The Nobody

By Phil Williams

Hey, so I'm thinking about writing a few 'stories' about Bobby Bowden, whom I played football for at Florida State University. Perhaps a little insight into the man that folks might not know about. If I continue with this 'tribute series', I will try to do so chronologically, and, of course, they will be personal (all of which I know to be true). Let me know if you are interested in more...

"The Nobody"

I was a nobody, or at least that is how I felt.

I was the non-scholarship football player, fighting to catch the eye of the one man who could ‘right that wrong’ - Bobby Bowden, head coach of the Florida State Seminoles.

It was during my first spring practice in 1978. I had avoided the cornerback and was sprinting up the sideline when the ball, thrown a tad bit late, sailed high over my head at the exact same instant that the safety’s helmet impaled me in the ribs and I was literally drilled into the hard turf, though it felt more like I was being jackhammered into a slab of granite.

Incomplete pass.

The pain was agonizing, my entire body screaming, my mind dizzy.

Still, I did what I had trained myself to do ever since I was a little kid; I jumped up onto my feet before the safety did, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing more than a slight breeze had passed by, all the while fighting to move my legs and breathe. I began to jog back to the huddle as quickly as I could under the circumstances.

“Fuck,” I thought, through the pain. “I was open for a second. If only the pass had come sooner and more accurately, I could have impressed Coach Bowden.” I did not know how many chances I would get.

Out of nowhere he was by my side, moving with me back toward the huddle. Bobby Bowden, whom I had yet to notice engage with any of his players on the field while in the middle of practice, scholarship or not, was speaking to me.

Up until that moment all I had seen him do was meander about the practice fields, mainly quietly, jotting who knew what kind of anecdotes down in his little notepad, all the while observing. But here he was, by my side.

“That is what I want to see,” he said, his eyes blazing into mine. “You jumped right up after THAT!”

That was it.

And then he was gone.

This was my first introduction into what made Bobby Bowden different, special.

Over the course of those twenty grueling practices that we players fought to survive, it became clear to me that Coach Bobby Bowden did not care if you were the star of the team, or a lowly walk-on trying to catch his eye. He simply didn’t play favorites.

He treated us all the same.

At least that is how I saw it.