Here we go!
I’m assuming this is the article that those of you who read or listened to the first two were really itching for me to get to - and understandably so.
The transfer article.
Let’s dive right in.
The 2013 Outback Bowl
As I depressingly shared to end my last article, I spent the entirety of my second season at home during away games, not traveling with the two-deep roster.
I did, however, get to go to our bowl game at the end of my second season - every player on the team’s roster does (my first year at Iowa we didn’t win enough games to go to a bowl game - rough year).
In year two we had a decent season, finishing 8-4 in the regular season, and were slotted to play against LSU in the Outback Bowl, down in Tampa Bay, Florida.
Looking back, the bowl trips were some of the coolest experiences that my little small-town country ass got to have during the Iowa years. Bowl games are intended to not only be an exciting match-up between two strong opponents from different conferences, but also an end-of-season reward for winning enough games to be a bowl-eligible team.
And, reward they were.
For those of us just along for the ride… it was an all-expenses paid week-long vacation to Florida, with some football practices mixed in.
If any self-righteous former backup player tells you, “I don’t know what Reid’s talking about, I was locked in all week preparing for a game…”
No you weren’t. Starters, maybe. Seniors, maybe.
But, backups? Sure, you may not have drank every night of the week, but if you actually were as locked in as you say you were, then I feel bad for you, because you didn’t get to enjoy the full bowl week experience like the rest of us.
For me, personally, I didn’t drink most of the nights we were down there, because, yes, we did still have football practices every day. The expectation, generally, was “go out and have a good time, but don’t go too hard that you’re a liability at practice the next day.”
As long as we abided by that loose standard, everything was acceptable, and even to some degree encouraged. We were expected to enjoy ourselves after a long, grueling season.
Every player was issued an envelope every single night we were down there with a stipend somewhere around $200 to go out and spend how they pleased. They even had Mercedes Benz sprinter vans, decked out with lounge seating and speakers in the back, waiting outside our hotel every night to take players wherever they wanted to go - Casino’s, strip clubs, bars, etc.
Indulge, we did.
Outside of the nights out, we got to participate in some other fun activities, like a bowling competition against LSU, a gluttonous Outback-sponsored dinner where our teams together broke the record for the most food eaten at this traditional meal, and a day at Busch Gardens amusement park where we could ride any ride we wanted totally free.
Altogether, an awesome week for a 20-year old kid without too much to worry about.
The game didn’t go our way, falling 21-14, but let me throw out a few names for you that were on the LSU roster just to put in perspective what we were up against…
Odell Beckham Jr.
Jarvis Landry.
Jeremy Hill.
Tre’Davious White.
And those are just the ones I remember off the top of my head! That team was ridiculous… but our roster from up north gave them all they could handle, and it was an altogether awesome experience for me and many of my teammates.
Spring Ball #2
The start of my second spring ball brought about a pretty harsh reality check - my position in our offensive line room hierarchy was slipping. A two-deep roster was put out following the bowl game at the start of spring ball in 2014, and my name was not on it.
I rationalized, however, that aside from Sean Welsh, who was listed as the starting right guard, I was still in line with or ahead of my peers. The #2 guard listed at both spots was a transfer a year older than me, named Eric Simmons.
“I’m not behind at all,” I thought, “no other offensive linemen in my class are in the two-deep either. In the fall, or next season, the guys in my class and I will all be comfortably in the two-deep.”
The reality was… the offensive linemen in my class were already getting passed over. Cole Croston and Ryan Ward still had a fighting chance, but the rest of us were already no longer being considered as priorities for the coaching staff to invest into, I just didn’t know it yet.
The 2014 Season on Scout Team
Fall camp went much like Spring Ball did - I was primarily taking third-team reps at either guard position, and scrapping for the occasional second-team rep… knowing that it was more than likely since I wasn’t consistently on that second-team, I’d spend another season on the non-travel roster.
Sure enough, the season rolled around, the travel roster bus left the parking lot, and I would trudge back home to my empty house (all my roommates were now traveling) and watch our away games on TV.
This season, my demeanor was different, though.
By now, I had become fully aware that my career trajectory, and my position with the Iowa Football team, were in jeopardy. I had paid my dues, I was in my third year with the program, and I was going to start taking what I felt I deserved - no more mr. nice guy, you could say.
Even though I was still on the scout team, my mentality was that I would go so fucking hard on scout team that the coaches would be left with no option but to bring me over to the two-deep side of the field and give me some reps.
Each week, one or two scout team players from the offensive scout team, defensive scout team, and special teams scout team were awarded with a “team leader” award that week - signifying that your efforts in preparing the starters for their game that week were appreciated.
To me, it seemed like the best way I could get the decision-making coaches - namely, Brian and Kirk Ferentz - to notice me, was to win as many of these awards as I could. I had earned two of them the season before, but knew it would take more than that to really move the needle for me after this season.
I played with more effort on the scout team that season than I had ever played the game of football, maybe ever. Every single play, I was finishing through the whistle. In several occasions it led to fights with starting defensive players, which is generally accepted (and to some degree, revered) by players and coaches alike. Most fights start when starters grow intolerant of the finishing effort that scout team players give, and that’s something that I was trying to do on every play, so it was inevitable. I made it my mission to try to bury these defensive players, week in and week out - friends and teammates, be damned. After practice, we would all get along just fine, but during practice, these guys fucking hated me, and I took pride in that.
2014 End of Season Awards Banquet
The results began to show. Over the course of our 12-week regular season, I was awarded six of the coveted “team leader,” awards on the offensive side of the ball. I was getting some compliments from upperclassmen teammates and coaches alike, things like, “I hear you’re giving them hell over there on scout team, Sealby. Keep it up.”
My confidence was growing. I felt like I was righting the ship, and getting my career back on track. In comparison with my other scout-team offensive line teammates, I had more of these team leader awards than any of them - second on the offensive scout team only to Tyler Wiegers, a stud freshman quarterback from Michigan, who finished the season with seven or eight team leader awards.
At the end of every season, the coaching staff awarded team leader awards for the season. The year before, in 2013, they had given out three of these awards just on the offensive side of the ball - to Mitch Keppy, Akrum Wadley, and Boone Myers (eight altogether including defensive and special teams players).
I had been monitoring the recipients of these awards like a hawk (no pun intended) every week, and I knew that Wiegers and I were ahead of the next closest offensive recipient by at least two or three of them. If this year went like last year, when three guys had received offensive team leader season awards, Wiegers and I were both locks. I’d finally be able to have some indication of validation that my hard work was paying off.
My parents came out for the banquet, as most parents did, and I wasn’t going to get ahead of myself… but I did feel confident that there was a more-than-likely chance I was going to be leaving my third annual banquet with some hardware.
Here’s where it gets a little weird… I can’t make any assumptions, I can only state what happened. In 2013, like I mentioned, eight total team leader awards were issued - three on the offensive side of the ball alone. In 2014, this year that I had worked my ass off for and was certain that I was a lock to be a recipient of the award, Tyler Wiegers was the lone offensive recipient, and another teammate named Brandon Snyder was given the award for both defense and special teams.
I was utterly deflated. I felt totally snubbed. I kept it together at the banquet, but I was crushed inside. I know it may seem like a trivial award, when other teammates in my class were starting games and earning All-Big Ten recognition, but this was something I had worked my ass off for and felt entitled to. The same performance the year before would have meant I’d receive the award, but this year, I’d be going home empty-handed.
Where it gets really weird is what happened after the banquet. After all the awards are issued, players and their families get to bring their parents around and introduce them to their coaches, and the coaches get to tell the parents how well their sons are doing, you know the drill.
My dad wanted to make it a point to go say hello to Reese Morgan - the now defensive line coach who had originally recruited me. They had always liked Coach Morgan, I had always liked Coach Morgan, so of course they’d want to catch up and just say hi. When I got Coach Morgan’s attention for a minute and he started chatting up my parents, the first thing he said to them was, “Hey, congratulations on Reid’s award!”
My parents were understandably confused.
“What award?” My dad asked.
I don’t really remember what Coach Morgan said to backtrack out of that, but some awkwardness ensued, and it left my parents and I scratching our heads on what Coach Morgan may or may not have known that we did not.
The 2015 Two-Deep
After the disappointment of the banquet, we went on and had an equally disappointing Taxslayer Bowl performance from our team in a 45-28 loss to Tennessee. It was an ass-kicking, and after such an abysmal offensive performance, there was a ton of media pressure on KF to put out a two-deep roster and announce a starting quarterback going into Spring Ball.
When KF eventually released the two-deep roster, naming C.J. Beathard as the starter going into Spring Ball (replacing Jake Rudock), maybe the only other guy on our team who could relate to the crushing disappointment that Jake felt then, was me.
Ross Reynolds, from the class behind me, was listed as the second-team left guard.
My name was nowhere to be seen.
My initial reaction was fury. I was absolutely enraged. Ross had been a walk-on player, and somebody that to that point, frankly, I hadn’t considered to be super competitive at my position (Don’t take this personal if you’re reading this today, Ross - clearly, my assessment then about your talent and your ceiling was not accurate!) We had spent that entire season on the scout team together, and I had played my role the way I was expected to as someone a year older than Ross - I had invested into him and his development. I had helped him where I could and been a good teammate to him.
And now, here he was, listed in front of me on our depth chart.
My anger subsided and was replaced with shock and disbelief.
“What the fuck does this mean for me? Where do I go from here? What does the coaching staff think of me? Has everything I’ve given to this program been for nothing? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
As I was wallowing in my own self-pity and digesting this stunning news, I got a call from my Dad.
He had been a collegiate and professional athlete and had navigated and endured his own fair share of roster jostling, intersquad competition, and tough conversations.
“Hey buddy.” He said, "I just saw the two-deep report. You doing okay?”
I poured out my frustration and disappointment to my old man, who had been in my corner every step of my college football journey to that point and could probably relate better than anyone to how I was feeling.
“I think you should go talk to Brian. Let him know how you feel, and ask him how he made the decision to put Ross in the two-deep over you. You rightfully deserve to know how that decision was made - it’s only fair that he’s honest with you.”
I didn’t have a super comfortable, candid, open-conversation kind of relationship with Brian Ferentz to that point, as some players do with their position coaches, so I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation… but, I didn’t have a choice.
Just doing what I had been doing had not worked out for me to this point. I had to get some direction, and some answers.
I texted Brian, and asked if we could meet up and talk about my standing in the program, and he obliged - letting me know he was in the facility that day.
I mustered up the courage, and drove down to the facility.
Where do I stand?
I walked into Brian’s office, more-or-less terrified of how this conversation was going to go. I wanted Brian to be honest with me, of course, but I also knew that if he was, and my assessment of my standing in the program was accurate, then my career at Iowa could be all but done, in the eyes of the coaching staff.
Brian cut the tension right away - it was obvious to him why I was there.
“Hey Reid, how are you doing? I’m sure you’re here to talk more about the two-deep.”
I confirmed that I was, and then started fumbling over my words, not sure what to ask, or how to ask it, and scared of the answers I might receive…
“I just thought that things were getting better for me… I made strides in-season on the scout team… I out-performed Ross there… I’ve been giving the starting defense a great look every week…”
Then Brian interjected, firmly.
“Reid, I’m going to be honest with you. At the rate you’re progressing at, I don’t see you ever working yourself into a starting role on our offensive line. Other guys, and younger guys are just progressing faster, and we need to focus on putting the five best guys on the field for our team for this season.”
Brian’s words absolutely rocked me.
He went straight to the punchline - no build-up. He told me not only was I not ready to start games right now, but he didn’t think I was ever going to work myself into a role on the Iowa offensive line. He was telling me that there was no path forward for me, no matter what I did from then on out. No path forward, after three years of my life investing everything that I had into this.
I remember being almost in a state of shock, asking some more follow-ups like,
“well, what about next season?”
What about Tommy Gaul (who was a career back-up before emerging his senior year to be a super-dependable starter as a senior, after an injury thrust him into the lineup), nobody thought he could start either, but he proved everyone wrong - could I be a guy like Tommy?”
“What about the PAT/FG unit, could I get some time there?”
Brian, again, was assertive. I respect him, now, because he didn’t give me any false hope. He ripped the band-aid right off, and gave it to me straight - as painful as that kind of direct feedback was to hear at the time.
“Next season, I don’t see your chances being any better. Our young guys are progressing at a faster rate than you are.”
“Tommy was an exception, absolutely, but do you really want to spend the rest of your career hoping that someone gets hurt, so that you can start?”
“And do you really want to keep working your ass off every day to just play on PAT/FG?”
I sat there across from my position coach for the last three years, digesting the brutal news that he had just told me about my hopeless future with his O-line unit.
After a few stunned seconds, I asked Brian the only question that now made sense to ask…
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”
Brian was prepared for this question.
“The way I see it Reid, you kind of have three options. We do appreciate you in this program - you’ve done everything we’ve asked of you, you’ve done some great things in the weight room and on the scout team, and you’re clearly a team guy and a contributor to our success, even as a non-starter. If you want to remain on the team, I think the best opportunity for you to see the field for us is as a long snapper. I know that you excelled at that in high school, and the guy we have at that position now is unproven. You could definitely make a push to fight for that position.”
I considered Brian’s proposal for this option - Tyler Kluver had just finished his first season as our starting long snapper. He was a class behind me too, and true to Brian’s words, generally unproven. He hadn’t made any real critical errors in his first season as a starter, but had had a few less-than-perfect snaps that planted some small seeds of doubt in some of the coaches minds.
Not to mention, for as talented of a snapper as Tyler was, he just didn’t look the part of a D1 football player. He stood all of 5’10” or so, and was maybe just over 200 lbs at the time. Brian was probably right - if I could dial in my snapping, the coaches would probably be a lot more comfortable with a 6’4” 250-something pound athlete blocking and making tackles, as opposed to Tyler.
“Something else that we thought of for you is joining the wrestling team. Bobby Telford is graduating, and there will be a new open competition for the heavyweight spot on the Iowa roster. The guy they’re bringing in, Sam Stoll, is a few years younger than you. I know you’ve missed out on three years of college wrestling experience, but you were a standout in high school and with your work ethic, I think you could make up the lost time and make a run at cracking that lineup. We’d let you stay on a full scholarship, if you wanted to go that route.”
This option sounded pretty appealing, because I did deeply love and miss the sport of wrestling, but I was a realist and I knew that I was so far behind the curve, it would be nearly impossible to accomplish anything meaningful in that sport in my two remaining years of athletic eligibility. Plus, I’d stay on scholarship - another huge incentive.
“Your last option might be hard to consider, but if you want to transfer to a different program, we will absolutely support you. We can help you compile all your practice tape and get in touch with other programs. Coach [Kirk] Ferentz wouldn’t put any limitations on where you could go, and I know that you could finish out your career and be successful somewhere else that’s a better fit.”
Initially, this option didn’t appeal to me whatsoever. I had not yet begun to accept that my path could be anywhere other than at Iowa. I was a Hawkeye, through and through. This was my home, this was my team, and this was the place where I had invested my heart and soul for the past three years.
“You obviously don’t have to decide anything right now, Reid. I know this is a lot to take in, and not the news you came in here looking to hear. I appreciate the guy that you are, and what you’ve contributed to our O-line and our team. Take some time and talk this all over with your family, and we’re going to support you in whatever option you decide on.”
And just like that, about fifteen minutes later, I was walking out of Brian’s office with my future now in complete uncertainty.
Three years of commitment to serving this program, dismissed like it had never happened.
I wasn’t even angry, disappointed, frustrated, or sad yet. It hadn’t even really all sunk in.
I was just numb.
Pivot
I took the long way back to my college house, my head still spinning from the conversation I had just had with Brian.
I beelined past my roommates up to my room, right as the emotions were all starting to hit me. I got into my bed and cried, and cried, and cried. I don’t know how long I cried for, but it felt like hours. My life as I knew it then had come to an end, or at least that’s what it felt like at the time.
When I regained my composure, still without any clarity on what to do, I called the guy who had always had all the answers for any other adverse situation I’d dealt with to that point in my life - my Dad.
He was almost as crushed as I was, hearing that his son’s college football dreams had reached an insurmountable barrier, but he stayed strong on the phone for me and helped me talk through our options.
The wrestling scenario seemed like the least realistic option - I was just going to be way too far behind to make up the ground I would need to to be a competitive collegiate wrestler, in the Big Ten, in the next two years. We ruled that one out.
That left me with transferring, or trying to make the team as a long snapper.
Transferring had not crossed my mind for one second to that point. I was so emotionally invested in this team and this program that I was a part of for the previous three years. My best friends were on this team. Everyone who had come into my life over the previous three years was here in Iowa City. My hometown showered me with praise and made me feel valued as a member of this team, even as a non-starter. To put it best, my entire identity was wrapped up in being an Iowa Hawkeye football player.
When I finally came to that conclusion, my choice became clear. I was not yet done fighting to make this roster, here, in Iowa City, as an Iowa Hawkeye. I would do whatever it took to beat out Tyler Kluver, and win the starting Long Snapper job.
…Anddddd that’s it for this week’s article folks!
Fooled ya. I know that I opened this one calling it “the transfer article,” and we’re not there yet - but I did fully intend to write about that in this article, I just kept remembering more and more details worth writing about and didn’t want to cram that part of the story into this article.
I’ll write about it in the next one, I promise!
Get ready for the entertaining saga of Reid, the long snapper, in the next article… shouldn’t be too hard for you to figure out how that experiment ends!
Thanks a lot for sticking with me through this series -
Until next time,
Reid
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