Derrick Coleman - No Excuses: Growing Up Deaf and Achieving My Super Bowl Dreams

Gallery Books/Jeter Publishing

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Copyright 2015 by Derrick Coleman Jr.

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First Gallery Books hardcover edition June 2015

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Interior design by Jaime Putorti

Jacket design by James Perales

Front cover photography by Smallz + Raskind

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-4767-9658-1

ISBN 978-1-4767-9659-8 (ebook)

For all who need to overcome adversity

FULLERTON, CALIFORNIA

LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 28, 2012

One game.

Thats all I ever dreamed of playing.

One game in the NFLand it couldnt be a preseason gameit had to be one regular season NFL game. For years, my sole focus was making that dream a reality.

Id be satisfied after playing only one game, too. If they cut me after that, Id still have peace of mind that I played in the NFL. If all went well and I stayed on the team, then great, Id set new goals after that. But all I wanted to do was show people I belonged up thereat the highest level. I knew I needed to do everything I could to make that dream come true.

HeyI didnt even know what Id even do once I got to that game. You might think I had it all figured outhow Id pictured myself suiting up and running out of the tunnel into a stadium full of screaming fans. How Id sprint down the field after the kickoff and charge straight for the guy whod caught the ball and tackle him hard. How Id play my heart out and be a beast and at least once during that one game get my hands on the football and help my team win.

But I didnt have my dream all figured out. I just wanted to get there and see it unfold. My dream of playing in one NFL game was sort of like a guy driving his dream carif only for a moment. Maybe its a Dodge Viper. You dont know exactly what youre going to do with that Viper. But if someone hands you the keys, youll turn the ignition and screech out of the parking lot with the pedal to the floor.

I was so close to my dream. So close. But one thing stood in my way. This was the third and final day of the NFL Draft. The clock was ticking against me. You can go to the draft in person if you want. Its held at Radio City Music Hall in New York City every year. But most players dont go unless theyre a contender for a top pick.

I grabbed four bottles of icy-cold Gatorade out of the kitchen refrigerator at my dads house in Fullerton, just another middle-class suburb of Los Angeles, and went outside to the driveway, where I was shooting hoops with my friends from the high school days. We were just fooling around playing two-on-two and H-O-R-S-E, and I tossed a bottle each to my friends. Were all fierce competitors and were all drenched in sweat, but I think out of kindness they were letting me win this late in the afternoon. They knew my heart was pounding in my chest and had been since the draft had started two days earlier. They knew I was just waiting for that one big phone call todayeither from my agent or from a teamsaying, Youre it, man. We want you for our team. Welcome aboard. Youre in the NFL.

But so far, no phone call.

And time was running out.

My buddies and I all drank our Gatorade and played another quick burst of two-on-two on the driveway, but my mind wasnt in it. Mostly just then, my mind was focused on making a run to the bathroom. That Gatorade had really flown through my system, and my back teeth were floating. All the adrenaline I was feeling at waiting for a phone call wasnt helping any, either.

I went inside the house but the nearest bathroom was occupied, so I passed through the kitchen and the living room to get to the other bathroom. By going through the living room, that meant I needed to look at the TV.

I absolutely did not want to look at the TV.

I was trying so hard to avoid it. The draft is all about anticipationand I hate anticipation. I cant even watch a television series when its shown on regular TV if its one of those shows that have a cliffhanger and are continued every week. I need to know whats happening right now, so Id far rather download a whole TV series off iTunes and watch it all at once. Too much anticipation, and it feels like my hearts going to explode. Thats how Id feel on game day, too, right before a big game. Anticipation.

Sure enough, I couldnt help but glance at the TV. I couldnt believe we were already at the sixth round. Id hoped to be picked in the fourth or fifth. Maybe even as high as the third. I figured I wouldnt go in the first or second, but Id made the mistake of mentioning my doubts two days earlier to my mama, whos always full of faith. She slapped me upside the head with a serious grin and said, You never know, Derrick. You might go in the first or second. God is amazing.

And I said, Yes, he is, but Im being realistic, too.

I love my mama with all my heart. My dad, too. Im blessed to have a big network of supporters, family, and friends, but Ive gotta say that my mama, May Hamlin, and my dad, Derrick Coleman Sr., are my two biggest supporters. Theyve worked with me for so many years to get me to the level Im at. Theyre my biggest fans, and theyve always been pushing me forward, encouraging me, helping me in any way possible. I could never repay them, and I never want to let them down. Particularly not with the draft.

For this third and final day of the draft, Id wanted to keep the party small at the house. My parents invited my aunts and uncles, my grandparents, and some friends over to the housethat was it. They were all watching the TV except my grandma, who was in the kitchen, frying some chicken for supper. Everyones mouth was watering at the smell of that fried chicken. The counters were piled high with potato salad and Doritos and chips and baked beans and fresh coleslaw. Plenty of warm apple pie was waiting for dessert. My grandma is the best cook ever. She cooks on point. But there I was, glancing at the TV while on my way to the bathroom, and my heart sank in my chest. The draft was too far along. The clock was ticking too quickly. I should have been picked by now. Something was wrong. Definitely wrong.

Wed all known I stood a high chance of getting drafted. I wasnt a Heisman winner or anything, and I knew I wouldnt be a first-round pick, but I knew I stacked up well against other college running backs, and I was confident that Id proved myself both on and off the field.

I was a senior at the University of California, Los Angeles, a standout player on my team. My stats as a running back were really strong. My game film had been sent everywhere. My senior year alone I led the team with eleven touchdowns. I was ranked second on my team with a career-best 765 yards rushing. Id won the Tommy Prothro Award for Outstanding Special Teams Player, and the Paul I. Wellman Memorial Award for All-Around Excellence. My coaches and agents and friends and family all agreed that I had a strong shot at making the NFL, a really strong shot. But if I wasnt picked by now... well... this thought rushed at me as terrifyingly as a veteran linebacker, huge, agile, and fastmaybe I wasnt going to get my one game after all. Maybe I was going to let down my friends and family. Maybe my dream was never going to come true. I quickly walked past the TV, went and did my thing, then washed up and headed back outside.