a part of you for the rest of your life. Never forget that.”
Believe me, I never have.
I also wanted to challenge myself. It would have been less stressful to stay in school for the usual four years, but I wanted a difficult goal in front of me. I wanted to complete my education and move to the next step in my life as quickly and successfully as possible.
When Mama Maria heard of my plans to graduate in less than four years, she chuckled to herself. She was seated behind her desk in a small office space in Vickery Hall that was made bigger by Mama Maria’s attention to organization. Obviously, she thought I was making some sort of joke. But seeing that I was dead serious, she quickly began offering advice.
“You’re going to have to put in a heck of a lot of work to do that,” she said in the forceful tone she would use when making an important point. As if I needed to be reminded, she told me that playing a significant role on a Division 1 football team was time-consuming enough, let alone trying to earn my diploma at a faster-than-usual pace. “Many people who don’t play football can’t find the time and commitment to graduate in three years,” she added.
I was beginning to get a feel for what Mama Maria was all about. Above all, like Coach Swinney, she was straightforward. She wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything about the challenge ahead of me. But she wasn’t trying to discourage me. She was just being realistic and making sure that I knew full well what I would be up against. Once she realized that I was serious, she was completely on board. You could see it in the firm look of her eyes and the slight curl of a grin at the corner of her mouth. She was poised and ready to help in any way possible.
Once she knew I was committed, she was too.
So, I promised Mama Maria that I would, in fact, graduate in just three years, like I’d promised my mom. She agreed, and then we shook on it, my enormous hand cupping her significantly smaller one.
She didn’t waste any time getting down to business. “Okay,” she declared as we shook hands, “but I’m going to be on your rear like I’m your mama. Every single day. There will be no letup and no excuses. You can complain, but keep it to a minimum. We don’t have time to waste on bellyaching.”
I knew that Mama Maria meant every word. It was an important lesson for me. When you’re taking on a challenge, especially a difficult one, it’s critical to make certain everyone involved knows what will be expected of them. This was going to be far from a stroll in the park, and Mama Maria wanted to be sure I genuinely understood that.
As she had promised, Mama Maria stayed on my rear for the three years I spent at Clemson. She quickly learned how to connect with me. She saw how motivated and dedicated I was at heart; when I was tempted to take the easy way out—and there were times when I was sorely tempted to do just that—she knew exactly what to say. For instance, she knew how to push my competitive buttons when my commitment faltered.
WHEN YOU’RE TAKING ON A CHALLENGE, ESPECIALLY A DIFFICULT ONE, IT’S CRITICAL TO MAKE CERTAIN EVERYONE INVOLVED KNOWS WHAT WILL BE EXPECTED OF THEM.
I’d say something like, “I’m not gonna do this. It’s good enough. I’m gonna take the L (loss) on that one.”
Mama Maria would lock eyes with me. “Yeah,” she’d say with a slight grin on her face, “I don’t believe you’re ever gonna take an L.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll do it.”
She even got on me when I was away from school to accept an award. “At some point you just have to say no,” she said in a teasing, scolding voice. “Don’t you have enough awards already?” That made me laugh, but Mama Maria was making a point. As wonderful as awards and honors are, they shouldn’t interfere with the task at hand. Commitment meant focusing on what was of genuine importance.
As the school year got underway, I quickly learned where things were on the Clemson campus: my classes, dining halls, libraries, most every place I would need to be for the next several years. I still recall the first time I walked onto the field at Memorial Stadium, also known as “Death Valley.” (Visiting teams gave the stadium that nickname, but it was also built close to a cemetery.) The stands seemed to rise all the way to the sky. Memorial Stadium has a capacity of more than eighty thousand—about double the population of the town I grew up in. I’ll admit, it was daunting, particularly given my role as the would-be leader of the team those thousands of fans cheered for. Those first moments brought the challenge I was facing into perspective.
MY FOOTBALL CAREER AT CLEMSON BEGAN FROM A VIEWPOINT THAT I WAS FRANKLY UNACCUSTOMED TO: THE SIDELINES.
My football career at Clemson began from a viewpoint that I was frankly unaccustomed to: the sidelines. However intent Coach Swinney was on building the team around me, he still had a solid starting quarterback in senior Cole Stoudt. With Stoudt leading the team, I was determined to make the most of my backup role by learning as much as I possibly could. I studied, watched those around me, and practiced with the focus and intensity of a starter. Remember: prepare, then prepare some more.
Even though I was second string, I still got a bit of playing time. Through three games, I completed twenty-nine of forty-one passes for 479 yards with four touchdowns and no interceptions. Meanwhile, Cole was struggling some as quarterback. He threw only eleven interceptions his entire college career, but ten of those were during his senior year. Cole’s difficulties and my performance in limited duty eventually gave the coaching staff sufficient confidence to name me the starter.
I came out of the gate ready to perform. In my first career start against the North Carolina Tar Heels, I set a school record with six touchdown passes, throwing for 435 yards in a 50–35 Clemson victory.
But my freshman season was riddled with challenges—challenges that came in the heartless form of injuries. In October 2014, I broke a bone in my right hand while playing against the Louisville Cardinals. I left in the first quarter and never reentered the game. I missed the next three games as the bone took time to heal.
MY FRESHMAN SEASON WAS RIDDLED WITH CHALLENGES—CHALLENGES THAT CAME IN THE HEARTLESS FORM OF INJURIES.
In our next game against Georgia Tech, I came out of the game with what I first thought was just a strain. I wasn’t so lucky. I had torn my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my left knee.
I sat out the next game against Georgia State. Most everyone expected I would have to miss the next game against in-state rival South Carolina, but I wasn’t about to let that happen. Fitted with a brace, I continued to practice. The medical team gave me the go-ahead to play against Carolina, but with strict rules. No crazy scrambles. Get rid of the ball quickly. Go down before being tackled.
That all made sense, but I also knew the promise I had made to Coach Swinney that, as long as I was the quarterback, we wouldn’t lose to Carolina.
And we won the game.
It was a very painful but powerful lesson in being willing to sacrifice yourself to keep your commitments.
I underwent surgery to repair my ACL the Friday before our postseason bowl game against Oklahoma. As my freshman year ended, I was all the more determined to make the next season memorable by preparing—then preparing even more.
Academics at Clemson were every bit as challenging as football. I took as many as twenty credit hours every semester to reach my goal. That included the summer as well as the conventional academic year. This was particularly tough; summer football workouts were longer and more physically demanding (South Carolina heat) and the academics were every bit as challenging, with classroom material getting compressed into a much shorter time frame than a usual semester. The term summer vacation didn’t apply to me during my years at Clemson.
The regular season was no less demanding. One time I had three major tests the same week we were playing against rival Florida State University in one of the biggest games of that year. It was crazy trying to prepare for everything at once. I may have gotten some sleep, but I can’t say for certain just how much. Still, I passed all three tests, and we won the game against FSU.
Even though that was a particularly tough stretch, my everyday regular-season schedule was anything but easy. My day often began at four o’clock in the morning, since that was the only way I could grab a shower and some breakfast prior to a 5:30 a.m. workout. Then I had classes beginning at nine for a full day, followed by 7-on-7 film study. Practice came after that. I fit in meals when I could.
I usually got back to my dorm room late in the evening. As I took a quick break before getting to my homework, I would enviously watch my roommate getting ready and heading out for an evening of fun with other people from the dorm.
Every so often the urge to grab my coat and go with him was almost overwhelming. I desperately wanted to hang with my boys, to be a regular college kid. I hungered for the kind of fun that so many others took for granted.
But keeping my promise to my mom, Mama Maria, and myself was far more important to me than any sort of evening entertainment. So, I’d turn on my desktop lamp, sit down, and bury myself in my studies. I won’t say it was easy, but I stuck with it, often still at the books when my roommate returned after a night out.
I DESPERATELY WANTED TO HANG WITH MY BOYS, TO BE A REGULAR COLLEGE KID. I HUNGERED FOR THE KIND OF FUN THAT SO MANY OTHERS TOOK FOR GRANTED.
Fortunately, I also had Mama Maria to keep me on track. She did more than her share to shore up my discipline when I started to waver. And she did not put up with any sort of excuses or pleas for a break. We were supposed to meet every day promptly at one in the afternoon, and more than once I called her intending to bail on our session.
“Mama,” I’d say, trying to make myself sound exhausted to evoke even a shred of pity, “I just can’t make it in today. Too much going on.”
Inevitably, there would be a snort of disgust at the other end of the line. “Uh-uh. You’d better get your butt in here. We’ve got work to do!”
I always did as she told me.
Throughout my three years at Clemson, no matter what was happening on the football field, Mama Maria never let my focus on my schoolwork fade for even an instant. She knew what I wanted to achieve, and she was going to do her part to help me get there. She helped organize my notes and gave me study tips and advice on how to make the best use of my time when taking a test. Hers was an unquestioning support, and I recognized that.
She helped me prepare so thoroughly for my studies at Clemson that I took up the habit of texting her every time I finished a project, paper, or some other task. On several occasions late in the summer of my third year at Clemson, I texted Mama Maria that I was “down to five”—a countdown of how many credits I needed to graduate.
At Clemson, I began to understand that commitment meant sacrifice. It would always mean giving up something you wanted or valued to pursue a goal of far greater significance. As I watched my friends in school go to parties, play video games for hours on end, and just hang out, I couldn’t join them. I had goals that I had promised myself and others I would achieve. If I wanted to keep my word to my mom and Mama Maria, I was going to have to give some things up. I was learning about the value of priorities.
Of course, it helped that the school’s overall dedication to me went beyond my ability to play football. As I like to say, Coach Swinney helped me develop a hunger for education; Mama Maria made certain I remained hungry and committed to being the best student I could possibly be. Coach Swinney, Mama Maria, and Clemson all recognized that my athletic and academic goals would be challenging to achieve. None of them flinched in the face of those challenges. In that sense, dedication mandates challenging yourself—looking for obstacles to overcome instead of avoiding them. It’s bonding with others as well as ideals, not based just on what may have occurred in the past but, through dedication, what you wish to bring to the future.
AT CLEMSON, I BEGAN TO UNDERSTAND THAT COMMITMENT MEANT SACRIFICE. IT WOULD ALWAYS MEAN GIVING UP SOMETHING YOU WANTED OR VALUED TO PURSUE A GOAL OF FAR GREATER SIGNIFICANCE.
Dedication means not taking the easy way out, whether that’s selecting a school based on more than just wins and losses or working with a student who’s in a high-level athletic program but planning on graduating in only three years.
I learned that I wanted to be the kind of leader who doesn’t back down from a challenge, stays committed to the goals he’s laid out, and always keeps his word. With Coach Swinney, Mama Maria, and the entire Clemson community, I had wonderful and inspiring examples to follow.
PASS IT ON
• When you think of the importance of keeping your word, what does that mean to you? Does it mean keeping your word without exception or occasionally compromising it? How do you see that commitment in others? Do you admire those whose word is their bond, their pledge of honor? By the same token, how do you treat others who are not as committed to keeping their word? Do you have a different relationship with them than with those whose word you can always trust?
• Have you ever broken a commitment you’ve made? How did that make you feel? Were there repercussions? What can you do to make sure you do better in the future?
YOUR CHALLENGE
Commit to something that, on the surface, you’re not really all that excited about. Maybe it’s a project at work or a family matter. Even though you’re not completely enthusiastic, try to stick to your word and maintain your commitment as much as possible. Once it’s done, think about how you feel—was it particularly rewarding to keep your word when it would have been easy to beg off? Was it more rewarding than keeping your word about something you truly believe in?