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Third Time's the Charm? I tried out for the Florida Gator Football Team (again). Here's how it went.

Updated: Feb 15, 2023



I walked from Murphree Hall to the indoor practice facility with my warmup playlist blasting to lock in (lots of Migos, Lil Baby, 21 Savage, and of course, No Flockin by Kodak Black). I walked right past the Concrete Temple of Football that is The Swamp on my way over, which added to the hyping up. I felt my pain and soreness begin to subside. I had a dose of one of the strongest painkillers known to man. Better than percocet or oxycodone any day: sweet adrenaline. Third time had to be the charm.


The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars (4-6), How to Train Your Dragon. All trilogies of true cinema. They all show triumph in the face of adversity, noble quests, and epic journeys. For the past year, I have tried to write a success story of my own.


I have never played a down of football in my life, but since January of 2022, it has been my dream to make it on the Florida Gator Football Team as a walkon running back. I had two unsuccessful tryouts so far, and since my second rejection in the fall I had been famished in waiting for another try.

On January 11th, at the beginning of the spring semester, the tweet for which I had long awaited finally came. I knew my story would have a third installment.


The next day, I left my room at Murphree Hall to start upping my cardio training. Not that this was the beginning of my preparation though. While home in Northern Virginia for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I went to my old high school football field and ran drills. Over Thanksgiving, I even ran into a couple old classmates of mine who now play D1 ball at UVA. I chatted with Ethan Davies, a receiver for the Cavaliers, and Tony Muskett (who was a couple classes above me), a recent QB transfer to UVA from Monmouth (our quick small talk was a few days before he entered the portal). I talked to them about my tryouts and they told me to keep going at it.



My plan was to run to Lake Alice and back, which was almost three and a half miles. It was a pretty nice day out; about 70 degrees even and not a cloud in the sky. I was about to start running, but across the street I spotted Austin Barber, an offensive lineman for the Gators. Some would say the O-line is an RB's best friend, so I figured I'd ask him for some wise words.


I told him that I was about to try out for the team a third time and asked if he had any advice. He asked what position, and I told him running back. He told me this:


You just gotta be different. There are gonna be a lot of guys there so if you want to make the team you have to show up to do it.”



He also recommend that I look up footwork drills to run through or other drills good for the RB position.


“Look up what NFL guys are doing and try to do that. That’s what I do. ”

I thanked him for the advice, and started my midday grind. During my run, I passed Gator Basketball Guard Will Richard on the sidewalk near the athletics facility. I had just stopped for a walking break when I passed him, and I was visibly gassed. I was almost at mile 3 and even in January that Florida sun will suck the life out of you like a redneck Dracula. We didn’t exchange any words, but he gave me a long “yessir I see you” nod of acknowledgement and I nodded back. Good motivation.

A couple days later, my preparation continued in an unlikely arena. At the men's basketball game vs. Mizzou, I Mossed a man during the T-shirt toss. It was vicious.


Societal rules and norms are very rarely abandoned in America. Every-man-for-himself scenarios are typically only encouraged during very selective moments. Zombie outbreaks might be one, or perhaps times of major social strife, but everyone can agree that during the T-shirt toss, it's a free-for-all.


The blue XL shirt flew through the air; a rocket from one of the cheerleaders. I made a diamond shape connecting my thumbs and index fingers, elevated, and caught the cotton clean over the guy in front of me (who had a massive hickey on his neck by the way). Borderline criminal. I had to stop myself from tapping my palm on the top of my head repeatedly as one does in such scenarios, and I knew I couldn't put my hand to my side to make the "too small" gesture. I got my shirt, and did not want to gloat.


On January 17th, meeting day had finally come.

A little before 4PM, I left mass comm law early and went to the Swamp, where the meeting was held in the fall. The problem was, the door to the old football office was locked, and it was apparent that the meeting was not happening there. In the tweet, there was no location listed, but I assumed it would be at the same place.


Fortunately, I was in luck. Another walkon I recognized from before, named Tyler, was heading in the direction of the new Heavener complex where I assumed the meeting was happening after my first guess was a flop. I caught up with him and found out my secondary assumption was correct.


Tyler was going out for linebacker. He told me that this was his fifth attempt, and that apparently he had actually been accepted right before Dan Mullen got fired which was pretty tough luck. I gave some words of encouragement and told him he'd make it for sure this time.


At the Heavener Complex, the meeting was being held in the Gator Room: a pretty sweet meeting room on the second floor of the facility. Like the fall, Quality Control (Personnel) Staffer Lamar Sorey met everyone as they walked in. He had us scan a QR code to fill out a quick form (name, year, position, height, weight). I shook his hand (handshake rating 8/10) and sat down.

This meeting was quicker than the second one by far, which was quicker than the first one by far. This is tryout number three for the Napier administration, and by now they are in a groove, so everything was efficient. Athletic Trainer Donavon White talked to the handful of us (+/- 15ish) quickly about the insurance and medical stuff we had to get done (same as before), and Compliance Coordinator Shawnee Sellers also talked to us about NCAA compliance stuff (again, same as before). They also gave us the most important piece of information of all, which was that tryouts were on Wednesday, January 25th, at 4 PM. The meeting was done within 10 minutes.


Afterwards, I asked Sorey if the drills would be the same as the fall, and he said they might be just a little bit different but the movements would be pretty much the same (no ball). I let him know that I embraced the grind like he said to after the last round, and I gave him my golden proverb: some may say a runningback’s best ability is getting back up. I gave him another handshake (a horrible one this time though, 5/10, I panicked a little afterward but figured it was not a big deal) and left the facility with my prized clearance forms in hand.

On Thursday the 19th, T-minus 6 days to tryout day, I got a pretty sweet opportunity to head over to the Gators Track and Field practice. I had been in light contact with Olympian Grant Holloway over Instagram, and he offered a while ago to let me come watch him train once he started up again. Earlier in the week, I got a DM out of the blue: "Thursday 11:30 come watch some magic brother."


If a world champion (2019, 2022: 110m hurdles), Olympic silver medalist (Tokyo 2020: 110m hurdles), and world record holder (2021: 60m hurdles 7.29 seconds) tells you to show up somewhere, you're a complete fool if you don't.


Even though I am no track and field whiz, I was pretty starstruck walking around watching during the practice. The extremely high athletic level all the women and men around me were at was a little intimidating, but everyone was super nice when I had any questions. To no surprise, Grant Holloway was a menace on the hurdles, and it was cool to see him getting coached up by the legendary Coach Mike Holloway (not related to Grant for those unaware), who's basically the Coach K or Bill Belichick of the T&F world.


I told Grant Holloway about my upcoming tryout, and asked him for advice. Grant has played some ball in his time. He was even considering a D1 football career out of high school as a wide reciever (class of 2016, offers from Florida, Georgia, Clemson, Michigan, Ole Miss, and 12 others). He told me this:




“If it’s agility based, just keep your hips low. If you’re lower to the ground you have more power”


I thanked him for the advice and the opportunity to watch him work. He headed to the weight room for a lift, and I headed out.


Later that day, I took my quest to the Hawkins Center, where I had to get one of my 4 required signatures to be cleared for the tryout. A couple of the staff there have started to recognize me funny enough. The walkons waited in the 2nd floor lobby, and when it was one's turn he would walk back to Assistant AD Tom Williams' office to verify he was a full time student (12 credits on his schedule) for Williams' signature.


While waiting, I was able to talk with Anthony Lord, who had a pretty interesting story. Anthony is a grad-transfer from the University of West Florida, where he played D2 football and was apart of the Argonauts' very first National Championship in 2019. He showed me pictures of his ring, which was pretty sweet. Anthony played O-line for UWF, but he was going out for tight end. This was his first tryout.


We were called back to Williams' office together, got our signatures, and went our separate ways with a "see you on Wednesday." I was halfway done with my signatures (the first one I got at the informational meeting). After this, I went across the street to the student healthcare center to make an appointment for a physical and EKG so I could be medically cleared. Fortunately they could squeeze me in on Monday, a couple days before the tryout. All was going smoothly on the bureacratic front.


My next move, on Sunday the 22nd, was to find turf. I wanted a chance to work on the drills I was expecting to see in the tryout, and I knew we would be on the Gators' indoor turf practice field. Practice how you play is what they say, and I wanted to take my cleats for another spin. I tried Gainesville High School, but to my dismay that field was grass, unpainted, and unmowed. No dice. There was turf on campus at Maguire Field, but that is a soccer field and I was hoping for hash marks. I figured my next best course of action would be a little civil disobedience.


There was a turf football field readily available just down the road from The Swamp: the marching band practice field. It's pretty much identical to the Gators practice field, but the problem was that it is fenced and the gate is locked. I went through a hole between a tall fence and a bent fencepost, a relatively easy squeeze. My thinking was, if I was caught, forgiveness was better than permission; I would simply tell the truth as to why I was there. In my mind, dream-chasing is a worthy excuse for minor trespassing.



I made sure to stretch excessively (couldn't risk injury), and get some proper warmups in. Heeding Austin Barber's advice, I looked up some drills to run through to help me with footwork. On YouTube, I found a video of Christian McCaffrey showing some good footwork drills for running backs (I tried to embed it below, but the NFL's copyright goons don't want that video shared apparently. It's one of the first search results for "runningback drills"). One of the drills was a ladder drill called the Icky Shuffle, and I got it down pretty good even though I couldn't pump my arms like I was supposed to.



I also made sure to honor my original intention of running through the drills we'd be running on Wednesday. I used the hashmarks to replicate agility bags for the high knees drill, and my water bottle and various field marks worked as cones for the cutting drill. While running my drills, four or five police cars passed the field, each time wracking my nerves, but none of them turned into the field parking lot to banish me. I guess 12 knows ball when they see it.



I was there for about two and a half hours. I made sure to stretch again before I left in an attempt to keep soreness at bay, it was a lot of sprinting and I may have overexerted myself. I squeezed through the fence and made my way home. I had gotten away with my crime clean (please ignore the incriminating video evidence above). It felt just like the end of Ocean's 11, except instead of getting millions of dollars I got mental enrichment and a sore groin muscle.


The next morning, I got cleared at my physical (healthy as a horse), and the EKG came back clean. In the little EKG room at the infirmary, there was even a signed poster from Heisman QB Danny Wuerffel, which was pretty cool. During my physical, I told the doctor that I was still pretty sore in my hammies and inner hips from my field workout, and she recommended a light workout at most and then resting up the day before tryouts.



Per doc's orders, I planned to do a light mile on the treadmill after my routine push day lift later in the day. All was fine on my mile until I was 3/4 of the way there. No Flockin' by Kodak Black (Florida's national anthem essentially) came on my AirPods, and I finished the mile much harder than I should have. I knew immediately after that I had gone too hard, against the doctor's wise advice. I had Sniper Gang to blame. However, with enough stretching and rest, I was sure I'd be okay by tryouts.

On tryout eve, I left James Bates' play-by-play class early to go get my final signatures. Optimistically, I told everyone that the next time I saw them (class is every Tuesday) I would be a D1 football player. I left with a warm farewell and a high five from Bates. The whole class has been very supportive of my walkon endeavors.


I walked from Weimer Hall over to the Heavener Complex to meet Donavon White for his autograph. He said to be there at 11. I met a couple walkons waiting outside the side entrance we were supposed to go to, and we chatted for a couple minutes. I found out that it was the first tryout for both of them, so I told them what I was expecting in terms of drills and how many other people there would be. When Donavon came to the doors to get us, he said that he was going to check the front entrance to get any other waiting walkons. He looked at me and asked, “you know where my office is right?”

Of course I did. I remembered by heart. I led the other walkons to the athletic training room where his office was, and part of me felt like a walkon tryout veteran. I got my signature from Donavon, and I was officially medically cleared.


It was technically my third time in the Heavener Complex, but it was only my second time getting a decent look around (like I said, the informational meeting was quick). I have to say I like what they’ve done with the place. When I went there for my tryout in the fall, the building had been open for less than two weeks, so there were some cool details this time that were not there before; most notably the pop-a-shot basketball games by the lobby (which I was too intimidated at the time to play on my way out).


I went straight from the Heavener Complex to the UAA Compliance Office in The Swamp to get my last signature and hand in my tryout clearance form. This was my final bureaucratic stop, and all went well. I got the all clear and tryout number three was officially a go.


On the way home from my lunch at Gator Corner, coincidentally I ran into Grant Holloway right by The Swamp. We exchanged hellos, and he asked if I was doing good. I told him that I was in the clear for tryouts the next day, but I was still a little sore. “Stretch, stretch, stretch” was his advice. He said he was excited to hear what I did, and we went our separate ways.


The night before tryout day, I watched Rudy (as has become tradition) and tried to get a decent night’s rest. I knew that sleep was one of the biggest factors in muscle recovery, and I needed all the help I could get. I absolutely could not be sore at 4 PM.

When I woke up though, I knew I might be in trouble. Not only was I still sore, but it was a little worse even after the stretching recommended by Holloway. It was no time to panic though. With more stretching and most of a day’s time, I would be okay by the tryout. I went about my day as normal as possible, keeping the nerves at bay. I had federal government lecture at 9:35 AM and an anthropology discussion period at 11:45, but once 12:35 rolled around, all that stood between me and another shot at my dream was three and a half hours.


My pregame meal consisted of pineapple, hummus and pita chips, and some pasta. My hammies and groin muscles were still sore, so I took the hours before to do nothing but rest. I sat in bed until 3, and then, as a white middle-age father would say after signing the check at Applebees, it was time to rock and roll.


I got to the indoor facility a little after 3:15, nice and early. I checked in with Lamar Sorey and shook his hand (a solid 9.5/10 this time). He told me and the other few walkons who were there to head down to the other end of the indoor field in the weight room, where they would get our height and weight. I hadn’t seen the new weight room up close and personal yet, but boy is it pretty. Much prettier than the Planet Fitness or Student Rec I am accustomed to. It does not look cheap by any means. It’s a true palace of gains.

For my measurements I came in at 5’9.5” and weighed in at 173.1. After they got our heights though, they took some new info they did not get before. First they got our hand measurements. Mine came in at 8.25 inches (I have small hands. Dare I say dainty. It’s the main reason why I’m no QB). Then, we raised our dominant arm up to the sky and lowered it to shoulder height. They measured from shoulder to fingertips, and my right arm came it at an even 30 inches. Lastly, they took our wingspan from fingertip to fingertip. Mine was 71.75 inches; a quarter inch shy of six feet.


In my socks, I walked across the soft, green-as-can-be turf to the opposite side of the field where my bag was. I was the second one finished with my measurements, so I had about 30 minutes or so to lace up the cleats, stretch, and get a light warmup in. I ran through the Icky Shuffle drill that I learned from Christian McCaffrey to get my feet in sync, and I walked through a couple of the drills I knew we would be doing to get the motions in my mind. I was loose and limber when they gathered us in the middle of the north endzone. I noticed immediately that there were fewer walkons than my last two tryouts. Last January, there were about 40 guys trying out. In the fall, there were 30-35. This time I counted 16, including myself. The few, the proud.


Lamar Sorey called out our names, and we were given our jersey assigned by last name. Last tryout I was Agent Zero, but this time they had us in the white practice jerseys, not the blues, so I do not think zero was an option. I was given number three, which some would say is a magic number. However, there was a catch. All the jerseys varied greatly in size, and mine was a triple XL.


I put on my uni and it felt like a prom dress. It went down only a couple inches above my shorts. I was not going to complain though. If that was the number I was given, I’d wear it with pride. We had a few minutes to talk amongst ourselves while they gave us our jerseys, and I had a small revelation while talking with other walkons. Good things come in threes: my jersey was a 3X, my number was three, and it was tryout number three. It had to be a sign. But, that idea was quickly abandoned after I heard a “hey three” from behind me. It was a personnel staffer. "Why don’t you try this so it doesn’t look like a dress on you.” He handed me another jersey that was a perfect size medium. It was the 1. One of the most prestigous numbers in Gator Football, worn by legends like Percy Harvin, Reggie Nelson, Kadarius Toney, etc. I knew I had to bring my all.


An artist redering from professor and former UF Linebacker James Bates of me in the 3 (drawn in class this Tuesday, 1/31)


Once they gave us our jerseys and wrote down our name and number, they blew the whistle and it was time. We all gathered around Strength and Conditioning Coach Alex Watkins, who played D-Line for Bama in his collegiate career and won two national championships in 2009 and 2011. He ran tryouts in the fall, and like last time, he gave is his three keys for the tryout.


  1. Don’t give up. Don’t quit.

  2. Pay close attention to the stretches and drills. Attention to detail is important.

  3. Don’t quit.

We would go through team warmup and stretches, and then there would be four agility drill stations; just what I expected and prepared for. We had a time limit for each station. When time ran out, Lamar Sorey would blow an air horn and we would have a 30 second transition to the next station.

The warmups and stretches went smoothly, everything the same as last tryout, and we were onto the first station which was no surprise: the agility bags. We lined up single file in front of five agility bags at midfield. Once the man in front of you passed the second bag, that meant go. I got a war-like flashback to the fall when I went too early and got a “too early zero, you gotta listen!” from Coach Watkins. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.


We ran one foot in each hole, two feet, and then two feet shuffling sideways. Once through the bags, it was important to sprint through the finish to show what you’re made of. We did two reps of each (there and back), which is what we would do for every drill of the tryout. I didn’t make any major mistakes, I had been practicing these, but my first time through I got a “move those arms, gotta move those arms!” because I was not pumping. The rest of the reps I karate chopped my arms each step like I was Mr. Miyagi.

After all of these drills though, there was a curveball I did not see coming. There was a new drill on the bags. We were supposed to run with two feet between each bag, stop at the third bag, switch direction, come back to the beginning with two feet between each bag, and then run through the end with one foot between each bag (relatively complex compared to what we were doing before). I kept my eyes glued to those bags to make sure I paid close attention to everyone going before me. I was next up ready to go, but just as I planted my back foot for a good start I heard an airhorn. Time was up for the bag station, and I was saved by the bell, I guess.


We ran over to the next station, which was once again the same: the cones. Before the tryout, the 30 second transition between drill stations was mentioned, but those 30 seconds were more meant for running to the station and Coach Watkins explaining it. We had only been through one station of the four, but it was easy to tell the fellas were getting gassed. Breaths were getting heavier. Sprint drills are the real deal, and we were starting to feel it.


At this point though, I was locked in. I was somewhat satisfied with my performance on the bags, and I knew my preparation had helped. A part of me thought maybe the third time actually was the charm. I was fighting fatigue a little, but I made sure my body language didn’t show it. Last tryout, they hammered into us the idea of keeping our hands off our hips; that means we’re tired. Ever since then, no matter what kind of workout it was, I kept Coach Watkins’ voice in my head and kept my hands off my side.


For the cone station, six cones were set up in a domino pattern (two lines of three cones). We would run various patterns that included sprinting, quick cuts, and backpedalling. The first pattern was simple; it was running an M shape through the cones, sprinting the whole way and planting your foot in front of each cone for a good cut. I kept Grant Holloway’s advice in mind the whole way, trying to sink my hips the best I could. I was wearing the 1, so Kadarius Toney’s legacy of lethal, rubber-ACL cutting was almost literally resting on my shoulders.


After running this drill twice, if guys weren’t gassed before, they were then. Effort is everything during these tryouts, and we weren’t slacking. One of the conditioning coaches told us to try and control our breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.


I was trying to be a positive presence among the group. The nerves and adrenaline were there for sure, but since this was tryout number three I was more comfortable. I wanted to be a team player the best I could, especially since there were only a handful of us. Between cone drills I patted some guys on the back and gave some positive reinforcement, and I felt it helped out mutually. A couple guys were in a more competitive mindset though, which I understood and respected. Also, since there were so many personnel staffers watching us during the tryout, I figured being a little bit of a hype man couldn’t hurt in terms of looks. Football is a team sport first, and it’s part of a walkon’s job to be a positive presence (Rudy might have inspired this a little).


During the second cone drill, I made my first mistake. We were supposed to go in an M shape once again, but this time we faced the same direction the whole way, beckpedaling to the first cone, sprinting to the middle cone, beckpedalling again, and sprinting through the finish. It could have been exhaustion in the moment, too much focus on cheerleading, or maybe a complete brain fart, but for some reason I backpedaled to the first cone and started to side shuffle to my right. Wrong pattern, and I knew that rep was cooked. My frustration was visible (I did an involuntary “damn it” clap with my hands), but I finished the drill and figured I could try to make up for it on the next rep. That’s what I did, and even though the guy in front of me knocked away one of the cones, I thought I did okay. We ran a couple more patterns (no more mistakes fortunately), the horn sounded, and we ran to the south end zone.


Station three was new, but it was pretty similar to the reaction drill we ran last time around so I was not super worried. There were three lines of us, and when Watkins said “set!” the first man in each line would step up to the 5 yard line. The first drill, we would side shuffle to the left or right, mirroring whatever Watkins did. When he said “get on outta there!” that meant sprint through the finish at the 15 yard line. I knew for this drill that the finish is where the rep was won. Sure, I was trying to be a hype man before and after drills, but in between whistles that mamba mentality matters most. I looked to my side on my first rep and saw I came in second of the four of us (the last group had four guys instead of three).


The next drill was the same as the shuffle drill, but instead of shuffling sideways we were sprinting and reversing direction on Watkins’ say so. My reps were clean on this one, and I made sure to keep my hips low so I had more power when turning. I stopped looking to my side on the finishing sprints. I wanted to compete, but I figured my limited energy was best spent keeping my head down and digging my cleats into the turf cleanly each stride. The last drill of the station we pedalled forward and backward, following Watkins, and sprinted through the finish. Overall, I would say this station was my best. The movements were simple, and I got to rely on the fundamentals I’d been working on. I’m not going to hang a banner or anything though.



The last station was the simplest of the four, and it was a drill that we had done both tryouts prior: the shuttle drill. Start with your hand on the 30 yard line, run and touch the 25, turn, run, touch the 35, turn, run through the 25. Two of us would go at a time, facing each other. The coaches were telling us to compete on this one. I was next up and heard a “set!” from Coach Watkins. I ran up to the 30 and planted my hand on the white turf. On the whistle, disaster struck.


I went the wrong direction.


How? I do not know. I was paying attention to the guys before me. I was locked in. In my head I kept repeating “4th quarter,” where close games are won. But, I suppose I was not locked in enough. I did another involuntary frustration clap and finished the drill as hard as I could, touching the lines and leaving no doubt. I tried to push my mistake out of my mind for the time being. I had one more rep.


I was the second to last in my line. When the man a couple spots before me was up for his second rep, Lamar Sorey told Coach Watkins we had 30 seconds left in the station, and I started to get nervous that I would not get my redeeming rep. When I was next up, I waited eagerly on the line for a “set” from Watkins. My starvation was visible.


I got my chance. One last rep to prove my D1 ability. I dug my fingers into the line, and on the whistle I burst to my right (the same direction as before except this time it was a good thing). I touched the lines and finished as hard as I possibly could, tying or narrowly beating the man across from me. The last group did their rep, and the tryout was over.


At midfield, we huddled on Coach Watkins and took a knee; all of us panting. He told us to relax and that we were finished. He hammered home the respectable fact that nobody quit.


"When you guys come out here, you've got to remember you're trying out for the Gators. One of the most prestigious universities in the country. You should be proud you didn't quit."

I gave it my all, and for that I was proud, even if my performance was not picture perfect. Of my three tryouts this was my best one. I improved.

Sorey told us that they would be in contact with us about the results of the tryout within the week. I asked a couple other walkons to snap a quick picture of me and they politely declined (I don't think they wanted to look like they were grammin' it up post-tryout, which I get), but Anthony Lord was happy to as long as I got one for him. I'm not trying to be an influencer here or anything, I just think years down the road I'll be thankful for the photo.


I dropped the 1 on the pile, took one last look at the indoor facility, and eventually made my way home. It was time for debatably one of the hardest parts of the tryout: waiting.


It was a long end of the week and an even longer weekend, but Monday morning as I sat in class I saw the decision.



From my other walkon contacts, I do not think they took anyone from the noble 16.


As I said in after my last tryout, in the game of football, there are no moral victories, only cold hard W's. I am not going to sugar coat it. This is an L. I have tried and failed to become a D1 football player not once, not twice, but thrice. That being said, I am not willing to accept defeat just yet.


I am not hanging up the cleats, and I'm not calling it a career.


I am in my junior year here at UF, and for my senior year next year I will only need 18 credits to graduate. The thing is, to try out for the football team, you must be a full time student, meaning you need a minimum of 12 enrolled credits in the semester. I am planning to split mine up 12 in the fall, 6 in the spring.


That means I have one more shot. The Last Dance.


Some may say that my dream chasing is outlandish, but I believe there's something to be said about resilience in the face of repeated rejection. In Rudy, Rudy didn't make it into Notre Dame until his fourth try. It was his absolute last chance, since the school wouldn't accept senior transfers. Who says I can't be like Rudy?


Once again, in the wise words of legend Kobe Bryant:


"Job's not finished. Job finished? I don't think so"

Until the fall for one last ride,


Go Gators. 1 signing off.



P.S. I've reported Kirby Smart to the NCAA for level 1 recruiting violations after he rented a helicopter and landed in front of my dorm trying to offer me pay-for-play money. Despicable actions from the Georgia program and they should probably consider letting Smart go.

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