dford, Texas – Friday, November 21st, 2010
In one of the many quiet houses of dford, Texas, clean façade, well-kept lawn, and warm lights glowing inside, stood the Cooper family ho.
A very well-known family in the neighborhood. The father, George Cooper Sr., was the head coach of the local high school football team, respected by the community and liked by the parents of his players.
The mother, Mary, was just as recognizable, always involved in church, charity events, and any activity where she could offer a helping hand and a sermon.
Their three children completed the picture.
Georgie, the eldest, chaotic but good-hearted, worked at an auto shop and was as extroverted as he was stubborn.
And the sixteen-year-old twins, Missy and Sheldon.
Missy was sociable, witty, and sarcastic.
Sheldon was an indisputable genius who had graduated from college at fourteen and, even though he now lived in California working toward his doctorate, he was still rembered in dford. Not so much for his intellect, which was already a local oddity, but for his, let’s say peculiar personality.
Even with Sheldon’s quirks and the reputation that followed him, the Coopers remained a very loved family.
Inside the house, Mary was in the kitchen, sitting in front of an open laptop on the table.
She was trying to start her routine video call with her son. These calls happened twice a week: Mondays and Fridays. They always had to be at the exact sa ti, not a second early, not a second late.
The screen showed Sheldon’s face, hair perfectly combed, the white dorm-room lights of the Caltech campus behind him. His expression was, as always, a mix of limited patience and silent disapproval.
"Shelly! Can you hear ?" Mary asked, smiling and waving, while the laptop remained silent.
On the other end, Sheldon spoke, his voice barely audible through the glitchy speaker.
"Mother, you’re muted."
Mary kept talking, "How are you, sweetheart? You look very pale, are you eating well over there? During exam season you always lock yourself away in your own world, you have to eat, or you’ll make call your tutor Eric again..."
Sheldon took a deep breath, "Mother... you’re muted. I can’t hear you."
"What?" Mary said, leaning closer to the screen.
"You. Are. Muted. Rember the thirty-second tutorial I gave you last week," Sheldon repeated, his patience thinning.
"Oh, right, which button was it?" Mary murmured, frowning as she scanned the laptop’s keyboard. Then she looked at the screen, where several confusing options appeared.
Sheldon let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Why is it so hard for you to rember that?" he said in a completely flat, almost condescending tone, as if the question didn’t actually require an answer.
Mary didn’t even flinch. She’d spent sixteen years getting used to comnts like that. She was about to reply when a female voice interrupted from the hallway:
"It’s this button, Mom," said Missy, entering the kitchen with a glass of juice in hand. She was wearing a school softball team T-shirt and short jeans, her hair tied up in a ssy ponytail.
Without much enthusiasm, she walked over and pressed the correct key on the keyboard. The microphone turned on with a little click.
"Thanks, honey," Mary said, relieved.
Missy looked at the screen, at her brother’s face. No hint of tenderness, just a small grimace.
"You could explain it with a little patience, genius. Not everyone has a doctorate in household technology," she said as she set her empty glass on the counter.
"It’s not his fault he forgets things," Mary replied, crossing her arms. "You know I don’t get along with these machines."
Missy rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "And you always make excuses for him..."
Sheldon ignored his sister completely.
"Well, Shelly," Mary continued, trying to sound cheerful, "How are things over there? Are you eating well? Sleeping?"
"I’m perfectly fine. I’m preparing for one of the most important exams of the sester. If everything goes as expected, I will officially obtain my doctorate in January, before my birthday."
His tone was flat, but there was an unmistakable hint of pride. At just sixteen, Sheldon was weeks away from becoming one of the youngest PhDs in the country, and probably the world.
"Well, don’t overwork yourself," Mary insisted. "Not everything has to be perfect."
"Your concern is unnecessary," Sheldon replied without hesitation. "I am not overworking myself. I simply work at the level appropriate to my intellectual capacity."
"Have you t anyone new? Any friends?" Mary asked softly, trying to keep the conversation light, not wanting her son to think only about studying even during video calls.
"Mother, you ask that question every week," Sheldon answered. "The answer remains the sa. No. Friends are a socially accepted distraction from more productive tasks."
"Oh yeah, because playing Halo is so productive," Missy muttered internally, holding the comnt back.
Mary smiled with endless, saint-like patience, "Well, things can change from one week to the next. You might’ve t soone interesting. Not just brainy n or won twice your age."
Missy let out a mocking little laugh, unable to hold it in anymore, "Yeah, sure, Mom. Because it’s totally likely that Sheldon gets friends. Maybe tomorrow he goes to a party, dances a bit, and cos back with a girlfriend."
Sheldon looked at her with absolute seriousness, "Considering the social compatibility I might have with people who enjoy parties, and my complete lack of interest in dancing, your scenario is highly improbable."
"It’s sarcasm, genius. Seems they don’t teach basic things over there." Missy said, shaking her head.
"Enough, please," Mary interrupted, raising a hand with a weary sigh.
"Sheldon, let’s go say hi to your father and your brother."
She carefully picked up the laptop and left the kitchen, walking down the hallway to the living room.
The atmosphere was warm, with the TV on in front of a three-seater couch and two individual armchairs on the sides.
On the main couch sat George Cooper Sr., beer in hand, watching the television attentively. The channel was ESPNU.
Next to him, in one of the armchairs, was Georgie, also holding a beer can, slouched comfortably with his legs spread and a relaxed grin on his face.
Mary placed the laptop on the coffee table in front of them, turning it so both could see the screen.
"Say hi to Shelly," she ordered.
George Sr. shifted his gaze from the TV and leaned forward a bit.
"Hey, son. How’s college going?" he asked casually, completely used to the fact that his sixteen-year-old was pursuing a doctorate, while the son sitting right next to him had dropped out of high school and was dating a woman twelve years older.
Georgie grinned mischievously, "Sheldon!" he greeted dramatically, lifting his beer. "How’s the future Einstein? Have you invented the ti machine yet, or finally accepted it’s impossible?"
Sheldon didn’t even flinch. He looked at him for half a second, uninterested, and imdiately turned his attention to his father.
"Hello, Father..." he greeted formally, ignoring Georgie completely.
As Sheldon began giving a near-military report about his week, his studies, his progress on the doctorate, the exact hours dedicated to each activity in his routine, Mary noticed the beer in her eldest son’s hand and frowned.
"Give that," she said, snatching it away in one swift motion.
"Mom, I’m twenty! Almost twenty-one," Georgie protested.
"You have to be twenty-one to drink, not almost," Mary replied, unfazed.
"And as long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules."
Georgie huffed but didn’t push it. He knew that arguing with his mother was a sport he never won.
Missy, who had walked in behind Mary, dropped onto the couch next to her father. Without asking, she snatched the remote from his hand and turned up the TV volu.
Sheldon, still talking, unaware that no one was listening, finally stopped his monologue when he heard the familiar sound of a sports broadcast. He raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t see the TV, the screen was behind the laptop, but he recognized the ESPN comntators’ voices instantly.
"Are you watching another high school football ga?" he asked with clear disapproval. "There are more productive ways to spend one’s ti."
"It’s not a high school ga," Georgie shot back, mimicking his brother’s superior tone.
"It’s the ga."
George Sr. nodded with a smile as he set his beer on the table, "That’s right, son. This is the final of the toughest section in California. Two historic programs head-to-head: Mater Dei versus Long Beach Poly."
As the coach of a Texas team, George never missed this kind of matchup. His school might not have been state-elite, but he understood the level and intensity of a final like this.
The Coopers had already watched the previous ga, Mission Viejo vs. Mater Dei, also nationally televised. And now, the grand final promised to surpass even that.
Missy, arms crossed, kept her eyes fixed on the screen, "Besides, this ga could break several records," she added, trying to sound indifferent.
Georgie smiled, "Yeah, they say it might beat the most-watched high school sports ga ever, the one LeBron Jas played in."
Sheldon let out a faint, dismissive exhale, as if all of it were trivial nonsense. But before he could make so condescending remark, Mary cut in with a warm smile.
"Would you like to watch it with us, Shelly?"
For a mont, Sheldon seed to waver between statistical curiosity and his natural disdain for sports. Then he spoke calmly:
"I do not usually watch sporting events, Mother. But I admit it could be interesting to analyze why so many people derive pleasure from observing others collide over a ball."
Missy snorted, "Translation: yes, but he doesn’t want to admit it."
George chuckled, "Just like old tis, son, when we used to watch NFL gas on Sundays."
Sheldon said nothing, but there was a faint glimr in his eyes. He understood football perfectly thanks to all those afternoons sitting with his father in front of the TV.
And although he’d never admit it, after months buried in studies with no friends or close connections, he enjoyed, more than he cared to acknowledge, sharing that family mont, even through a laptop screen, watching a sport he still considered primitive.
Mary sat with the rest of them and angled the laptop so Sheldon could see the television.
On ESPN, the comntator Will announced with excitent:
[Ten minutes to kickoff! How’s the atmosphere down there, Carl?]
The field reporter answered over the deafening stadium noise:
[It’s crazy, Will! Not a single empty seat. Thirty-five thousand fans in the stands, full capacity, historic. And let tell you: Mater Dei fans are the majority.]
[You can tell. From up here we can see a sea of red jerseys...] Will added, clearly amazed.
"Shouldn’t they split the tickets evenly between both teams?" Mary asked, frowning.
Before anyone could reply, another voice joined in, the analyst Dave:
[To be exact, 35,024 tickets were sold. But what’s interesting is that a big portion of the neutral crowd isn’t so neutral. Many are fans of Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, thanks to his YouTube channel, and ca only to watch him play. We estimate around five thousand extra people supporting Mater Dei tonight.]
Sheldon interlaced his fingers. "Predictable. His YouTube channel is number one worldwide and has over three million subscribers. It is logical that people here in California, lacking more productive activities, would spend money to witness his athletic performance."
A silence stretched across the living room for a few seconds.
Everyone slowly turned their heads toward the laptop, surprised that Sheldon knew sothing so mundane.
Missy was the first to break the silence, "Wait, what? You know about pop culture? You know Andrew Pritchett-Tucker’s channel? The guy who uploads ab workouts and his ga highlights?"
Georgie laughed in disbelief, "That sounds way too caveman for your intellectual standards. What, you trying to get a six-pack to impress so girl at the college?"
"Of course not," Sheldon denied imdiately, as if the idea personally offended him, "I simply found it slightly interesting from a statistical point of view. His numbers are worthy of scientific observation."
Georgie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Uh-huh... sure. Even if he’s a statistical phenonon, I doubt that’s how you found him. Jimmy Clausen was a statistical phenonon too, though not as big. Do you know him?"
"Jimmy who?" Sheldon asked.
"Exactly! See? You don’t know him. So tell the truth, Sheldon," Georgie said, snapping his fingers.
He started tapping the table with his knuckles, creating an uneven rhythm that made Sheldon’s right eye twitch.
"Stop it!" Sheldon snapped, irritated. "Your percussion lacks rhythm."
"Then tell ," Georgie said, tapping even louder.
Before Mary could intervene, Sheldon burst out, annoyed, "Fine! I watched his channel months ago because I recognized him in person."
The living room fell silent.
"What?" Missy asked, confused.
"I saw him at the last San Diego Comic-Con," Sheldon explained matter-of-factly.
"He was in the DC area, and what caught my attention was that so people surrounded him, which I found strange. I heard soone call him by na asking for an autograph. And then I rembered, thanks to my mory, that I had read in a sports newspaper about a boy with the sa na who won a sumr football tournant with his school."
Sheldon had skimd that newspaper purely by chance for only a few seconds, but his mind had retained every detail. Later, intrigued by the statistical improbability of a high-school elite athlete attending a comic convention, he looked him up on YouTube. He confird that it was indeed the sa Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.
An almost impossible statistical anomaly, but true.
Missy stared at him, mouth half open, "Are you saying you saw Andrew at the sa weird convention where you dress up as Spock?"
"You probably dread it. I doubt the most famous guy on YouTube was standing right next to you at a nerd convention," Georgie said, not buying it.
"My mory is perfect, unlike yours. I do not dream or confuse faces. He was there. I saw him clearly," Sheldon replied sharply.
"Enough, boys. The ga is starting," said George Sr., not particularly interested in the hobbies of the most talked-about high school athlete in the country.
The argunt dissolved instantly, and everyone turned their attention back to the TV.
[Quick recap. On-screen you can see the stats of both starting quarterbacks,] Will said.
The broadcast displayed graphics with the nas and highlighted numbers:
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker — QB Mater Dei
10 GP · 54 TD · 2 INT · 3,725 passing yards · 75.2% completion rate
Chandler Whitr — QB Long Beach Poly
10 GP · 21 TD · 9 INT · 2,130 passing yards · 64.6% completion rate
George Sr. whistled in amazent, "That difference is brutal."
"My God, those stats are insane!" Georgie said, genuinely impressed.
"Georgie, language..." Mary scolded him lightly, though she couldn’t hide her own surprise at the more-than-double gap between both quarterbacks.
Sheldon folded his hands over the desk, almost satisfied, "I told you. His numbers are worthy of scientific observation."
[Pritchett averages 5.4 touchdowns per ga, Whitr barely 2.1,] Dave comnted.
[A massive difference. And the most notable thing is that Mater Dei’s passing offense not only leads California, it’s the most productive in the entire country.]
[Impressive,] Will replied.
[Even so, we can’t underestimate Long Beach Poly, the so-called NFL Factory, right Dave?]
[Exactly. The Jackrabbits specialize in defense. They allow an average of just 13 points per ga, the best in the state. Followed by Mission Viejo, Servite, and, in fourth place, Mater Dei.]
George Sr. nodded, focused on the graphics, "The most lethal offense against the strongest defense. Classic clash of styles."
Georgie laughed, rembering, "Yeah, but Mission Viejo had a strong defense too, and they still got four touchdowns dropped on them."
He was referring to the previous week’s ga, when Andrew broke Jimmy Clausen’s record with four touchdown passes, without even playing the fourth quarter.
George Sr. nodded slowly, "True. But in a final, nerves can ss with you. Pressure changes everything, especially when there are three tis as many people watching you live, not just on TV."
At that mont, the stadium noise grew louder through the speakers. The caras focused on the players’ tunnel.
[And here co the teams onto the field!] Will announced.
First ca the Long Beach Poly Jackrabbits, dressed in green and gold. A mixture of applause and boos greeted them as they walked across the field.
[There’s the NFL Factory, pride of South L.A. Record 9-1. Only lost one league ga, but still beca champions,] Dave added, [Many Poly alumni are in the NFL today.]
Then, the stadium truly erupted.
Mater Dei Monarchs burst out through red smoke and lights. The stands exploded into a sea of scarlet jerseys and waving flags.
[And now, Mater Dei!] Will shouted over the roaring crowd, [The undefeated team of the year, led by national sensation Andrew Pritchett-Tucker!]
On screen, the main cara zood in.
Andrew, helt under his arm and a serious expression, led the formation. He gave a brief wave to the crowd as he crossed the field. His face was focused, no trace of nerves.
The stands erupted in a chant that echoed through the TV speakers:
[An-drew! An-drew! An-drew!]
"I hope he has good parents. With that much fa so young, you need a good head on your shoulders," Mary said with a mix of admiration and concern.
"Yeah, he’s still young enough to go to prom. Incredible," George Sr. added, shaking his head. He had never imagined seeing this level of dia attention on a sixteen-year-old. Only LeBron Jas compared, and online many were already saying Andrew was surpassing him.
"Wow... he’s like a rock star," Missy murmured, unable to believe he was her age.
"What’s wrong, little sister?" Georgie asked, a teasing smile forming as he watched her. Missy sat with her legs crossed, her eyes glued to Andrew on the screen, still in close-up.
"Gonna admit you’re a fan of Andrew?" he added provocatively.
Missy shot him an annoyed look, rembering an argunt they’d had during the previous ga, "I’m not a fan. Stop being annoying."
Georgie wasn’t exactly a die-hard Andrew supporter. He just watched his videos from ti to ti, so workout, a ga recap, a new routine. He didn’t comnt or defend him like the more intense fans, he just found him entertaining and respectable.
And he had noticed that Missy pretended to be indifferent, but still watched his gas and followed him on social dia.
"Look at the abs I got from Andrew’s routine!" Georgie said, lifting up his shirt.
"Mom, he’s an exhibitionist!" Missy protested, whipping her head away in indignation as she saw her brother lifting his shirt to show his abs.
Mary sighed, used to scenes like this, "Georgie, stop teasing your sister. You’re too old for that."
Georgie laughed and pulled his shirt down, "Alright, alright..."
Sheldon, from the laptop screen, chid in with his usual tone of moral correctness, "Yes, brother, you’re too old for that kind of exhibitionism. Especially considering you’re married."
Missy seized the opportunity and delivered the final blow, "And to a thirty-year-old woman, too. Shouldn’t you be more mature? How does Mandy even tolerate you?"
Georgie opened his mouth, ready to retaliate, but their father lifted a hand without taking his eyes off the TV.
"Shh... quiet, the ga is starting. Poly begins on offense."
Long Beach Poly’s special teams lined up on the field to receive Mater Dei’s kickoff.
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