I Used to Be a Head Coach Too

The tries leading up to this moment had been anything but easy. Two penalties had been called on us, costing us ten yards in all.

Third and nine.

The bench sent in a screen pass call, but I made the snap decision to run instead — because Alabama's #32 linebacker, Dylan Moses, had his eyes locked squarely on James Cook.

So after the snap, I chose to scramble. First I looked off toward the screen, as if I were about to deliver the pass, then checked the line of scrimmage and took off.

For one instant, the area behind Alabama's five-two front was wide open, and the moment Dylan Moses chased after James Cook, all I had to do was break through the line of scrimmage to pick up my yards.

That's why I'm lying on the ground here right now.

Inside the twenty. The red zone.

A scoring opportunity had arrived.

(Brad Nessler) – CBS Play-by-Play: "A true freshman quarterback standing under center. He skipped a grade back in middle school, so he's part of the 2001 class. Take a look at this. He moves within the pocket like he owns the place."

(Gary Danielson) – CBS Analyst: "All I can say is that he's an exceedingly rare talent. Even now we can't tell whether that was a designed play — and even if it was designed, it was a situation that would have been extremely difficult to execute. But he pulled it off beautifully and created ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a first down."

(Brad Nessler): "Georgia is in the red zone. We'll see whether their very first drive ends in points."

Like I said before, depending on where the attack point is, we'd prepared different designs for each zone. Today, when we needed to grind out yardage, we leaned heavily on our tight ends, mixing in screen passes and rushes from the running backs to keep the chains moving.

And here in the red zone — this was the moment to take out what we'd been saving.

The option play.

(Brad Nessler): "In their last three games, Georgia has scored on their opening drive twice. That's what's let them settle into games so comfortably — and in a game like today's, it could matter even more."

The option play is an offensive scheme in which the ball carrier is decided by how the defense reacts. It flourished in offensive systems like the T-formation, the single wing, and the Notre Dame Box — schemes born in an era before the forward pass became a quarterback's primary weapon.

But as the tactical value of wide receivers rose through the 1970s, the option gradually fell out of favor, and once quarterback rushing came to be seen as just another way to move the ball, it nearly vanished from playbooks altogether.

Then Urban Meyer popularized the spread offense built on the RPO — the run-pass option — and the option play found new life.

A quarterback and a halfback. One tight end. Three wide receivers. This personnel group, known as the 1-1, paired with Meyer's RPO, remains the most common look in the NCAA to this day.

But Coach Kirby Smart and Coach Todd Monken had reshaped it once more, rebuilt specifically around me. Not Meyer's RPO — we'd gone with the flexbone instead, layering run-and-shoot adjustments on top of the option so that my audibles could be maximized.

Slot-capable Kitty and Jermaine Burton. Zamir, capable in both run blocking and everything else. And me.

…

The personnel group was set. I stepped into the under-center position. Maybe it was because the end zone was so close, but I could feel my fingertips tingling. My focus was razor sharp.

I'd already given the play call. There were no designated receivers — they simply moved according to the calls I shouted at the huddle and just before the snap. Every decision was mine. Pass, or rush, or scramble.

Four defensive linemen crouched along the line of scrimmage, with three linebackers stacked behind them. The two safeties deeper down the field had taken textbook positioning right in front of the end zone, and the cornerbacks on either side were ready to lock onto our wide receivers.

The color of the D-linemen's fingers where they touched the ground — that told me which way the tackles would come. The linebackers' eyes told me it was man coverage. The mike would take Zamir; the outside linebackers would pick up the tight end.

The instant all of that information settled into my head, the conclusion came naturally: run it myself. I'd send Pickens on a slant to the left, and send Kierist straight downfield to the right. The tight end would block.

Good. Let's go.

"White 33!! White 33!!"

I made sure my voice carried. Then—

"Turbo, set!!"

I fired off the call and took the snap. First a fake retreat — the handoff — then the play action.

Right-handed quarterbacks find it easier to roll left in situations like this, and even if they end up running afterward, sprinting toward the right side works in their favor in all kinds of ways. With the ball arm pressed to the sideline, even a tackle coming in from the left carries a lower fumble risk.

But I was confident. Confident I could protect the ball. So I turned right and ran exactly as I was.

(Brad Nessler): "Play action — oh, and he takes off running."

While Kitty sealed the blindside tackle, Jamaree Salyer drove into the gap between the D-linemen and swallowed up #8, Christian Harris. Pickens ran his slant perfectly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too, dragging the curtain of coverage inside and leaving a gaping hole in Alabama's right defensive flank.

I shifted the ball into my left armpit and accelerated. Then I turned my head just slightly and glanced right. Far off, #29 was closing in. DeMarco, was it? A safety, six-one and 210 pounds.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Every time my soles struck the field, the sound cracked against my ears. My vision jolted up and down with each stride.

But my focus was still absolutely perfect. When DeMarco Hellams lunged with both arms outstretched, I extended my hand straight toward his helmet and planted my palm flush against it.

I'm heavier ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than this kid. I'm stronger. I had no doubt about that whatsoever.

His head snapped violently backward, and I kept my legs churning. A moment later, I crossed into the end zone.

A surge of electricity spread through my whole body. I threw my head back and roared.

"HOO— AHH—"

Alabama's home stadium turned into a library.

(Brad Nessler): "TOUCHDOWN!! Dwayne Moi Stone has drawn first blood on Alabama's home turf!! A nineteen-yard rushing touchdown!! This freshman defies any words I could possibly find for him!!"

(Gary Danielson): "Georgia's players carved a hole through Alabama's defense with flawless positioning. And just look at that speed and power. A track and field talent in America — with a perfect run, he casually shoved DeMarco Hellams away with a stiff arm. Wow. Honestly, there's only one way to put it. Too Big. Too Fast. Too Strong. Georgia's true freshman quarterback, ladies and gentlemen."

The scoring drive had caught Alabama — and Nick Saban — completely off guard. The option play. Nobody had seen it coming.

While the special teams took the field to set up the kick return, Alabama's head coach found himself replaying Moi's run. Had that been a designed play? Or an audible? If the former, there might still be an answer to find in the play tower. If the latter, it could get uncomfortably tricky — because there would be no rule to it at all.

Nick Saban straightened in his seat and called his defensive coordinator, Pete Golding, to his side.

"That option play just now."

"I was already on it."

"Good."

Georgia's kick sailed through, and the score became 7–0. A turnover on the very first offensive possession, an injury on top of it, and an immediate score given up on the following defensive stand. The worst possible start.

But Nick Saban believed in his team's offense. As long as his players didn't shrink, they could punch through anything.

And yet.

An audible?

The mere possibility that Dwayne Moi Stone could orchestrate an attack with audibles inside the red zone was enough to make Saban's already-shaky defense look even more precarious. There was still a long game ahead. Nick Saban briefly tilted his head back and looked at the sky.

(Brad Nessler): "Pressure coming — the draw — and it's incomplete. Time for Alabama to punt."

(Gary Danielson): "Georgia's aggressive defense keeps paying dividends. The edge defenders are hammering the quarterback on every drop, and Alabama's corner routes simply aren't getting the time they need to develop."

Our defensive focus had held up beautifully so far. Two players in particular had been outstanding. Aziz, rated the SEC's premier defender early in the season, had kept hammering the quarterback all afternoon, and Lewis Cine, handed a critical assignment, had executed his role to perfection.

Lewis, especially, had been decisive. Because he'd smothered the rushing lanes of Najee Harris — one of Alabama's primary offensive weapons — Mac Jones had been forced to lean on the pass, and we'd made the most of it.

Alabama's offensive line wobbling early had been a decisive factor too. Their starting tight end going down with an injury seemed to be the big reason. Under normal circumstances, he'd have been the one blocking Aziz.

Pang!

"Oh— that one's on me."

"Get outside!!"

But football runs on momentum. Once your fire dims, the small mistakes start creeping in. We'd nearly handed the ball right back with two offside penalties on our own O-line — ten lost yards — but grinding out that first down and turning the drive into points had been the turning point.

Now it was Alabama's turn to botch one. Their punt barely traveled and drifted out of bounds. That gave us the ball at the forty-five yard line past the sideline marker — a good punt would have pinned us at least thirty yards deeper. We were set up near midfield.

Hello Kitty time. Again.

"Hello Kitty. Right swing."

The beauty of the Hello Kitty scheme we'd cooked up was its excellent left-right versatility. Depending on the additional call layered on top, we could keep the defense perpetually off balance. And the reason Alabama's defense couldn't easily predict it — even knowing the concept existed — was that we'd been running this same 1-2 personnel group so often.

We'd built the offense around rushing and short passes from the start, deliberately avoiding deep shots. In fact, I hadn't thrown a single pass to my outside wide receivers all day.

Those guys must be bored out of their minds today. Sorry, fellas — hang in there a little longer.

"White 16!! Ready!! Hut!!"

This time we'd switched up the look a little. Kitty didn't run the jet sweep. Zamir, faking the handoff, darted left, and as the defense's numbers flowed that way, natural space opened up for Kitty. Play action, then the pass. The ball arrived safely. We didn't gain all the yardage needed for the first down, but seven yards on first down was an excellent result.

(Gary Danielson): "Georgia's offensive design today has been deeply impressive. They're making active use of tight ends and slot receivers in ways you rarely see in the NCAA. For Alabama, it must be all the more bewildering — these simply aren't looks they prepare for regularly."

(Brad Nessler): "In his pregame interview, Dwayne Moi Stone said he disagreed with anyone calling Alabama's defense weak — that a team stocked with the nation's best players demanded full preparation. So far, he's backed those words up exactly."

(Gary Danielson): "Sixty-four passing yards isn't much, but he's completed all nine of his attempts. He's already rushed for forty yards and has a touchdown on the board. He is the engine of Georgia's offense."

The rush call came in from the sideline, and I immediately huddled the offense.

"I-45."

"Ugh, seriously. Again?"

"Shut it, G. The vibes are good right now."

…

"I-45. Wiggly Bomb. Brad Stick. Let's go!"

Having quelled George's complaints with a single easy line, I stepped under center and delivered the call at the line.

"White 50!! Turbo, set!!"

Wiggly Bomb was the receivers' routes. Brad Stick was the O-line's shape. I-45 meant setting up the I-formation and sending a receiver crashing into the gap between the 4 and 5 holes — and the first time that call ever went out, the O-line had to understand exactly how they'd be blocking for it. That was why the right tackle and guard had slipped up just slightly; Zamir improvised a cut and salvaged four yards anyway.

Najee Harris really is that good, sure. But our running backs aren't half bad either, you know?

The play came in from the bench again. Pasta. Finally.

"Pasta."

"FINALLY!!"

"You wanna keep getting the ball, earn it. Pasta. Hard-Boiled Egg. Money Left. Z-Highway."

Clap!

The scheme that finally used our wide receivers had arrived, and George Pickens's mood flipped on the spot. The only question was whether his focus held steady along with it. For now, I had to trust my teammate.

Pasta — George Pickens's favorite food. When that word went out, it simply meant: he is the receiver. From the play tower or the sideline, somebody had evidently spotted Alabama cornerback Patrick Surtain's focus wavering. Or they'd seen something else entirely. Either way, it had to work.

"White 47!!"

The O-line had to form an egg-shaped shell around me. Money Left was the tight end's alignment. Z-Highway was the Z receiver's route.

After calling out the numbers signaling the paths of the two wide receivers stacked to the left, I barked the cadence and took the snap.

"Ready!! Hut!!"

Play action toward Zamir. From here on, he becomes a fullback — reading the flow, using his own judgment to pick off any defender trying to escape the O-line and protect me. In effect, it looked like seven offensive linemen shielding me, and the more bodies in the way, the better the odds of buying time in the pocket.

Which meant—

(Brad Nessler): "Moi is standing in the pocket."

My receivers would have time to run their routes. Real time, for the full tree.

George Pickens's 4 route was a comeback, working toward the sideline. The receivers' tendencies, the corner's leverage, the path the ball would have to travel — all of it had to be computed in a heartbeat. You can't just fling it out there; you always have to understand that you're throwing to a moving target under interference.

When everything clicked into place, I swung my arm.

(Brad Nessler): "The ball sails deep toward the sideline — for George Pickens — and he hauls it in!! GEORGE PICKENS!! Falling backward, a difficult adjustment, but he secured the football!! Georgia just ripped off a huge gain on their longest completion of the day!!"

(Gary Danielson): "Georgia's offense today is hitting almost everything it wants. Nick Saban has to be rattled — this is a script he never imagined."

Alabama's 32-yard line. Substitutions came in. Darnell jogged onto the field, and Kendall Milton, our third running back, came in with him.

I knew exactly what play it was.

"Clovis."

Why the play was named Clovis? Because that's where Milton was born. A spread concept built off the shotgun, with a tackle design on the O-line that was honestly brilliant.

"Run it exactly like we drew it up."

"Let's go—!"

Clap!

Everything the play needed was packed into the single word Clovis, so there was no reason to append anything else. And what made it so effective was the relentless pressure it kept applying. Alabama had just surrendered their first long completion of the day on the previous play, so they were bound to be a bit scrambled — drawing up fronts and getting personnel sorted.

Now, if we used Clovis to slash our huddle time to nearly nothing, the defense would lose the seconds it needed to communicate. In football, the offense decides when the play starts. All you have to do is beat the play clock. We used just eight of our forty seconds; by the time we were set, only thirteen had ticked away.

From a slightly offset stance, I clapped my hands.

Clap!

A precise snap came back from Trey Hill, and the offensive linemen began shoving the Alabama defense to the right. Milton took the handoff and charged into the opening — one defender still stood in the way, but Darnell Washington, bursting out from beside him, sealed off Alabama's #4.

Because I'd kept running play actions all day, Alabama's #32 bit on it once again, turning to chase me — even though two defenders clearly remained on the right side. Alabama had folded the door open without so much as a fight.

The #29 who darted over in coverage and the #3 safety lurking deep managed to bring Milton down, but not before we'd marched sixteen yards.

(Brad Nessler): "He cuts straight up the middle. Sixteen yards — into the red zone."

(Gary Danielson): "That was a beautiful play. They crossed the tight end to handle the blocking, used the quarterback's play action to pull the backside linebacker in, and carved out the running lane entirely with the movement of the players who never touched the ball. Early in this game, Alabama simply can't get their bearings against the sheer variety of Georgia's attack. They prepared extraordinarily well."

Three offensive possessions. Two red zone trips. That alone was a genuinely encouraging start — and once again, the option play was signaled in.

But then—

The referee darted in to wave it off. Timeout. Alabama had burned one. That was rare on its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own — it was still the first quarter, and burning a timeout on defense?

For now, I walked to the bench and stood beside Coach, talking it through with him. A water bottle found its way into my hand.

"Nick Saban might have picked up on something."

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll leave the first two to you. But the third one, I'm calling myself. No mistakes. Just keep doing what you've been doing."

"Yes, Sir."

Just as Coach said — Saban might well have figured something out. But so what? What exactly did he want me to do about it?

I used to be a head coach too. A four-time Super Bowl champion, no less. Maybe it wasn't a team I'd built with my own hands — but the keys to the offense were in mine right now.

So.

Absolutely.

"Coach."

"?"

"Go get the special teams ready."

"…Fuck. Cocky little bastard, aren't you."

"Haha."

This time — I was scoring, no matter what.