Quiet Strength by Tony Dungy, Nathan Whitaker Page A

requiring me to make adjustments during the game: “If you see this alignment, we’re getting into this formation,” and so forth, as Tom Moore had instructed me. We won the game, 29–14, and afterward, their head coach, Bob Blackman, congratulated me for the work I had done orchestrating our offense. That meant a lot to me coming from him, because the intricacies of their defense were specifically designed to confuse the quarterback.
    As a result of my on-field performance in college, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be drafted and go on to a career as a quarterback in the NFL. I had worked out for scouts and coaches from a number of teams, including the Washington Redskins, who said they would be looking for a third quarterback and that I fit the bill. Some friends thought I might go to the Vikings since my style was so similar to that of Fran Tarkenton, their quarterback at the time.
    I shared a fairly small apartment in Minneapolis with my teammate, wide receiver Mike Jones. Mike was from Detroit Central High School and was terrifically talented. Terrell Owens reminds me of Mike—a tall, sleek, fast guy who can run, catch, and jump. Mike had hurt his Achilles tendon our junior year and was never quite the same after the injury, but he was hoping to be drafted as well.
    Back then, the NFL draft wasn’t televised over the weekend. That year, 1977, the draft was held on a Tuesday and Wednesday, and it lasted twelve rounds. Three of the guys Wayne Fontes had recruited to USC four years earlier turned out to be as good as advertised. Ricky Bell went to the Buccaneers as the first pick overall, Marvin Powell went fourth to the New York Jets, and Gary Jeter went fifth to the New York Giants.
    My only goal was to go somewhere in the remaining 330 picks.
    Mike and I waited by the phone all day Tuesday, then started our vigil again Wednesday morning. The phone finally rang Wednesday afternoon. The Giants were on the line in the tenth round—and wanted to speak with Mike. So Mike was the 255th pick, following our defensive back, George Adzick, who had gone to Seattle in the ninth round. I hoped Coach Stoll hadn’t been right when he said only two guys would go to the NFL. We celebrated Mike’s selection for a while and then turned our attention back to the phone to wait for my call.
    The phone didn’t ring again. And while I didn’t know it at the time, it wouldn’t be the last time I waited by the phone for a call that never came. That evening, around eight o’clock, we called a buddy who was with the Associated Press.
    “Is the draft over?” I asked.
    “Yeah, it’s over,” he confirmed. We hung up.
    “Hmmm. Nobody called me. That doesn’t seem like a good sign. . . .”
    It wasn’t. The phone did ring a short while later, though, as NFL clubs tried to fill out their rosters, much as they do today. Starting toward the end of the draft, clubs begin to get an idea of the positions they still need to fill for training camp. If they’re not able to draft enough players at a position to fill out their roster, the scouts begin working the phones, trying to find the highest-rated nondrafted players who might agree to come to camp as free agents.
    I had a number of opportunities during the course of those telephone calls to play defensive back or wide receiver, but I didn’t receive a single offer to play quarterback in the NFL.
    I was crushed.

 
    Chapter Four: Putting God First
     
     
    Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.
    —Matthew 6:33 (KJV)
     
    I WAS IN SHOCK after not being drafted into the NFL. Something about this didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. I was numb. Devastated. I prayed, God, I can’t believe it. Help me figure out what I’m supposed to do now.
    I did have one opportunity to play quarterback, but it was in Canada. The Montreal Alouettes held my rights in the Canadian Football League, and their coach, Marv