Phillies pitcher Andrew Bellatti gets to apologize 13 years after a shattered family saved him
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Andrea Adelson, ESPN Senior Writer
CLEARWATER, Fla. — The car ride to meet Lyn and Garrett Reid is quiet, each mile taking Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Andrew Bellatti back 13 years, to the accident, the jail cell and the darkness.
The Reids wait for his arrival. They pace and check their watches. They, too, are transported 13 years back, to the accident and the funeral for their beloved David and their relentless pain and grief.
They all want this meeting to happen, but nobody knows what to expect. Bellatti wonders what he will say. The Reids wonder how they will feel. One tragedy has tethered them together, but this is the first time they will actually speak to one another since the day everything changed, Jan. 22, 2010.
On that day, Bellatti was driving too fast on a wet road and crashed his Ford Mustang head-on into a Dodge Caravan. Garrett Reid was critically injured. His dad, David, was killed. Bellatti, an 18-year-old prospect in the Tampa Bay Rays organization at the time, was arrested and charged with vehicular manslaughter.
As newly widowed Lyn Reid tried to navigate how she and her two kids would live without David, she felt certain about one thing in the months that followed the accident. She did not want Bellatti to go to prison. Some of her friends vehemently disagreed and bluntly asked, “How could you not throw down the gauntlet?”
Lyn could never find the right words to explain how she felt. She just knew she needed to forgive Bellatti so she could move forward and, she says, “not sleep with rage.” So she asked the judge for leniency in sentencing. He granted it. Bellatti spent less than a year in jail, and resumed his baseball career.
Now here they are on a hot day during spring training, a new season dawning. Bellatti pulls into the driveway of a house ESPN has arranged as a meeting place for both parties. He’s with his wife, Kylee, 3-year-old daughter and brother-in-law. His face, already flushed.
He opens the front door.
“Hello,” Lyn says in a sing-song voice as they enter. Garrett stands next to her.
She stretches out her arms. Bellatti walks toward her, his head bowed. This is the woman who saved him, who gave him his life back and allowed him to live out his dream as a baseball player when few others thought she should. This is their story: One about tragedy, yes, but also about forgiveness, second chances and the healing power of both.
They embrace.
Bellatti tries not to cry.
BOTH THE REID and Bellatti families made their homes in San Diego. Lyn and David Reid met in the Navy, had two kids and were married for 23 years. David volunteered in the drama department at Steele Canyon High School, where his kids, Garrett and Katy, attended. He was known as the “Drama Papa,” and Garrett was active in the Steele Canyon Players drama club. Lyn and David would run the concessions stand together for performances.
Both Lyn and Garrett describe David as “the life of the party,” with a keen sense of humor and fiercely devoted to his family. “I never had to ask my dad to be involved,” Garrett says. “He was just ubiquitous.”
“He was fiercely devoted to my sister and I, and unwaveringly supportive of whatever endeavor we wanted to do. We went for a cruise, and I was like, ‘I think I want to do scuba diving.’ And next day, we were scuba diving. We got home to San Diego and we were taking courses within the month. Then I had all the scuba gear I could ever possibly want.”
Andrew Bellatti attended Steele Canyon as well, and graduated a year before Garrett Reid (they did not share the same social circles). Bellatti, the youngest of three children, was a star on the baseball team. He was known as the “Strikeout Machine” and dreamed of making it to the majors and playing for the hometown Padres.
After the Rays drafted him out of high school in 2009, Bellatti made his first big purchase: a brand-new, red Mustang. He loved the color, the speed, the sound system. “I felt really proud of that because I was getting hand-me-downs, being the youngest,” he said. “My mom had a car that she gave to my sister. My sister had a car she gave to my brother. And then I was left with it at the very end. So getting my own car was something that was really special.”
Bellatti was back home for the offseason the day of the accident. He was running late to take his then-girlfriend to her basketball game. As he approached Steele Canyon High, a car pulled out in front of him. Rather than slam on his brakes, Bellatti decided to try and pass. But he did so illegally, crossing a double yellow line — and right into oncoming traffic.
David and Garrett Reid were traveling home from the movies in the opposite direction.
“I’m looking out the window, not paying attention and I hear tires screeching,” Garrett Reid says. “I look to my left and see just a blur of red. My dad pulls to the right hard. And the last words I hear are, “Oh s—.”
“I know for a fact, I was going fast. I didn’t really judge how fast,” Bellatti said. “I don’t know if I should have hit my brakes. But I know I was in a hurry to get to where I was going. Then after that, I just blacked out.”
David Reid died in the accident. He was 50. Garrett Reid sustained fractures to his skull, cheekbone and wrist.
Bellatti does not remember much about the accident, nor the days immediately afterward. He was able to play rookie ball with the Princeton Rays before returning to San Diego to face criminal charges.
In October 2010, Bellatti pleaded guilty to vehicular manslaughter. He faced between five and seven years in prison.
Thoughts about his own future mixed with thoughts about the Reid family. As Bellatti sat in his jail cell awaiting sentencing, he had an overwhelming desire to reach out to the Reids. He had to somehow tell them how sorry he was for what he had done. What he really wanted was the chance to sit down and talk to them. But it was too hard, too painful, too awkward and uncomfortable. So he wrote a letter instead.
Bellatti stared at the blank page in front of him for hours before picking up the pencil.
“I was holding a lot of stuff on the inside,” he says. “Just saying that I felt bad is such an understatement. Saying that I was sorry couldn’t even come close to how I actually felt. I wanted to get something to her, some sort of ‘I’m sorry,’ even though I know it wouldn’t even matter.”
Dear Mrs. Reid, Garrett Reid and Katy Reid,
I’m writing you to tell you how very deeply sorry I am that you are going through all this pain due to my actions. My intentions that day and every other day of my life was not to cause pain to anyone.
I made a horrible mistake, and I’ve learned from this more than anything else in my life. Not a day goes by that I don’t recall that night and cry alone. I can’t stop. I cry myself to sleep. This horrible situation will live with me for the rest of my life.
I’m sorry to Garrett and Katy, because I couldn’t imagine what they are going through, losing their father. I am so very sorry, Garrett and Katy. I’m very sorry to you, Mrs. Reid. You do not deserve this at all, and I can’t imagine how my mom would feel if my dad was gone. It’s so hard to write this letter, but I just thought that you should know how I felt and to say how sorry I truly am.
With the upmost sincerity,
Andrew Bellatti
Lyn Reid received the letter, but says she has no recollection of reading it at the time. Though prosecutors wanted a prison sentence, Lyn Reid had already determined she wanted leniency.
During the sentencing hearing, prosecutor Curtis Ross laid it out simply: “The conduct and the level of recklessness that Mr. Bellatti displayed that day would normally warrant a prison case but for him victimizing an extremely kind and compassionate family,” Ross told the judge he would abide by her wish and recommend that Bellatti avoid prison time.
Bellatti was sentenced to eight months in jail and five years’ probation.
“It wasn’t forced,” Lyn Reid says. “It didn’t hit me like a bolt of lightning or anything like that. It was just how I felt. I knew we couldn’t have Dave back. How much carnage do you want from one event? There’d been enough.”
Lyn Reid laughs when asked whether she has always been a forgiving person.
“I took a personality test, and I’m to the left of Gandhi or something like that,” she says. “That’s kind of who I am. I’m not religious, but I was raised with religion, and I do believe that a lot of the prophets give us the best advice. Forgiveness is usually No. 1 on those lists.”
But there is one more point Lyn wants to make. Her forgiveness came with her husband in mind.
“Dave would have forgiven him before I even did,” she says through tears.
“Dave had a very generous spirit. Even when I couldn’t explain what I wanted to do to anyone else, it’s what Dave would have wanted. He would have wanted us to move on. He would have wanted us not to throw the book at a dumb kid. He understood that everyone makes mistakes, and everyone deserves a second chance.”
FOR GARRETT, FINDING forgiveness took more time as he grappled with the accident and loss of his father. What did forgiveness mean? Did it mean absolution? Did it mean trying to push anger aside to repair what is left of a life? Did it mean being selfless when everything else says be selfish?
On the first day back at school after the accident, Garrett, then 17, remembers reaching a breaking point. He had a cast on his foot and a cane to help him walk. He slipped on a set of stairs and fell backward. Two girls started giggling as he stood up, and that reaction triggered something inside him.
“I howled,” Garrett says. “I realized what I was living with, and the pain. It was primal. I was filled with malice. Rage. I lived with that rage and nightmares and fantasies for quite some time, for several months. It wasn’t until I realized that hate at such a severe caliber was consuming me: waking moments, days, nights, dreams. It was all consuming.”
Garrett had vivid nightmares, in which he exacted revenge for what Bellatti did to his father.
“Evening the score,” he says. “Truly at the heart of it, in the darkest moments, it was ending his life. It was costing me myself. I remember reaching this first part of having to forgive Andrew. But it wasn’t absolution for him. I think most of us associate forgiveness with this benevolent, godly thing. In this moment, forgiveness was for me.”
Garrett says after he made the decision to let go of his rage, he understood he had to work on what he calls “the emotional gauntlet that was thrown down in my life.” He also supported his mom and her decision to ask for leniency. But going through all of that made him reconsider what it means to forgive.
“I think we all like to think of it as: I’m sorry, I forgive you,” Garrett said. “But you can forgive someone and still hold them accountable for their actions. You can forgive someone and still be angry at them. Forgiving Andrew doesn’t simply fix things. Forgiving Andrew let me sleep at night. Forgiving Andrew let me acknowledge his humanity, and the mistakes that he made.”
It has taken years for Garrett to reach this point, where he can talk about both his grief and his father with clarity and perspective. He describes his grief “like the waves.”
“With time, the tide got lower,” he says. “I still have to live with the loss of my father for the rest of my life, and that will be my own journey. But even when I had processed that rage and gotten rid of it, if I’d have a meltdown around a success, like, ‘I wish I could call my dad and tell him,’ it was never a slim thought of, ‘Screw [Andrew]. He took that from me.’ There’s still the pain. But it’s softened. The edges are rounded out versus sharp.”
LYN KEPT THE letter Bellatti wrote to her from jail, putting it in a box with everything from the accident. She cannot explain why, but at some point last summer, she went to clean out her garage and found it in a “needs to be filed” pile. Her first reaction was to put it in the shredder. She had not thought about Bellatti or the letter in years.
Now remarried and living in South Dakota, Lyn asked her husband, John, to read the letter first and to then research what had happened to Bellatti.
After he was released from jail in early 2011 after serving three months, Bellatti resumed his baseball career. The Rays left a roster spot for him, and he played short season A ball in Hudson Valley. In an interview with the Tampa Bay Times in 2015, Rays farm director Mitch Lukevics said Bellatti was “an outstanding young man who was involved in a sad and unfortunate accident.”
That same season, Bellatti made his major league debut with the Rays. But shoulder, arm and elbow injuries derailed his career for the next five years. At one point, he found himself out of baseball altogether. But in 2021, he decided to give it one more shot — signing with the Miami Marlins before moving on to the Phillies in 2022.
Finding out that Bellatti was pitching for the Phillies shocked Lyn. It just so happened on the day she found the letter, he was pitching in San Diego. Intrigued, she followed the Phillies through their World Series run, one that saw Bellatti make eight playoff appearances out of the bullpen. His 2022 postseason included nine strikeouts and a 1.29 ERA. Watching Bellatti pitch brought her back to dates at the ballpark with David. The two used to go to Padres games together, sitting behind home plate. They both loved baseball.
Thinking about David and baseball triggered her grief all over again, but in different ways.
“It’s amazing what you can’t process when it’s too close, that you think you’ve dealt with, and you haven’t,” she says. “You go through the whole grieving process all over again. [I] did a lot of talking about Dave. But it was easier. It was easier to talk. Easier to remember the funny stuff and the good things.”
Around the time the Phillies made the World Series, Lyn got a call from The Philadelphia Inquirer. During her conversation with the Inquirer reporter, Lyn learned Bellatti had mentioned he never heard back after he wrote the letter. She thought, “I have to reach out.”
The article that published last December, allowed both Reid and Bellatti to connect in a new way — Lyn learned about his 12-year journey to get to the major leagues, one filled with multiple injuries, various setbacks, stints with multiple organizations and time away from the game. Bellatti learned the Reids had a happy life, and Lyn still had that letter.
The story facilitated their first face-to-face meeting.
Going back in time, thinking about where he is now — married, a father, finally a major leaguer — forces Bellatti to confront both powerful emotions and powerful questions. One month before his meeting with the Reids, Bellatti is reliving it all again, 18 years old, driving a red Mustang. He wants to talk about what happened, because he feels sharing his story means shining a light on Lyn, and what it means to forgive. “I just want this to be something that can inspire people,” he says.
Bellatti had thought about meeting Lyn Reid for years.
“That by far would be the most emotional day of my life,” he says, blinking back tears.
What would he say? How would he say it?
“What I want to say and what comes out, I have …,” he pauses to collect himself.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But I know I want to say I’m sorry.”
THE MOMENT IS here. After he hugs Lyn, Andrew turns to Garrett and hugs him, too. For Garrett, the hug allows him to breathe again. Because, in all honesty, Garrett remained skeptical about why Bellatti wanted to meet with them.
Garrett wants to support his mom, but he needs to see Andrew for himself, to judge his true sincerity. The hug begins to ease his doubts.
They exchange pleasantries to fill the awkward silence. But everybody knows Bellatti came here to do one thing. He steels himself and says what he has wanted to say for 13 years, looking Lyn and Garrett in the eye.
“No. 1, I want to say I’m sorry,” Bellatti says, his eyes welling with tears. “I know I wrote you a letter, but writing is … you can read words, but I want to tell you face to face. I just want you to know I’m sorry. Somehow you didn’t want me to rot in the ground for the rest of my life. You honestly had a hand in where this life is.
“And you had a hand in her,” Bellatti says, motioning to his daughter, Brylyn, who is playing with toys near the couch. “So I also want to say thank you.”
Lyn nods her head. As she begins to speak, her voice starts cracking.
“I’m so proud of you because it’s really easy to just lay down and play dead, and it’s really hard to come back around and create a life,” she says. “You did it. Accidents happen, and the one who would’ve been the most forgiving is Dave. It was just a bad time, and a bad day in the wrong place.”
Garrett allows his skepticism to subside as he listens to Bellatti and watches how he still grapples with both the pain and fallout from what happened that day.
“I have to say it does matter what you say,” Garrett tells Bellatti. “It’s peculiar. I had never read the letter. By choice, by purposeful decision, I can’t really say. But I never read your letter. And the night before I left [for the meeting], I read it, and it made me just reflect on this dynamic that we’ve ended up in together.
“When I sit and think about our two positions, I’d rather be on my side,” Garrett continues. “To have to live with what you’ve been living with and to tackle those demons, I empathize. I share those sentiments, just not wanting to go through life hurting someone to that level.”
Lyn and Garrett repeat what they have both told themselves, their friends and the public since: There was no malice. Just a terrible accident.
Then Lyn acknowledges what has been hanging over them for a decade.
“I don’t think we could have done this 10 years ago,” Lyn says. “It would have been too hard then. Don’t you think? I mean, I feel like there’s parts of it I can just deal with now, you know?
“It’s God’s timing in all this,” Bellatti says.
They talk more about their lives. The Bellattis reveal they are expecting their second child; Lyn talks about her infant granddaughter.
Lyn turns to Bellatti.
“Do you feel better?” she asks. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner.”
Bellatti shakes his head. “No, no …”
“I didn’t want to put more pressure on you,” Lyn says. “I just never felt like there was anything to gain from it. But now I really think we’ll all be able to move on a little lighter.”
The Reids and Bellattis spend about 30 minutes together. As it turns out, the Reids do most of the talking — perhaps to put Bellatti at ease, perhaps to fill some of the uncomfortable moments, perhaps so Bellatti understands what is left to do: forgive himself.
The two families say goodbye and go their separate ways. When the Bellattis get in their car, Kylee notices that Andrew is emotionally exhausted. But a weight has been lifted, and the quiet in the car feels different this time. Less tense. More reflective.
As the Reids head back to their hotel, their route takes them over a bridge toward Clearwater Beach. Their view is breathtaking: Directly ahead, the sun is setting over the ocean. Their car ride is quiet, too, as Garrett and Lyn see the beauty in front of them.
They feel peace.
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Dave Wilson
DAVE LeBLANC REMEMBERS when he saw Jack Bech practice for the first time at a middle school football camp. A strength and offensive line coach at St. Thomas More in Lafayette, Louisiana, since 1995, he has seen his share of talented players come through south Louisiana. But Bech stood out.
“I have witnesses,” LeBlanc said. “When he was running, doing some agility blocks and I was watching him perform, I said, ‘This is going to be the next kid that plays on Sundays.’ I made that call in seventh grade before he had hair under his arms.”
The coaches already had a frame of reference, albeit a smaller one. They had coached Tiger Bech, Jack’s older brother, an aggressive, fiery, but diminutive all-purpose talent who went on to star at Princeton.
“Before Jack, Tiger was the best receiver we’ve ever had,” said Lance Strother, STM’s wide receivers coach. “Then Jack came along with the same skill set, but he also brought the metrics with him, the size and the strength.”
Both fearless. Neither lacked a drop of confidence. They were just five years apart in age and completely different in build.
“Tiger was 5-9 on a tall day,” their dad Martin said, “while Jack was always a man amongst boys. He always was huge.”
All these years later, Jack Bech is standing taller than ever. Now 6-foot-2, 215 pounds, he’s considered a solid Day 2 pick in next week’s NFL draft, all while carrying the hopes of his brother and his family after Tiger, his best friend, was killed on Jan. 1 in the terrorist attack on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.
“Whatever team gets me, it’s going to be a two-for-one special. Not only do you get Jack Bech, you get Tiger Bech too,” Jack said. “I have a superpower now. I have another presence about me that just can’t lose.”
JACK IDOLIZED TIGER, following him everywhere from the time he could walk. He watched his brother become a football star, and wanted to be just like him. But Tiger would always tell Jack he got the genetic gifts that he was lacking, calling his little brother “the prototype.”
Two of their uncles, Brett and Blain Bech, played football at LSU, and their aunt, Brenna Bech, was on the Tigers’ first soccer team. Naturally, they were competitive, but Tiger, who became an All-Ivy League return specialist in college, saw bigger things for Jack.
Baton Rouge was just 45 minutes away, and they grew up going to LSU games at Death Valley, watching Tyrann Mathieu, Odell Beckham, Jarvis Landry and Leonard Fournette.
And Jack would be next.
“I had two dreams: One was to play in Tiger Stadium, and one was to play in the NFL,” Jack said.
In late October 2020, shortly before signing day, Jack, who had committed to Vanderbilt, finally got an offer from LSU. The family was ecstatic. One of his dreams was coming true.
And he was a star out of the gate. Jack Bech started seven games as a freshman, catching 43 passes for 489 yards and three touchdowns, and becoming a fan favorite. Playing as a hybrid tight end/slot receiver, he was named to two different freshman All-America teams in 2021 alongside players such as Xavier Worthy and Brock Bowers. But once Ed Orgeron was fired and Brian Kelly arrived with a new coaching staff, he had to start over.
He struggled with some nagging injuries but was cleared to play, although he ultimately got stuck in a logjam in a loaded receivers room with Malik Nabers, Kayshon Boutte, Kyren Lacy and Brian Thomas Jr. He played in 12 games, and caught just 16 passes for 200 yards and a touchdown.
“When the coaching change happened at LSU, those weren’t the guys that recruited him and everybody around him didn’t think he was getting a fair shake,” LeBlanc said. “He went from being a freshman All-American, then getting on the field maybe 25% of the snaps. I think the transfer portal is bad for football in the long run. But if anybody should have transferred, it was Jack.”
He picked TCU as his destination, but Sonny Dykes, who had coached at Louisiana Tech and knows the psychic power LSU has over the state’s residents, knew it was a gut-wrenching decision.
“There’s nobody that loves the state of Louisiana more than his family,” Dykes said. “There was a lineage and I’m sure it was very difficult for him to leave. But there’s a quiet confidence about that whole family and it took a lot of confidence to bet on yourself. That’s what makes him different and unique.”
In Fort Worth, Jack suffered a high ankle sprain and had surgery as the Horned Frogs, coming off a 13-2 season in 2022, slipped to 5-7. But amid the struggles, Dykes sold him on a long-range plan, telling him they wanted him to get him fully healthy and back to who he was as a freshman, even if it was frustrating for Jack.
“Well, let’s give a lot of credit to Sonny Dykes for that,” Strother said. “Imagine having a world-class race car tuned up and ready to go and you’re pretty sure there’s not another car that can beat it anywhere, but you keep it in the garage. It was a matter of Jack getting healthy and then being unleashed with opportunity.”
Dykes said by midway through his junior year, Jack had so many small little bumps and bruises that he “had one of everything.” He could see how badly Jack wanted to play, which he said might have been part of the problem. He couldn’t ease off the gas.
“He’s a guy that’s trained his body really, really hard, has never taken a break and tried to squeeze every single ounce of ability out of his body,” Dykes said. “And it was pretty banged up because of it.”
He caught just five passes from October on, as they kept him on a tight leash. He finished his junior year in 2023 with appearances in eight games, catching 12 passes for 146 yards. But Dykes would tell anyone who would listen that he was going to be a star the next season. And by the spring, it was evident.
“We were going to play him inside, but we had a logjam of players inside, and he just kept performing at such a high level that we wanted to play him every down. So we moved him outside, and the thing about him is he knew all the positions. It’s easier to move from outside to inside because you’ve got to deal with press corners and releases. There’s usually a transition. With Jack, there was no transition.”
He responded with one of the greatest seasons by a Horned Frogs receiver, catching 62 passes for 1,034 yards and nine touchdowns in 2024, the fourth-highest single-season total in TCU history, trailing only Josh Doctson, Quentin Johnston and Jalen Reagor, who were all first-round picks.
And best of all, Tiger was there to watch every game, flying down from New York, where he had begun a career as a stockbroker.
“One of the greatest things about this season was it gave us, our whole family a focus,” Martin Bech said. “My daughter lives in Philadelphia, another one lives in Nashville. It gave us all a gathering point. Tiger just loved being there, being in Fort Worth and being with Jack. There’s a famous text in the family now about how Tiger was just so enamored by Jack’s success.”
“It’s happening,” Tiger wrote.
AT 3:15 A.M. on Jan. 1, Tiger and his roommate Ryan Quigley, whom he worked with in New York, were on Bourbon Street when Shamsud-Din Jabbar of Houston accelerated his pickup truck into the crowd, then got into a shootout with police before he was fatally wounded. He killed 14 people, including Tiger, and injured at least 57 others, including Quigley.
Tiger was taken to the hospital and kept on life support until his family could arrive. A TCU booster flew Jack to New Orleans on his plane immediately, but he didn’t make it in time. The moment he got the news Tiger was gone, he told himself he was going to get Tiger a Hall of Fame jacket.
Jack was out front immediately, doing television interviews and hoping to talk about his brother whenever he was needed. He and the family were unimaginably unshakeable.
“Our pain and our suffering is no different from the 13 other families that lost their loved ones in that horror,” Martin said. “All these kids that were in the ICU for weeks on end and Tiger’s roommate who had his leg shattered and his face gashed for six inches, everyone is struggling the same. We’re just blessed that we are given the platform to share Tiger’s story.”
Jack said his foundation is his faith, that he believes there was a reason this year played out the way it did. Tiger and the family were gathered for every game. He had the best season of his life. They were all together in New Orleans for Christmas.
Martin said he started hearing stories after Tiger had died about all the people he had visited back home in Louisiana over the holidays who he hadn’t seen in years. He thinks that was all by design too. He said Tiger knew Jack was going to be near Fort Worth rigorously training for the draft, so he wanted to maximize their time together.
“When we’re home together, we’re going to spend every minute together,” Tiger told Jack. “If we have to go Christmas shopping, we’re going to go together. If we have to go meet a friend, we’re going to meet the friend together. If we’re going to go to our aunt’s house for dinner, we’re going together.”
They were inseparable the entire holiday season, even down to the pets, Martin said.
“We have pictures of him sleeping on the sofa with Jack’s dog,” he said of Tiger. “Is it any more special than a lot of brothers’ relationships? Maybe not, but it was pretty damn special.”
Jack says this is all destiny. And it has allowed him to find a new gear.
Every coach who knows Jack has seen a different Jack since that day. And they all have a similar vantage point on what they see.
“He was already on a great trajectory,” Dykes said. “This was kind of the rocket fuel.”
“Some people could have spun off the rails after you lose your best friend, but it did the total opposite with Jack,” LeBlanc said. “Jack was going to be in the league with or without Tiger’s passing, but Tiger’s passing kind of propelled him.”
“Tiger, who was an absolutely phenomenal football player himself, knew and understood long before the rest of the football world understood and believed Jack was bound for greatness at the highest level,” Strother said. “Now he’s bound, determined and on fire to bring to the fullest potential his talent and ability in honor of Tiger and in honor of his faith.”
Everything culminated in a magical Senior Bowl performance.
Jim Nagy, the game’s executive director, got Jack the No. 7 jersey, Tiger’s number. Every player on the field wore a tiger-striped decal with 7 on it. Jack had an impressive performance, earning MVP honors with six catches for 68 yards.
Dykes said he was watching with his 8-year-old son Daniel, who said, “Dad, Jack’s going to score a touchdown on the last play of the game.”
With 7 seconds left, Memphis QB Seth Henigan rolled right, and found Jack for the game-winner. Jack calls these moments “Tiger Winks.”
“I knew I was about to catch that ball and score that touchdown,” he said. “My brother’s name was written in the clouds above us. Just so many signs. I mean, if you don’t believe God is real, I don’t know how much more you need.”
He has lived a lifetime this offseason. Now he waits to see where he goes. But wherever it is, Tiger will be with him. He’s got “7 to Heaven” tattooed on his chest, along with a set of Roman numerals representing Tiger’s birth and death dates.
“They’re only on the left side of my body, because he was my other half,” Jack said.
Strother said it will be tough knowing Tiger won’t be there for Jack’s draft party.
“There will be a profound Tiger spirit all throughout that draft party room because it was a day and a moment that Jack and Tiger together really looked forward to,” he said.
And whoever turns that card in with Jack’s number on it will get both of them.
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Chris Low
NASHVILLE — It’s a memory that flashed through Vanderbilt coach Clark Lea’s mind more than once when the program was in the throes of a 26-game SEC losing streak in 2022, his second season as coach.
The memory presented itself again a year ago as Lea guided Vanderbilt to its first winning season since 2013, its first-ever win over a No. 1 team and a bowl victory over Georgia Tech, all culminating with Lea being named SEC Coach of the Year by his peers.
“I remember watching [assistant coach] Robbie Caldwell and my other coaches line the practice field and mow the grass when I played here,” said Lea, a fullback on head coach Bobby Johnson’s first teams at Vanderbilt from 2002-04. “They did everything.”
Contrast that to the scene last October after the Commodores’ signature win of the season, a 40-35 victory over top-ranked Alabama. Following Vanderbilt’s first win over the Crimson Tide in 40 years, fans ripped down the goalposts, paraded them through Nashville and dumped them into the Cumberland River.
The surreality of it all was matched by the resolve of Lea and his players, and their insistence that, in the words of quarterback Diego Pavia, “the rest of the world might have been shocked, but we weren’t.”
“We’re in a business of messaging, and a lot of what I remember as a player is the disconnect from the university and the athletic department and the team, and especially the lack of resources,” Lea said.
It’s a situation Lea inherited when he returned to his alma mater as coach in December 2020 in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, as did his boss, Candice Storey Lee, when she was hired a year earlier as the SEC’s first Black female athletic director.
Together, they’re trying to change the narrative and not operate, as Lee jokes, like the little engine that could.
“It was the idea that we were going to unhook from the past and take steps that build toward the future that we all believe we’re capable of here,” said Lee, who has three degrees from Vanderbilt and was on campus the same time as Lea as a captain on the 2002 women’s basketball team that won the SEC tournament.
“Sometimes perception does not match reality, but the reality is that there was a narrative that Vanderbilt was not going to do the things that were necessary to experience consistent success. So from the very beginning, we had to set out to show that we were serious about wanting to compete and compete at the highest level, and we are still doing that. That process isn’t complete.”
Lea’s breakthrough 2024 season in his fourth year back on West End sent perhaps the clearest signal yet that the process is yielding results — and not just in football.
For the first time, Vanderbilt’s football team, men’s and women’s basketball teams and baseball team have all been nationally ranked during the same academic year.
But no climb has been steeper than the one faced by the football program, which was plummeting toward rock bottom when Lea arrived and only got worse during his second season, when the Commodores’ SEC losing streak reached 26 games. Lea wasn’t around for all those losses, but the walls were nonetheless closing in even when the Commodores salvaged a 5-7 record.
Then came 2023, when Vanderbilt dipped to 2-10 (0-8 in the SEC), and the heat ratcheted up on Lea. The Commodores lost all eight of their SEC games by two touchdowns or more.
“Hey, there were days where I was face down on the floor here, and it’s just, ‘Get yourself up, dust yourself off and trust in your resilience to do the next right thing the right way,'” Lea said. “For me, once I kind of realized that I may get my ass kicked a few times, nothing was going to knock me off from leading this program day in, day out, and making the changes that unlock the potential for success.”
Lea wasn’t the only one catching heat from the fans, media and some boosters. So was his former classmate Lee, who hired him. Making matters worse for Lee was that the men’s basketball team was struggling under Jerry Stackhouse and went 4-14 in SEC play during the 2023-24 season. Lee fired Stackhouse after the season and replaced him with Mark Byington, who took a team picked to finish last in the SEC to the NCAA tournament.
“One of the things that I know from going through knee replacement surgery recently is that healing and building is not a linear process,” Lee said. “Some days, it’s really good, and then something happens and I wake up and my knee is swollen. I don’t really understand what happened, but you still have to push forward and know there is something beautiful on the other side.
“You just wish it was easy, but it’s not.”
VANDERBILT’S CAMPUS, A short walk to the heart of downtown Nashville, one of America’s fastest growing cities, is dotted with signs that read “Dare to Grow.” Construction sites, cranes and hard hats are everywhere. Right outside Lea’s office window in the McGugin Center, the transformation of FirstBank Stadium continues with the South End Zone project, featuring premium seating and other amenities. It’s part of the Vandy United $300 million campaign, announced in 2021, to rebuild the school’s athletics facilities.
“We reached that $300 million goal pretty quickly, and we didn’t stop,” Lee said. “We have aspirations beyond that number, so we’re going to keep dreaming. We’re going to keep raising the money, we’re going to keep investing.”
The reality is that Vanderbilt can’t stop if it’s going to have any chance to compete with the football juggernauts in the SEC, especially in the current NIL world. But Lee is insistent that Vanderbilt is “beautifully positioned to maximize whatever model is in front of us” when the House settlement is approved and revenue sharing is in place. The current proposal allows for athletic departments to directly pay athletes with a pool up to $20.5 million in Year 1.
On the facilities front, even with the long overdue facelift to the stadium, the McGugin Center is noticeably outdated with a weight room, team meeting room and offices that pale in comparison to those at other SEC schools. Lea is hopeful a new football operations building comes sooner rather than later but said he doesn’t need a complex loaded with bells and whistles.
Lea looks at the new Huber Center, Vanderbilt’s four-story, state-of-the-art basketball practice facility, and sees what’s possible.
“It’s less important to me and for this program to have things like DJ booths and whatever else,” Lea said. “But I want people to walk into our building and recognize that football is really important here.
“What we’ve done really well here is that our people are the best, and if we can combine that with competitive spaces that also optimize our efficiency, we’re on our way to being where we need to be.”
Some of the people Lea, 43, is talking about are hires that were made primarily during last offseason, when he overhauled just about everything that touched his program. In the last year-plus, he has brought in veteran football people such as senior offensive adviser Jerry Kill, senior defensive analyst Bob Shoop, offensive coordinator Tim Beck and head strength coach Robert Stiner, among others. Kill and Beck are both former head coaches. Stiner and Lea worked together for three seasons at Notre Dame, and Shoop is a former Broyles Award finalist with more than 35 years of coaching experience. He was defensive coordinator under James Franklin for Vanderbilt teams that won nine games in 2012 and 2013.
Offensive line coach Chris Klenakis, entering his second season at Vanderbilt, has seen 24 of his former linemen reach the NFL over a 30-plus year career. He’s also been an offensive coordinator and worked with Colin Kaepernick at Nevada and Lamar Jackson at Louisville.
Lea hasn’t been hesitant to evolve, either. He took over the duties as defensive playcaller last season after the Commodores finished 129th nationally in scoring defense (36.2 points per game) and 131st in total defense (454.9 yards per game) in 2023. Lea said former NFL safety and assistant coach Steve Gregory, in his second season at Vanderbilt, will call defensive plays in 2025.
“I think it’s the best coaching staff in the country,” Pavia said. “Guys are going to want to come here because they see what these coaches get out of players. They see how they develop you. I know what Coach Kill did for me in bringing me here and what that opened up for me.”
PAVIA, WHO EMERGED as one of the most electric players in the country last season after transferring from New Mexico State, played as big a role as anyone in Vanderbilt’s revival. He was the only quarterback in the SEC to pass for more than 2,200 yards and rush for more than 800, accounting for 28 touchdowns, and inside the locker room, he was the heartbeat of a team that reveled in doing what people said couldn’t be done at “little old Vandy.”
Last year’s 7-6 season easily could have been a nine-win campaign. Four of the Commodores’ six losses were by a touchdown or less, including a 30-27 double overtime defeat at Missouri and a 27-24 home loss to Texas in which the Longhorns had to recover an onside kick to seal the game.
And the best part for the Commodores? They return many of the key players from last season, which saw Vanderbilt reach five wins before the end of October, only to lose three of its last four games in the regular season when Pavia wasn’t completely healthy.
“We had one guy transfer out that played for us last year,” said senior linebacker Langston Patterson, who was Lea’s first verbal commitment and went to high school in Nashville at Christ Christian Academy. “It’s about culture. The reason some of those past Vandy teams didn’t sustain success is because they had some great players, but no culture. We have great players on top of great culture, and that creates a great team. But you still have to go do it. Coach Lea touches on it all the time. We’re as close to 2-10 as we are 10-2. We’ve got to keep pushing forward.
“Really, to us, last year was mediocre. We fell apart the last three games. Everyone else thinks we had a great year, but to us, we could have been so much better.”
Lea’s idea of culture transcends the football field. He said the program has had six straight semesters with a collective 3.0 GPA or better in the classroom.
“That’s not because we’re recruiting valedictorians,” Lea said. “It’s because we’re recruiting guys that care about how they’re developing as people too, and they allow us to put boundaries in place for them to reach their highest level.”
As Vanderbilt tries to build on its momentum from a year ago, one thing is certain. The Commodores won’t sneak up on anybody, not after wins over Alabama and Auburn and narrow misses against LSU, Missouri and Texas.
“Nothing changes with us,” Pavia said. “We came here to win games. Coach Lea said it, that we want to have the best program in the SEC. For a lot of guys on this team, it’s our last chance, sort of our last dance, to really flip this program.”
Vanderbilt’s success a year ago came largely thanks to a ball-control offense, shortening the game, winning the turnover battle, stopping the run (especially on early downs) and playing lights-out on special teams.
Even with the recent upgrade in player personnel, it’s always going to be difficult for Vanderbilt to “out-Alabama” Alabama and “out-Georgia” Georgia in terms of sheer talent and depth.
“I know Coach Lea doesn’t believe that we can be like every other SEC team philosophically and find ways to break through to the top,” said offensive coordinator Beck, who also has been a defensive coordinator and spent the first 32 years of his coaching career at Division II powerhouse Pittsburg State. “You have to be a little bit different, and we were a little bit unique. I’m not one of these young offensive coordinators that’s just trying to score as many points as we can every game.
“You try to find ways to reduce the margins a little bit, so you’ve got to play complementary football. We still want to be fun and exciting, which I feel like we are, but we’re not going to be in a huge hurry. We led the nation in forced turnovers last year, which was huge for us because the matchups that we had player to player are still not there yet. We’ve got to be smart about what we do on both sides of the ball.”
Vanderbilt beat Auburn 17-7 last season despite finishing with just 227 total yards. But the Commodores pinned the Tigers inside their own 5-yard line twice, started two of their drives in Auburn territory, committed just three penalties and didn’t turn the ball over once.
“They manage the game as well as anybody,” Auburn coach Hugh Freeze said. “They’re smart. They play to their strengths, and they don’t give you anything.”
As stunning as Vanderbilt’s win over Alabama was to the college football world, Tide coach Kalen DeBoer wasn’t surprised by what he saw this season from Lea and the way he reinvigorated the program.
“I’ve known Clark going back to when he was at South Dakota State, and it wasn’t like we were close friends or anything, but I followed the success he’s had as a coordinator and knew that he was really good,” said DeBoer, who started his coaching career at Sioux Falls. “I felt like watching the film before our game that you could see the defense and the team philosophy revolving around making the game as short as possible, and he did a good job in the critical moments of making some calls.
“I knew going in that they were a different team than what they had been in the past. There was no doubt, and I think everyone who played them would tell you the same thing.”
Now comes the hard part for Lea and Vanderbilt: Doing it all over again.
The only time in the past 50 years that Vanderbilt has put together back-to-back winning seasons was in 2012 and 2013 under Franklin.
Lea, who grew up in Nashville, knows the doubters persist and that history suggests sustaining football success at Vanderbilt is more fantasy than reality. Down deep, he’s energized by that doubt.
“I think we as a program, me in particular, can’t help but operate with a chip on your shoulder, and you can’t help but bathe in the doubt that surrounds you,” Lea said. “We love that, and we don’t recruit beyond that, meaning I don’t want people here that are entitled. I don’t want people here that don’t see the work that has to be done.”
Pavia’s take is a bit more on the coarse side, in typical Pavia fashion.
“I mean, [Lea] comes from ground zero,” Pavia said. “A lot of people weren’t believing in him, people wanting him fired a year ago, and now all of a sudden, he’s the biggest star in Nashville. I think that still fuels him, that people gave up on him, didn’t believe in him on his journey or believe in us.
“So it’s like, ‘F— you. Watch us do it.'”
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