The company owner responded to his application with mixed news.
She couldn't hire him, but her son had seen his résumé -- and her son wanted to be a quarterback.
After a year, coaches approached him with a familiar refrain: Why don't you switch to defensive back?
Soon Whitfield had built a client base, then a website, determined to make training quarterbacks his profession.He toured the country, watching practices and sitting in on meetings at major programs, always keeping an eye out for drills he could copy and tweak.There, says then-coach Bob Wolfe, "I barely even had to coach him.If he made a mistake, he saw it and fixed it."marketing job in San Diego (weather and friends lured him there in 2004) to earn money for law school.As a boy in Massillon, Ohio, Whitfield would sit and stare at the television, smitten with his idols: Elway, Moon, Montana.
He studied their movements and noticed, even then, that great quarterbacks exude calm amid chaos. "There are 22 men out there playing this violent sport, but one man dictates it all.The broom is Whitfield's idea, born from one of the countless coaching camps he's attended.So are the beanbags he tosses to various spots on the field to make Luck move and readjust while keeping his eyes on his target.He believed in a perfect throw, one in which every muscle is put to its most efficient use.For Whitfield, the pursuit of that perfect throw has fueled him ever since.He refers to himself as a "quarterback builder." And depending on the experience level of his 70-plus pupils, who range from unproven middle schoolers to several of the game's best passers, that moniker rings true.