After the end of the ga, Mater Dei had a quick celebration: hugs, high-fives, and the clatter of helts crashing together.
When all that settled, Andrew, like so many other tis, ended up right where everyone expected: in front of the ESPN caras.
It wasn’t a surprise. He had just broken a historic record and led his team to the final. And even though gas like this didn’t hand out trophies or physical awards, everyone knew what it ant to appear with that graphic on screen:
ESPN Player of the Ga.
The graphic showed his photo, the stats under his na: 4 Touchdowns – 52 on the season: new state record, and the ESPN logo spinning in the corner.
anwhile, a caraman adjusted the focus, and the ambient mic captured the murmur of the crowd.
The reporter, the sa one who had interviewed him after the wins against Bosco and Servite, approached with a professional smile, microphone in hand.
"Andrew, congratulations on the victory and the record. You broke the Division I state mark for most touchdowns in a season and you’re taking your team to a sectional final after eight years. How do you feel about all this?"
Andrew, holding his helt in one hand and with his hair damp from sweat, smiled. "Thanks. It feels good to accomplish both goals," he replied.
He wasn’t faking modesty. He wasn’t going to pretend the record didn’t matter. He knew exactly what it ant.
Being able to achieve an individual goal and at the sa ti a team one was the perfect combination. But he’d always been clear about it: if he had to choose, he’d choose winning.
Because what good would breaking a record be if the team lost?
It would be the end of the season, the end of football for the year. The best thing was always to advance, to keep moving toward the title. With that, the individual records follow naturally.
The reporter nodded and asked, with a slight smile, "What about the shushing gesture? Was it aid at anyone in particular? Social dia is already on fire with it."
Andrew gave a sideways grin and shrugged. "Maybe," he said calmly. "The person who feels alluded to will know."
The reporter raised an eyebrow, amused. "I’m guessing you heard Jimmy Clausen’s statents this week, right? Anything you want to say to him?"
"You an the sa guy who, when he got to Notre Da, said he’d win a Heisman and four national titles? That guy, right?" Andrew asked with a thoughtful look, as if genuinely unsure whether they were talking about the sa person.
The reporter barely held back a laugh. The caraman couldn’t help smiling as he kept filming, his hands trembling just a bit.
Bruce, standing next to Andrew with his arms crossed, shook his head slightly with a half-smile, though internally satisfied with Andrew’s answer, since Clausen had indirectly discredited everything Mater Dei was accomplishing.
"That’s the one," the reporter confird, trying to keep his tone professional.
What Andrew had said wasn’t an exaggeration. Everyone who followed football rembered that mont perfectly.
Years earlier, when Jimmy Clausen was officially introduced at Notre Da, he arrived at the press conference in a limousine, promising, amid flashes and headlines, that he would win a Heisman Trophy and four national championships.
But he achieved none of that. In three years of college football, he didn’t win a national title, was never a serious Heisman contender, and the only trophy he lifted was the Hawai’i Bowl: a third-tier bowl, more touristy than competitive.
The Hawai’i Bowl, played on Christmas in Honolulu, usually featured teams with barely positive records: 6–6 or 7–5, far from the national Top 25. It was considered a decorative bowl, ant more to fill TV programming than to decide anything important.
For a university like Notre Da, accustod to prestigious bowls like the Sugar, Fiesta, or Cotton, that win was more symbolic relief than an actual achievent.
"Yes, I heard them," Andrew finally said, and before he could continue, the reporter leaned in, bringing the mic closer. "Any response?"
"I thought it was a bit arrogant when he said reading defenses in high school is easy, that the real challenge is in college or the NFL. I don’t deny the level goes up," Andrew replied calmly, "but coming from soone who didn’t deliver in college and is now having one of the worst starts for a rookie quarterback, I find it... funny."
His tone wasn’t openly mocking, but more like an observation than an attack.
"And above all," Andrew continued, "I think it’s disrespectful to what was actually the best stage of his football career. His na still ans sothing because of what he did in high school. And if he belittles that... what does he have left?"
The reporter nodded slowly, adding nothing else. He already had more than enough material for headlines, and honestly, he felt he had just witnessed a sixteen-year-old elegantly dismantle an NFL player.
Bruce gave Andrew a firm pat on the shoulder. The answer had been perfect: no arrogance, no comparing numbers, no resorting to "I’m better."
Recovering his professional tone, the reporter turned the microphone toward Bruce. "Last question, coach. A lot of people at ho, and probably on social dia right now, are wondering why we didn’t see Andrew for a single minute in the fourth quarter. I’m sure so fans are disappointed; many wanted to see him close out the ga, maybe add one or two more touchdowns and stretch that new record."
Saying sothing like that out loud, that a quarterback could simply add one or two touchdowns in a semifinal of this magnitude, would have sounded absurd in any other context.
But with Andrew, it didn’t.
After throwing two touchdowns in the third quarter and maintaining complete control of the ga, the idea wasn’t just plausible, it was practically expected.
That was the scale of his dominance: the abnormal had beco routine.
Bruce nodded faintly, calm. "I understand why people see it that way," he answered in a steady voice. "But the show can’t co before common sense. We already had a more than comfortable lead, the ga was under control, and Mission Viejo has a very physical defense. It wasn’t worth risking Andrew for a sack, a dumb fall, or a run that ends badly."
The reporter smiled, looking at the cara. "There you have it. Mater Dei victory, a historic record for Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, and a team returning to a sectional final after eight years. Thank you, coach. Thank you, Andrew."
The caraman lowered the lens. Andrew and Bruce shook the reporter’s hand and walked toward the tunnel.
...
Charlotte, North Carolina – 10:35 p.m.
The television cast a faint glow across the living room.
Jimmy Clausen was lying back on a leather couch, a beer can in one hand and his phone in the other.
Beside him, at the opposite end of the sofa, his girlfriend Chelsea flipped through a fashion magazine.
On the screen, the ESPN logo shone with a caption he was already sick of seeing:
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker: Player of the Ga — 4 TDs, 52 on the season. New CIF Division 1 state record
Clausen shifted, tightening his lips. The interview began.
Andrew, hair damp and helt in hand, spoke with that calmness that Jimmy found unbearable: "You an the sa guy who, when he got to Notre Da, said he’d win a Heisman and four national titles? That guy, right?"
Silence filled the room instantly.
Chelsea lifted her eyes just enough to glance at him. "It was obvious he wouldn’t stay quiet if he won and broke your record," she said, in a tone that didn’t help.
Jimmy let out a short, humorless laugh. "Of course he wouldn’t. And he really thinks he’s hot stuff because ESPN is hyping him up and they need a storyline."
Then he turned off the TV, not wanting to hear any more, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control his anger and might end up breaking the remote.
...
Saddleback Stadium – 10:42 p.m.
With the semifinal now over, the stadium was slowly beginning to empty.
On Mission Viejo’s side, fans were leaving quickly, their expressions dull and resigned. The loss didn’t shock them, many had arrived already bracing for that outco.
In contrast, the Mater Dei fans were the complete opposite. Students stayed gathered in groups, chanting, jumping, waving signs with pure euphoria. Families walked out more calmly, but with laughter and animated conversations all around.
Under the stadium roof, in a slightly more secluded area, stood Nancy, the Mater Dei senior assigned as Andrew’s student ntor to help him adjust to the school’s demanding academic level.
She had kept her promise: she had co to watch him play tonight.
Beside her was Barbara, her best friend, looking around with curious, almost fascinated eyes, as if she were stepping into a completely new world.
Neither Nancy nor Barbara usually went to football gas, or any sports events at all. They weren’t part of that environnt, their territory was classrooms, libraries, and academic clubs. They didn’t have a car, and getting ho late was always complicated, especially for Nancy, who lived far away and attended Mater Dei on a scholarship.
But Andrew had offered to drive her ho.
"I have to admit," Barbara said, adjusting her glasses as she looked toward the section where the Mater Dei students were still celebrating loudly, "The atmosphere is incredible. And this was an away ga. I can’t imagine what it’s like at our stadium."
Nancy, leaning against one of the concrete walls, nodded absentmindedly without lifting her eyes from the small book in her hands. "Yeah... it was worth coming. A good experience before graduating," she answered calmly.
Barbara looked at her with a mix of amazent and resignation. ’You can read here?’ she thought.
But she was used to it by now. That was Nancy: the top student at Mater Dei, capable of reading effortlessly even with a crowd of students making noise just a few ters away.
And even so, she had followed the ga from start to finish. Not only watched, she understood every play, every touchdown. Barbara did too. They weren’t sports fans, but the rules were easy enough to grasp, especially at a school where football was practically a religion, and their natural curiosity did the rest.
"Hey..." Barbara said, pulling out her phone and checking the ti. "Do you think Andrew will rember us?"
Nancy looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow. "Why wouldn’t he?"
Barbara shrugged, a bit nervous.
She knew Nancy had been Andrew’s ntor since September, when the quarterback had first arrived at Mater Dei. Among their group of friends, people often joked about it: ’Nancy, tutor to the most famous high school quarterback.’
"I’m just saying he’ll co out surrounded by teammates, then his family will be waiting, and probably so party after that. The usual. So maybe he forgets he was supposed to drive you ho. It’d be terrible having to take the bus at this hour," Barbara said.
Nancy closed her book calmly and gave a slight smile. "He’ll co," she said with the quiet certainty of soone who knows his character.
"I’m not so sure, Nancy. Athletes are all the sa. They get lost in their mont of glory, adrenaline, ego, testosterone," Barbara said with doubt.
Nancy shook her head gently. "Not Andrew. We talked today and he told he’d drive . I doubt his brain is so tiny that he’d forget sothing he said less than twelve hours ago," she said without losing her composure.
Finally, from one of the tunnels, the Mater Dei players erged, talking loudly and dragging their duffel bags over their shoulders.
They were t with applause, whistles, and shouts. The atmosphere filled with life again: handshakes, hugs, photos, improvised chants.
Nancy and Barbara watched from their spot off to the side as, after the initial wave of excitent, the players reunited with their families.
Then the noise grew even louder than before, because Andrew finally ca out.
Andrew walked with his bag over his shoulder, hair damp from the shower, not from sweat, his face relaxed. The adrenaline had already faded. With every step, soone stopped him to congratulate him, classmates, students from other grades, parents, and fans who had co to watch him from the neutral section.
Andrew, used to it by now, smiled and greeted people, but kept moving quickly, hoping to find his family and get ho. But not before looking for Nancy. His eyes scanned the crowd, until he found her.
Nancy, leaning against the wall, waiting for him with the sa calm expression as always.
Andrew dodged a few kids who wanted more photos, and began making his way through the crowd.
Barbara saw him approaching and murmured quietly, "Well... looks like your theory checks out."
Nancy gave a small smile. "I told you. And you really need to let go of those athlete stereotypes."
-------------------------------------------------
You can read 15 Chapters in advance on my patreon. 50% Holiday Discount!
Link: s/Nathe07
User Comments
0 comments from readers