9:55 a.m.
The teams were already organized. Each player had been assigned to a group, wearing numbered jerseys that distinguished them, with tentative position lists and designated coaches to guide them throughout the day.
Despite the heat, the energy in the air was intense: the players' shouts, the sound of footballs hitting the grass, and the growing murmur of the crowd settling in to watch the tournant kickoff.
Although the stadium was far from full, its total capacity being 34,000 spectators, there was a large turnout to watch the tournant. Families of the players, friends, schoolmates there to cheer on their star athletes, curious onlookers, and more.
From a preferential zone under a large white umbrella with a privileged view, Brian, Darnell, and Willa watched the field. At that mont, Brady, who had just finished giving final instructions to his organizing team, sat down beside them.
"You look stressed," Brian said with a slight smile, happy to see his old friend.
"Yeah, I need to hire new people," Brady replied with a faint grimace.
"So, who are the monsters?" Brian asked. "You know, the ones you just can't ignore."
Brady smiled, as if he had been waiting for that question.
"Number 9 on the red team: Davante Adams. Wide receiver. Fast, silent, precise. Doesn't talk much, but when he runs a route... it's like he floats. He's got hands like a bank robber, never drops anything. Starter at Palo Alto High School, one of the strongest Division I programs in Northern California," Brady explained.
He gestured with his chin toward the far right end of the field, where an athletic kid, well over six feet, was warming up alone, focused.
"Bank robber? You should be careful with those taphors, Brady. Soone might report you for that," Willa said with a faintly judgntal smile, glancing at Brady as she noticed that number 9 had dark skin.
Brady slowly turned his face toward her, his brow barely furrowed. Willa wasn't looking directly at him; her attention had returned to the field.
"I didn't an it like that..." Brady replied in a dry tone and decided to ignore his friend's stepdaughter's sharp tongue.
"Moving on. Blue team, number 4: Derek Carr. Quarterback from Bakersfield Christian. Leadership, strong arm, great field vision. He's already on the radar of several colleges," Brady said, pointing toward a group of players where a boy with an athletic build and focused gaze was confidently speaking to his team. Even though he had only known them for a few minutes, he already seed like the natural leader.
Brian, who wasn't exactly a technical expert but had been a lifelong enthusiast, raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Bakersfield Christian? I thought that was a small school. Aren't they in Division V of the Central Section?" he asked.
Brady nodded.
"They were. But they were promoted to Division IV this year, because of him. Derek earned the starting spot in his junior year, and that season he threw for over 4,000 yards and 46 touchdowns. That alone brought statewide recognition to the team. Now all eyes are on him," Brady explained.
Brian looked at him with renewed interest. "So he's a late bloor."
"Exactly. Not everyone shines from the start, but when they do... they change everything," Brady nodded.
"And with just one good year they already treat him like a star?" Willa murmured, not particularly surprised.
Brady didn't turn to look at her, but replied calmly, "When soone changes the fate of their entire team, it's worth paying attention. Even if it's just for a year."
Brian stayed thoughtful for a few seconds. That last sentence reminded him of a na he had heard more than once, on the news, in sports blogs, websites, and on YouTube.
"That reminds of that kid... Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, right?" Brian asked curiously, turning slightly toward Brady. "The freshman quarterback who beca famous both for his ga and his controversy."
"Famous is an understatent... First year of high school, 14 years old, and not only did he earn the starting spot, he led his school to their first state championship. A school that had never made it past the second round, and he shows up and throws 72 touchdowns in one season. Passes of over 70 yards, multiple tis in multiple gas... He broke so many records and left them at ridiculous numbers. It's like watching a college player trapped in a teenager's body," Brady said with a short nasal laugh.
"Now that does sound more impressive than the others..." Willa admitted, with more interest than she had shown all morning.
"The only downside, if you can call it that, is his attitude. It earned him admiration, but also so hate," Brady added.
"What do you an?" Willa asked, raising an eyebrow.
"When they won the state title, he sent a video ssage to the CIF. Uploaded it to his channel. He asked them to move his team up because, and I quote, 'I don't want to keep humiliating the sa schools next year,'" Brady replied.
Willa couldn't help but let out a light laugh.
"Spoiler: CIF did move them up," Brian added, noticing that Willa was actually interested in sothing, and since he had followed the topic closely.
"Even so, what made the biggest impact wasn't just his level of play, it was the whole package. The kid regularly uploads training videos, both at school and on his own. Routines. Diet. Technique corrections. Tips. Mindset. He's 14, but has the discipline of a pro athlete. It's... unsettling in a good way. Seeing soone that young with that kind of control is almost uncomfortable, but at the sa ti, it earns respect," Brady said with an expression rarely seen on his serious face.
"And that got him followers?" Willa asked.
"Yeah, tens of thousands. Quickly. And not just for his playing. A lot of people follow him for the ssage: healthy living, sports, mindful eating, consistency. He's beco a kind of symbol for kids his age who don't want to fall into diocrity. A role model... though a controversial one," Brady replied.
"What's his YouTube channel?" Willa asked, pulling out her phone.
After a few seconds of searching, she landed on Andrew's channel, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw he had 504,203 subscribers.
"Any thoughts on him?" Brian asked with a slight smile, noticing that Willa was still browsing on her phone.
"He's probably an insufferable egomaniac," Willa replied after a mont, locking her phone.
"Is he here today?" Brian asked, glancing toward the field.
"No. Would've been great, but no. No one registered under his na. A sha," Brady said, shaking his head.
"Sounds like you're a fan," Willa teased with a mocking smile. "Are you subscribed to his channel, Brady? Notifications turned on and everything?"
Brady looked at her for a second, expressionless, then turned his gaze back to the field.
"Let's move on. The ones who are here are worth watching too, and so are in higher divisions," he replied.
"Green team, number 77: Arik Armstead. Defense. He's 16, already over six-foot-five, and weighs more than 220 pounds. He'll easily break past six-foot-seven. He's from Pleasant Grove High School, in the Elk Grove area. Division I. In scrimmages, he looked like an adult playing with kids. Almost no one can move him. If soone runs into him and stays on their feet, it's already a miracle," Brady continued.
Willa squinted as she looked around for the player. It didn't take long to spot him: a massive kid, almost intimidating just by the way he jogged.
"And finally, gold team, number 74: Andrus Peat. Offensive lineman. The definition of a human wall. Technique, size, and discipline. If anyone here's going to be in the NFL in five years... it's him," Brady concluded.
Willa watched in silence. It felt like witnessing a superhero casting. Her mind began to wander, thinking about Comic-Con, superhero booths, and all the rest.
At that mont, a figure was calmly warming up. Black uniform. Helt on, with a dark visor. Number 21.
Andrew was stretching, looking up at the blue sky, the sun on his face. Thankfully, his visor shielded him.
'Beautiful day... but man, it's hot,' he thought to himself, unaware that Brady Patrick Hoke had just been talking about him.
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