I figured Stanford had a decided edge because Northwestern was starting a redshirt freshman at quarterback. He’d be making his first start, and it wasn’t against the standard cupcake that most Big 10 schools faced in the opener. The kid had been a four-star recruit, though, and had all the tools to be a good quarterback once he got settled in.
Stanford had their own issues. First, the game was effectively a nine a.m. kickoff for them. They also might look past Northwestern in the opener like they had Washington a couple of years ago. I felt, though, that Stanford’s front seven on defense was superior to Northwestern’s offensive line and should take care of business today.
I had been expecting a high-scoring game, but instead, a defensive battle broke out. I was surprised that Northwestern’s defense was able to contain Stanford’s potent offense. If that continued, Northwestern had a chance. After the first quarter, each team had managed a field goal. By halftime, it was 10–3 in favor of Northwestern. Their new quarterback broke contain and ran for a 42-yard score to put the Cats up.
I expected Stanford to regroup at halftime, but neither team seemed to be able to do anything in the third quarter. The difference in the game turned out to be Stanford turning the football over two times, and Northwestern’s defense playing much better than I expected. The final score was 16–6.
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Chapter 8 – I Just Realized Something Saturday September 5
After the game, Jim, his dad, Brandon, and I split off from the group to go to Evanston High and meet the Stanford coaches. We returned to the hotel so I could change into my shorts and get my cleats. On our trip to the workout, Brandon gave us background information to prepare us to meet Coach Jackson and his staff.
“Their head coach is young at 43. This is his fifth season at the helm, and he had been their Offensive Coordinator before that. Previously he coached in the NFL for several years. In his first four seasons at Stanford, he has a record of 42–12, and they’ve been invited to four straight bowl games. They were invited to the Rose Bowl twice, and have finished first in the Pac-12 North division three times and second once.”
“Sounds like they’ve established themselves as one of the top-tier teams in the Pac-12,” Jim’s dad commented.
“They’re also the best-of-the-best academically, outside of the Ivy League. An argument could be made that they are the best. They’re also very challenging to get into. Less than six percent of applicants are accepted. Football would be a ticket to a world-class education,” Brandon said.
“What are your thoughts about them being a destination for Jim and me?” I asked.
“The negative is that it might be a stretch for Jim academically. Plus you’d move halfway across the country, and it would be hard for your family and fans to come see you play,” Brandon said. “The positives would be their great combination as far as academics and athletics. The weather’s also much better. Culturally, it’s a much more diverse campus than you’re used to at Lincoln High. There’s a more cosmopolitan student body; I mean, everybody there is smart. Their offense is more of a pro style. A recent graduate is Andrew Luck, and last year they had an offensive tackle taken in the first round of the NFL draft, and a total of four drafted.”
When we arrived at Evanston High, their head football coach met us. He told us that Stanford’s group was running late. He talked to Jim’s dad as Jim and I stretched and then did some running to get ready. We’d worked up a good sweat by the time the Stanford contingent arrived, twenty minutes late. If you’re from the Midwest, you’re always on time, if not early. Coach Jackson walked over to thank the high school coach for letting us use their practice field. While he was doing that, his staff met Jim and me.
We split apart because they would want to see the two of us do different workouts. I met their offensive coordinator, Coach Bloomberg, and their coach in charge of quarterbacks and wide receivers, Coach Pichette. I also met two of the young receivers who had made the trip, John Glass and Terrance Carson. Before we could do anything, they had two guys in charge of taking video of the session that needed to set up their gear. Jim and I were hustled into the high school where we were measured and weighed. They did that because the information put out to the public was rarely correct. I knew for a fact that Flee was nowhere near five-eleven, which was down from six feet claimed earlier this summer.
I drew the line at running the 40 for them. I had proven my time at every camp I’d gone to over the summer. I was willing to throw for them and told them so.
“Hey, David. We like to get our own measurements and times. How about you run the forty for us?” Coach Jackson asked.
“Wait a minute. I ran the forty at Elite 11 in front of all their coaches, the other players, Nike and ESPN. If you go watch the episode on your DVR, you can get my time.”
I usually was pretty laid back, but I wanted to get on with it. Between Stanford showing up late, Tami inviting herself on the trip, and my parents’ situation, I was not a happy camper. The not showing up on time bit was a power play. I’d made the effort and met my commitment.
“Are you normally this confrontational?” asked Coach Jackson.
I just gave him the Dawson stare and decided: screw it!
“Are you always late?” I shot back.
“I had some matters I needed to deal with,” Coach Jackson started.
“And those matters were more important than making a good impression on a recruit who was courteous enough to keep his commitment, on a weekend he was visiting ANOTHER school. I understand that you personally might have had commitments. I count four other coaches, four other players, and two support people. Are you telling me that not one of them could have come and met with us?” I asked.
Inside my head, I was screaming at myself to shut up. This was where my mom came through, and I sometimes said too much. That was why I was better with the Dawson stare and keeping my mouth shut. It was also why I warned people that if I went quiet, they should give me some time to get my temper under control so I wouldn’t react as I just did. Brandon did the smart thing and ran up, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled me away from Coach Jackson. I was told later it looked like the two of us were about to come to blows.
Brandon sent me to go calm down while he tried to smooth everything over. He found me ten minutes later running on the track. I noticed Coach Pichette had come to watch me run.
“You ready to throw for them?” Brandon asked.
I just nodded and jogged to where everyone waited. Coach Pichette smiled at me, and I kept my stone face but winked at him to let him know I was okay. Every opponent that had ever pissed me off had found that it was a mistake. I found the zone where I simply blocked everything else out and played at my best. What Stanford saw that afternoon was a textbook session on how to throw the football. From the first throw, I could tell I was on. My footwork had me gliding and in position for each throw. I showed them everything I had over the next hour.
Halfway through, several more players showed up, and we ran seven-on-seven drills. Everyone had warned me that college ball was much faster, and you had to be decisive because the window for a play was much smaller. It didn’t matter. I had a chip on my shoulder, and no one was going to beat me.
Coaches Pichette and Bloomberg dropped right into coaching mode and helped me. I might have been pissed, but I have always prided myself on being coachable. That didn’t mean that I didn’t challenge them on a few things. Some of the best had coached me. Those included both Bo Harrington and Bud Mason. I didn’t pull a prima donna and think I knew what was best. My questioning did make them aware that I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t an expert yet, but I did have a thirst for knowledge of the game, and if I’d been told to do it another way, I wanted to understand why Stanford did it differently.