The Negotiation

By Phil Williams

CONTINUING the ‘tribute series’ to Coach Bobby Bowden, I will now describe my first real face to face talk with him, which I will call…

“The Negotiation”

After spring training ended I set up an appointment to see Coach Bowden about the possibility of a scholarship. I was now running second team, and everybody else on the first two teams was going to school free and eating on the training table while I was paying out of state tuition and eating ramen noodles.

Miss Sue, Coach Bowden’s secretary, told me to walk on in to his office. I did, a touch of sweat lining my neck. Coach Bowden looked up from something on his desk, an unlit cigar poking from his mouth.

“Philip. Come on in and have a seat.”

He sat back and removed the cigar from his mouth, looked at it for a second or two and said, “What can I do for you, Philip?”

I didn’t really like being called Philip, but Coach Bowden could have called me Phyllis and I wouldn’t have flinched. This man had given me my chance and, as previously mentioned in the prior post, I felt like he had treated me with as much respect as the top players on our team.

I took a deep breath. “About that scholarship we talked about before. What do you think?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Well, Philip, I’ve been thinking about this and I’m not sure you did quite enough during spring practice to get the scholarship. On the right track, but not quite there.”

“You only gave me a chance to do so much,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness.

He gnawed on the cigar and looked at me. Maybe it was my imagination but it seemed that an idea danced behind his eyes for a second. He shifted in his seat and smiled almost imperceptibly.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, Philip. As you know we have signed three wide receivers who will be coming in here as freshmen.” I sunk into my seat. “I will hold a scholarship available for you, and if you come back in August and take up where you left off, I feel certain you will hold those freshmen at bay and I will give you the scholarship then, in time for the fall quarter. How does that sound?”

To this day I don’t know whether the next couple of minutes was a negotiation by me or simply the result of having almost no time to contemplate his offer, or both, but at any rate I took a long hard look at the carpet in front of me before I responded. I was eighteen years old and sitting face to face with a future legend, a man who had earned my respect and in whom I did not want to disappoint.

I raised my head and locked eyes with Coach Bowden, nibbling on my bottom lip. I’ll never forget what I did next, dropping my head again and studying that dadgum carpet as if it held all the answers in its threads. I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know Coach. I don’t know. I don’t know what my daddy is gonna say. The out-of-state tuition has already been a strain on my parents. I’m not sure they can even think about the possibility of more.” Deep inside I felt like my parents could and would make it happen, but I wasn’t about to mention that. And I hated the thought of being a burden to them any longer. How long could they be expected to fund The Dream? Besides, I would still have to carry that despicable moniker around with me - “walk-on” - for a few more months, at least. Again, head still shaking, “I just don’t know.”

Coach Bowden slapped his desk with a pop like a firecracker and my head shot up. He was smiling. He got up and walked around the desk and shook my hand. “Come back and see me in two weeks, Philip.” And with that he jammed that cigar back in his mouth and slapped me on the back, right on the kidneys, a painful little habit of his that I later learned to avoid. I headed for the door and kept on walking, wondering what the heck had just happened.

For two weeks I felt certain that my best effort had left me hanging, once again not quite good enough. People would be disappointed. Phil had given it his best shot and fallen short. It bothered me that they would not know how close I had come. They would smile and nod their heads. “Good try, Phil, good try.” And they would walk away thinking I was nothing special.

I showed back up at Coach Bowden’s office at the scheduled time, two weeks to the day, and once again Miss Sue said to go on in. Coach Bowden was engrossed with some papers in his hands, sitting cockeyed with his feet propped on his desk. An unlit cigar hung from his mouth, possibly the same one. He didn’t seem to notice me so I just stood there.

He shot me a quick glance and then back to his papers. “Sue has your scholarship on her desk. You can go sign it now.”

I swallowed hard and just stared at him, my mouth falling open. He kept staring at his papers. It was difficult to be certain but I thought I noticed a slight smile lurking on Coach Bowden’s face as his lips twisted around that old cigar.

“Thanks, Coach. You won’t regret it.”

And with that I became the newest signee of the Florida State Seminoles. I was willing to bet the farm AND the reservation that none of the others were as excited as I was when they signed their scholarships. No cameras, no newspapers, no parents, no nothing. Just me and Miss Sue.

And, of course, that little man with the unlit cigar just a few feet away, probably with a sly smile still on his face.