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David Hale, ESPN Staff Writer 9y

Watson's maturity comes naturally

College Football, Clemson Tigers

Back in his hometown of Gainesville, Georgia, where his high school jersey still hangs from the walls of local restaurants, everyone has a story about the time they saw Deshaun Watson do something amazing.

For the kid who stared down the defending state champs as a 14-year-old and, three years later, won a state title of his own, there are plenty of magical moments to choose from. But perhaps the two that define him the best bookended his career as a quarterback in Gainesville.

The first came when Watson was in the sixth grade. His junior high team had a strict rule that only eighth-graders could play quarterback, so Watson had spent most of his time at linebacker. An injury to the starting QB, however, left the coaches with a dilemma, and his teammates insisted no one else had a better arm than Watson. And so, it was at age 11, on the first pass of his competitive career as a QB that Watson unleashed a 60-yard touchdown throw.

"On that day," Watson's longtime teammate and current Western Carolina DB Fred Payne said, "we knew he was going to be special."

The other came in one of Watson's final home games at Gainesville High. By this point, Watson was already a star, the top dual-threat QB recruit in the nation, set to enroll early at Clemson in just a few more weeks. Gainesville was in the playoffs, pushing for a second straight state championship, and Watson had a bead on the end zone, but just as he was about to cross the goal line, a tackler blocked his path. Rather than slide and protect his body for his college career, Watson went airborne, smacked into the defender, spun 360 degrees and tumbled into the end zone for the touchdown.

"That's just Deshaun," his high school coach, Bruce Miller, said. "He's very competitive and he's not going to give you anything less than his best on every play."

The unparalleled natural talent and the unwavering determination, that's what set Watson apart. It's genetics and life lessons, gifts that both came from mom.


Deann Watson's tailgate party is set up before every Clemson game in the shadows of the left-field wall of the Tigers' baseball stadium, a quarter-mile from Death Valley. The family never misses a game. That's a promise Deann made to her son after she was forced to miss too many games his sophomore year at Gainesville High.

On this late October afternoon, Deshaun is sidelined with a hand injury and won't be suiting up against Syracuse, but Tyreke and Tinisha, his younger siblings, are there tossing a football, and uncle Terry and auntie Kim smile and wave to fans and keep Deann company.

A week earlier, six of them had piled into a rented van and driven all the way from Gainesville to Boston for Clemson's game against Boston College. Deshaun wasn't playing in that one either. In two weeks, they'd get something of a home game as Clemson played at Georgia Tech, just a half hour's drive from their home. Deshaun would start that contest but injure his knee in the opening half.

Deshaun's health is a primary concern for Clemson fans who recognize he's their best hope to finish the season strong, to knock off rival South Carolina for the first time in six years, and so that makes the family's tailgate a popular stopping point for those milling about before kickoff.

Deshaun arrived as a hot-shot recruit in January, but a collarbone injury forced him to miss the spring game and likely cost him any chance to win the starting QB job in the fall, but in the Tigers' opener against Georgia -- the team the Watson family had always pulled for right up until Deshaun committed to Clemson -- he provided the highlight, tossing a 30-yard dart to Charone Peake for a first-half touchdown. A huge contingent of the Watson family was in the stands for that one, too. It was the first time Deann could remember being nervous at a game. Uncle Terry choked back tears.

Two weeks later, Deshaun nearly toppled top-ranked Florida State, and he unseated starter Cole Stoudt in the process. A week after that, he threw six touchdowns against North Carolina in his debut as Clemson's starting QB. Two weeks after that, he boasted the nation's best QBR, but on a scramble against Louisville, he broke a bone in his throwing hand that sidelined him for the next month.

And so now fans stop by the tailgate casually, under the auspices of polite conversation, but the same questions are always asked. How's Deshaun? How's his hand? Will he be ready for South Carolina?

It's usually uncle Terry who fields the questions. Many of the fans know Deann, and they say hello. But she's tough to understand since the surgery that took her tongue in order to remove the cancer four years ago, and she was never much of a talker to begin with. Just like her son.

"He's always been a quiet person," Deann says. "That comes naturally because I'm a quiet person, too. I'm very quiet."


At first, Deann didn't tell Deshaun about the cancer. She'd gotten the diagnosis, done the research, plotted out a course for treatment. She was confident she'd be OK, but Deshaun was just 15, still finishing up his freshman season on Gainesville's basketball team, and she didn't want him to worry. So she put it off as long as she could.

"I remember coming home from basketball practice," Deshaun said. "She told me, and it was just one of those moments. I started crying, but she told me everything was going to be OK, and we'd get through it together. That's what we did."

Deann's treatment required surgery to remove her tongue and months of radiation, chemotherapy and aftercare at Emory Hospital in Atlanta. Deshaun and his younger siblings lived with their aunt and uncle during that time. They visited Deann whenever possible, but she made sure Deshaun's focus remained on school and football. She had no intention of letting her illness interfere with his future.

Deshaun didn't talk much about his mother's battle, but teammates and coaches knew. He carried the weight, but he never wanted it to show on the field.

Payne knew Deshaun better than anyone. As boys, they stayed up late, talking football and playing video games. The routine continued when Deann was away, and those were the rare moments when Deshaun might open up.

Deshaun talked to his mother, too. Fresh off surgery, Deann couldn't speak, so Deshaun would call and, as soon as his mother picked up the phone, he'd launch into monologue about his day at school and the team's practice. If a doctor or nurse was in the room, Deann would jot down a note -- something simple, just "I love you," or "I'm proud of you" -- and they'd read it aloud for her. Those were the hardest times, Deshaun said.

The rest of the time, Deshaun's priorities were practical. He arrived at school an hour early to watch film. He carted his brother and sister to practice or games. His team dedicated the season to Deann, but Deshaun didn't want that to be the focus. Neither did Deann. She'd text him before each game, listen on the radio and congratulate him afterward, but the wins weren't what mattered.

"I didn't want to say it was for my mom, but she already knew," Deshaun said. "She told me from day one that 'No matter if you win or lose, if you're the best player or not, I'll still be proud of you.' She made sure I was focused on the team rather than myself or her."

Four years removed from the worst of it, Deann is healthy and the family doesn't talk much about her illness. It was an obstacle that brought them closer together, that galvanized their resolve, but it didn't change them. They've always been fighters.

But it did push Watson to grow up faster than most, and it has helped him keep each new obstacle in perspective. He has been hurt three times since he arrived at Clemson, ridden the roller coaster of instant stardom and frustrating setbacks. It's been a breeze.

"I think about my mom and the things she went through," Watson said, "and things could always be a lot worse."


It's easy to spot Watson's talent.

He was still 14 when he attended a football camp at Clemson. Robert Smith, now a senior defensive back for the Tigers, was hanging around the field when Watson caught his eye.

"I didn't know his name, I didn't hear anybody talking about him, and he was with the younger group," Smith said. "I just saw his mechanics, the way he moved, and I was like, 'Man, this kid is at a different level.' There was no way in the world they were letting that kid leave without offering him a scholarship."

Indeed, Clemson was Deshaun's first offer. Newly hired offensive coordinator Chad Morris pegged him as a must-have recruit, and for three years after that, Morris was a fixture. He came to every one of Deshaun's home basketball games. He put off vacations with family to be in the stands to watch Deshaun practice. He texted routinely to check on Deann and the family.

As the years went by, Deshaun became one of the most highly recruited players in the country, but he never wavered in his commitment to Clemson. He'd phoned head coach Dabo Swinney on national signing day in 2012 to say he planned to be a Tiger, and two years later, he was on campus.

That's what Swinney first noticed about Deshaun. The talent was obvious, but so, too, was the maturity.

"It doesn't take me long to size a guy up, and he was different from day one," Swinney said.

In many ways, Watson is still a kid. He's 19, tall and slim with only a wisp of a mustache to hide a baby face. He's got a sweet tooth and is fond of baking cookies. He loves to sing, though he admits he's no good at it. He's got a lucky pair of socks and he eats sour gummy worms before each game.

But when it comes to football, Deshaun is a pro.

The offense at Clemson is nearly identical to the one Deshaun mastered in high school, but he still studies film like a professional. He'll spend up to five hours in the film room breaking down his performance and studying defenses. He watches tape of Drew Brees, Tom Brady and Peyton Manning, looking for the small details that make them great, then adopting them in his own game.

When he makes the trip home from Clemson to see family, he usually places a call to his old QB coach, Jimmy Perry, who first noticed Deshaun 13 years ago, tottering behind his older brother at pee wee games. Now, the two head out to the practice field any chance they get to work on footwork and throwing mechanics.

Maybe it comes from seeing how Deann beat cancer by simply taking each day as a new challenge, but Deshaun has always viewed the little details as the best part of the job.

"I love the work, love the grind," Deshaun said. "I love what I have to go through to get what I want."

So much of this year has been a grind for Deshaun. The spring injury was a setback. The hand injury was a fluke. The knee injury was a scare. But here he is, back at practice, grinding.

Everyone has a different story about Deshaun's exploits, but they all describe him the same way. He's special.

Clemson has already lost three games this season in which Deshaun wasn't the starter, and that knee injury he suffered against Georgia Tech still has to heal before he's cleared for South Carolina. But there's magic there.

The secret to Deshaun's success isn't the magic, though. It's the work, the determination, the maturity.

"If he can play, he will," Swinney said of Watson's rehab. "But if he can't, it won't be because Deshaun Watson didn't do everything he could to be ready."

The promise of Deshaun's future is tantalizing, but this year has shown how fragile it all is. Still, some things are certain.

Before each game, Deshaun digs into his gummy worms, reads the texts from his mom, and he calls his old team chaplain, Michael Thurmond, to pray, Not that he wins, but that he makes the most of his opportunity.

"It's bigger than football for him," Thurmond said. "But every time he steps on that football field, he's giving people hope, like his mom and his family."

And Deann will be in the stands, doing the same.

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