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He'd been the head coach for the better part of three days, but he couldn't bring himself to move to the head coach's office.
The thought of putting himself into the chair Tommy Bowden occupied for nine-plus years just felt weird and awkward.
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But finally, Dabo Swinney decided it was time. Life as an assistant coach in the McFadden Building was always sort of distracting, because the doors were wide open and anyone and everyone could stroll right through. It was a totally normal occurrence for fans and media to pop their heads into the offices to chat, as if the coaches were just sitting around waiting to talk about stuff.
Swinney always thought the building was kind of like a fishbowl, with windows wrapped around the whole thing to give passersby an up-close view of the coaches' world.
So now he was suddenly the big fish, as of late Monday morning of Oct. 13, 2008. For the next 48-plus hours he tried to get stuff done in the small office he'd occupied since he arrived in the spring of 2003, with the view of Littlejohn Coliseum across Perimeter Road.
"I finally realized I couldn't get anything done," Swinney recalled this week in an interview with Tigerillustrated.com. "Because it was a constant thoroughfare."
After practice on a Wednesday evening, Swinney decided to pack up some boxes and make the move over to the vacant corner office on the other side of McFadden, overlooking the baseball stadium.
Bowden's office had a sliding-glass door that allowed quick and easy access to and from his parking spot five steps away. Swinney was given the keys to that door and thought it was cool.
Thursday morning arrived, and Swinney drove to work in the dark ready to begin his first day in the head man's office.
But he was an emotional wreck.
The almost total lack of sleep over the week to that point probably had something to do with it. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were just straight adrenaline and emotion, starting with the moment Terry Don Phillips surprised him by telling him he wasn't just some holdover coach keeping things together until Philips found the right guy for the job.
The AD told him not to act like an interim coach, to act like a head coach in charge of a program. No guarantees, but it was clear Phillips thought Swinney had exactly what this rollercoaster program needed.
So this was a startling and transforming revelation. Swinney actually had a shot at this thing, and for three days it was full speed ahead with positive energy and a vapor trail of All-In.
But even one of the most optimistic humans on the planet isn't immune to insecurities and low moments, and Swinney was starting to feel like maybe it was all too much as he drove his Ford Explorer down Hwy. 93, past the Esso Club and took a left on Perimeter. He was the first one into the parking lot that morning.
"I mean it's getting real now," he said. "I've been through Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and I've had very little sleep. I always kind of pray when I come in to work anyway. And I was just emotional that Thursday morning. I was a little overwhelmed.
"A lot of it was I was just tired. And I think with any normal person there's a little fear. It's like, 'Man. This is for real.'"
With the benefit of hindsight, it's easy to look back and view everything as being meant to be. As if everything just fell into place in a nice and tidy way, following what has become a classic movie script.
But nothing was nice and tidy in the moment. Don't let the mountain of wins over the last seven-plus years fool you into thinking that 4-2 record over the last six games under Swinney wasn't a feat.
You have to remember how much of a mess this team was. Ranked in the Top 10 entering the season, they were 3-3 and it was the worst kind of 3-3 you can imagine; two of those wins were over The Citadel and South Carolina State.
Swinney had fired Rob Spence. His new receivers coach was Jeff Scott, who'd previously been a graduate assistant on defense. Swinney didn't really get along with his defensive coordinator, Vic Koenning, who probably thought he was better qualified to be the head coach. He was trying to unite a team that had just lost its coach.
And, oh by the way, a good Georgia Tech team was visiting in two days.
"I was distracted by things that don't matter, people saying all kind of stuff," Swinney said. "Just stuff."
For five years, Swinney always parked on the side of the McFadden parking lot facing Perimeter Rd. He was headed to that same spot per his routine when he remembered there was a vacant space right next to the corner office. Bowden's spot.
So Swinney wheeled around and pointed the Explorer to that space.
"As I pull in, my lights hit this curb," Swinney said earlier this week, standing at that precise space and pointing down.
He immediately hit the brakes when his eyes narrowed and he saw the number on the curb.
That would be 88, the number he wore at Alabama.
"I stopped right there. And I just started crying."
He called his wife and said, "You're not going to believe this."
Earlier in the week, minutes after Phillips told the staff that Swinney was the interim guy, Swinney had called Kathleen and told her they'd been fired.
"And it gets worse: I'm the interim," he told her on the way to another meeting with Phillips.
At that moment, minutes after learning Bowden was out and he was the guy, Swinney took no comfort in knowing he was in charge. He'd been at Alabama in 2000, the year Mike DuBose and his fired staff finished out the season knowing they were gone.
That was an awful experience. And that's exactly what was in Swinney's mind as he walked to Phillips' office that day, giving his wife a quick update and hearing her sobbing into his cell phone. They were embarking on seven weeks of hell, and then they were going to be moving somewhere else.
"There just really wasn't much positive in my mind. I'm worried about my family, where I'm going to be moving. I'm worried about my players, the kids I've got recruited."
But then everything changed when Swinney walked into Phillips' office. The AD began the conversation by saying: "I want you to know I've watched you five-and-a-half years. And I want you to know I think you're ready for this job."
Swinney was stunned.
Philips continued:
"Here’s what I want you to do: For the next seven weeks, I don’t want you to be the interim head coach. I want you to be the head coach. I want you to think like you’re the head coach. I want you to do whatever you think you need to do to fix us. Do it, and you’ve got my full support. If you feel like you’ve got to fire the whole staff, you’ve got my full support. I’ve watched you in the community. I’ve watched your relationships with your players. I’ve watched how you coach on the field.
"I’ve watched you in recruiting. I’ve watched how you manage yourself. Dabo, I really believe you’re what we need here. Now I’m also going to tell you this: I’m going to hire the best coach for Clemson. I’m going to do a national search and I’m going to interview people. But what I want you to know is I would love to see you get this job."
Those words changed everything. Before he returned to the chaos of the football offices, Swinney locked himself in a small break room near Phillips' office and spent 45 minutes writing every thought that came to mind in a notebook.
"All of a sudden I went from one emotion to adrenaline," he said. "I was inspired. I was so motivated: 'Man, I've got a shot!' I mean it was just a complete extreme stream of emotions, back and forth.
"I just started writing stuff down. It was all over the place. Practice thoughts, staff thoughts, recruiting thoughts, fan thoughts, team thoughts ... Just a flood of emotion."
Three days later probably felt like three months later, but the adrenaline had worn off and now Swinney needed another lift as he pulled in to his new parking space before the sun came up.
He needed some sort of sign to help him take the next step, out of his car and through that sliding-glass door and into the corner office that was now his.
"I always tell people that I think God winks at you sometimes," he said earlier this week, standing beside spot No. 88.
"It was definitely a moment in my life where I felt God just kind of put his arm around me and said: 'Hey look, I've got you right where I want you. Don't have any fear. Don't have any doubt. You've prepared for this. But more importantly, I've got your back.' And it was just this moment of peace."
On that Monday, he walked out of Phillips' office empowered by his boss.
On Thursday, he walked into the head coach's office -- his office -- empowered by a higher power.
"From that point forward, I had this total peace. I didn't know how it was going to work out, but I didn't really care anymore. I was just focused on what I needed to do. And I knew that God was ordering my steps."
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