The call Stiggers was waiting on was from the Toronto Argonauts. When Toronto’s coaches got their 2023 camp tryout roster, they asked one another why the kid from Georgia had no college next to his name. They’d soon learn their new DB did receive a football scholarship out of high school, but he walked away from it, crushed beneath the weight of depression and tragedy.When Stiggers got to camp, he figured he’d be the first guy cut. He’d made two friends in practice, both of whom had played in the NFL; neither made the team. Stiggers was done waiting. He put the lights on, grabbed some shoes and headed to the coaches’ room.“What’re you doing here?” a puzzled coach asked when he arrived.“What’s going on?” an annoyed Stiggers replied. “Nobody called me.”The last three years of his life had been a whirlwind. He’d gone from a heartbroken college dropout driving for DoorDash and washing trucks to the edge of professional football in the blink of an eye, all without ever having played a snap in college. Before he got on the plane to Canada for his tryout with the Argonauts, Stiggers told his boss at the truck wash to clock him out, figuring he’d need another shift upon return. The GM of the team had first reached out to him via Instagram.This couldn’t be real. They’d forgotten about him. Just like everybody else.
“We don’t call you,” the coach replied, “if you’ve made the active roster.”
Every player’s path to the draft is unique, special and unforgettable. But for Qwan’tez Stiggers, the kid who went pro straight from high school (sort of), the journey — at least the part he’s in now — is an actual fairy tale.
Kwanna Stiggers lost track of how many times she’d forged her son’s name on a sign-up sheet. At least a dozen. In late 2021, with the world starting to reopen post-pandemic, Kwanna spent hours online searching for anything football-related in the Atlanta area that could be attended in person.
She didn’t care what it was — a camp, clinic, workout group, pickup game, fantasy league …If it had football in the name, she signed up Qwan’tez. “Whether he wanted to or not,” she recalls in that stern, caring tone of love and courage — the one reserved for mothers and their sons.
Qwan’tez Stiggers first fell in love with football at age 8. He and his older brother, Qwantayvious, played pee-wee ball for the Georgia Rattlers. Younger brother followed older brother to The B.E.S.T. Academy, a small, all-boys public middle and high school in northwest Atlanta.
By Qwan’tez’s sophomore year, he was 5 feet 5. His only full-time role was as the kicker, one fast enough to chase down returners. He grew 4 inches ahead of his junior year and moved to defensive back. By his senior season, he was nearly 6 feet tall and starting to thrive on the field.Stiggers played for a tiny high school, limiting exposure, and caught a super late growth spurt, limiting it further. He still managed to garner attention from some small schools in the region, landing on Division II Lane College in Tennessee ahead of the 2020 season.
Then, just before the world stopped in February 2020, Stiggers’ father, Rayves Harrison, was involved in a car accident that left him in a coma. Even as Stiggers headed to school in the fall, his father’s condition hadn’t improved. During a visit home in September, Stiggers was with his girlfriend (now fiancée), Cheyenne McClain, when Kwanna called with the message they’d all feared. Rayves, to whom Quan’tez referred as his biggest fan, had died.
Football no longer mattered. Nothing really mattered. By the end of that weekend, Stiggers had decided to quit school and stay home to help his family.
At least, that’s what he wanted to do.
In reality, he couldn’t do anything.
“I couldn’t focus,” he says. “It was like a period of time where I’d try to do something — anything — and then a picture of my dad would just pop up in my head. Didn’t matter what it was. And it would just shut me right down.”
He began to drift. Stiggers worked for DoorDash and InstaCart before landing at a Blue Beacon truck wash near home. His depression deepened. There were times when he tried to play football again; he even reached out to schools, trainers, coaches — anyone he’d known from when he was recruited. No one had time.When it came to his place in the football world, Stiggers felt like a pebble at the bottom of the ocean. Anxiety, fear and grief had left him in a perpetual state of feeling stuck.
Kwanna continued her search for anything that might reignite the smile football gave her son, serving as one half of a rock for Qwan’tez that never budged. Cheyenne formed the other half. Sadly, she understood everything Qwan’tez was going through.
In October 2019, Cheyenne’s sister, Jessica Daniels, was murdered. After waking to the sound of gunshots outside her southwest Atlanta home, Jessica got out of bed to get on the ground and was fatally shot by a stray bullet. She was 18. Cheyenne’s world collapsed. PTSD, anxiety and waves of depression left her numb, a feeling that was still there the morning Kwanna called Qwan’tez to tell him his father had died.
Depression can be like a deep hole with steep sides and no ladder. Sometimes, the only way out comes when someone else falls in. When Cheyenne saw that familiar pain begin to take over the person she loved, she started climbing.
Motivated to help Qwan’tez battle the same type of grief she was still trying to process, Cheyenne began working with Kwanna to support him and help him find joy again. Which, for Qwan’tez, meant restarting his football career.
Cheyenne told him to be brave and bold. “Never give up,” she’d say over and over when the idea became too difficult. They’d sit in the car every night and talk for hours — about his dad, about her sister, about their futures. In losing herself in the quest to help someone she cared about, Cheyenne began healing from her own loss.
Qwan’tez says he’s like the male version of Cheyenne, and she the female version of him. Together they just fit. They’ve known each other forever. Everything she likes, he likes. His passions are her passions. He loves her, and she loves him. Unconditionally.
How’d she manage to find the strength to pick herself up, almost in a blink, so she could help pick up Qwan’tez? She just did. Her person needed her. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.
“Seeing him being strong made me sit back and think,” Cheyenne says. “(I was with) someone who was (handling this), and it was sort of me having to help him become strong. And that made me strong.”
The small excuses stopped, and Qwan’tez became inspired again. He kept lifting and running. He called anyone he knew who might be able to help him train. If he couldn’t find anyone, he did it himself. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time.Then, after more than a dozen failed sign-ups, Kwanna finally found a winner while scrolling through Facebook: Fan…
