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Jack Smith stood just beyond the white lines of Clemson’s indoor facility, cleats scraping against turf as the echo of practice faded behind him. His pulse is steady, his mind clearer than it used to be. In the quiet moments before a punt, the ones that used to rattle him, he now feels something else entirely—peace. It’s not superstition or routine. It’s belief. “I’ve prayed so much for this moment,” he said when talking with the media earlier this season, “it would be stupid of me to worry about it.”
The journey to that calm hasn’t been quick or easy. For three years, Smith waited.
Practiced.
Watched.
There were days when the specialists drifted into Clemson’s indoor facility early, got their work in, and spent the rest of practice in a kind of limbo—present, but not active. It was a rhythm without feedback, without structure. “Mainly because we didn’t have a specialist coach,” he says. “There was a lot of getting in your own head.”
Everything changed when Ryan Allen arrived.
Allen, an eight-year NFL veteran with three Super Bowl rings and a pair of Ray Guy Awards, brought more than a decorated resume. He brought clarity.
Direction.
Presence.
“He knows what success looks like,” Smith says. And that knowledge has transformed not just Jack’s technique, but his mindset. He’s averaging 43.2 yards per punt this season and has been a bright spot for the Tigers, landing 6 of his 13 attempts inside the 20-yard line.
"One of the main things he told me is to have mental cues," Jack explains. “Before, I went out there thinking, 'I hope I catch it. I hope I kick good.' Now I know: I'm going to focus on being patient, turning the ball, and controlling what I can control."
That shift—from chaos to control—showed up the moment Smith stepped in for his first real test: LSU. “I heard my name on the big screen, and I was like, all right, I’m the guy,” he says. But instead of nerves, there was calm. “I knew I was prepared.”
His punts weren’t just serviceable—they flipped the field. One went 42 yards with a penalty, netting 52. Another was a tight 50-plus missile. And after each one, Allen was there. Not just with encouragement, but with questions: What did you feel? Was the drop inside? How were your steps?
The feedback loop is constant. And personal.
“He's helped tremendously,” Jack says. “Especially in the offseason. I trained with Dawson Zimmerman in Atlanta, and he and Coach Allen go way back. There’s a connection there that matters.”
But Jack will be the first to tell you this isn't a victory lap. It's a checkpoint. That’s it. “I gotta keep on earning it every week,” he says. “Can’t get complacent. Gotta put in more work."
That drive is rooted not just in competition, but in faith. Smith has been diving into the Book of Acts, just finished Galatians, and keeps a routine of reading and reflection. He finds parallels between punting and the book he’s been reading about golf and life—how both require short memory, steady focus, and a willingness to reset after every swing or snap.
“God’s will is going to happen,” Jack says. “And his will is way greater than mine.”
There were moments, he admits, when he thought about leaving Clemson—especially when another punter was returning for a sixth year. But he stayed. “Coach Swinney bought into me when he didn’t have to,” he says. “So I stayed, bought in.”
It wasn’t just loyalty. It was perspective.
Coming out of high school in South Alabama, Jack had a decision to make: chase the dream or take a job. A trade. Anything to keep his family from sinking into debt.
“If I didn’t get a full scholarship,” he told his dad, “I wasn’t going to put y’all in that position.” His brother was already carrying student loans. His mom had fought through a battle with cancer. The medical bills were mounting. “They already had so much on them,” he says. “I couldn’t add to that.”
So when Clemson offered him that shot, it wasn’t just a dream realized. It was a lifeline. A way to protect his family while chasing the improbable.
Now, after years of waiting, he's not just Clemson's starting punter—he's a steady hand, a clear mind, and a quiet believer in the power of preparation. Not just the kind that happens on turf, but the kind that starts long before the stadium lights come on.
“I try to keep the same mindset when it’s high and when it’s low,” he says. “Just stay at a five. Control what I can control.”
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