Chapter 327: Reality Check?

Ten minutes before kickoff, Autzen Stadium already seemed to be in full combustion.

Rock songs thundered through the speakers while the stands answered with an almost constant roar.

The cheerleaders helped fire up the crowd even more, if that was even possible. Between the music, the shouting, and the tens of thousands of fans dressed in green and yellow, it felt as though the entire stadium were vibrating beneath their feet.

In sections 35, 36, and part of 37, toward the southwest side, the only patch that completely broke Oregon’s colors stood out.

Light blue.

The UCLA fans who had traveled to Eugene to support the Bruins occupied that small corner of Autzen. There were around three thousand of them, barely close to five percent of the stadium’s capacity: players’ families, friends, students, alumni, members of the university, and fans committed enough to follow the team all the way to Oregon.

Among them was practically Andrew’s entire family.

Mitchell and Cameron, Lily, Jay and Gloria, Claire and Phil, Haley, Alex, Luke, and Manny.

Very close to them were Leonard, Howard, Sam, Paige, Monica, and Rachel as well.

For the visiting section, the seats weren’t bad at all. They were relatively close to UCLA’s assigned sideline, close enough to make out the players when they came onto the field and, during the game, have a fairly close view of the Bruins’ bench.

The problem was everything else.

Because that small light-blue block was completely surrounded. Above, below, to the left, and to the right was an endless ocean of Oregon fans.

Phil slowly looked up at the stands, "This is something else..." he muttered.

Claire turned her head toward him, "What did you say!? Speak louder!"

Phil looked at her, "I said this atmosphere is something else!" he repeated, leaning toward his wife so he wouldn’t have to yell even louder, "I didn’t expect this! I mean... they were nice at the tailgate!"

The experience before the game had been surprisingly pleasant.

The Oregon fans had been hospitable toward them. Not to the almost excessively friendly level they had encountered in Nebraska, but it definitely wasn’t anything like Arizona either, where wandering too far from the UCLA area could mean getting insulted or running into some group of drunk college students looking to start trouble.

In Eugene, they could walk around fairly peacefully.

Phil, who had naturally taken the opportunity to explore the area and talk to practically anyone willing to listen to him, had even ended up accepting a beer from some Oregon fans during the tailgate.

That was why the transformation was so bewildering to him.

Phil watched as another roar swept through the stands when an image of the Ducks appeared on the giant screens, "They’re completely different people in here!" he shouted.

"What did you expect!? They’re the Ducks!" said Claire, who researched the opposing fanbase before every away game they attended: passion, commitment to the team, tradition, hospitality...

"Yeah, but an hour ago a guy with his face painted green was recommending restaurants to me!" said Phil.

And UCLA hadn’t even taken the field yet.

When Andrew and the rest of the Bruins came out of that tunnel...

The hostility and the noise would be much worse.

Phil swallowed at the thought.

"Mitchell, I’m scared," said Cam, watching the stadium atmosphere with an increasingly unconvinced expression.

He received no answer.

Cam waited a second. Then he turned his head.

Mitch was leaning toward Lily, making sure for the third time that the noise-canceling headphones were properly positioned over her ears. At six years old, Lily seemed considerably less impressed by the deafening noise than any of the adults around her.

"Hey..." said Cam, touching his shoulder.

Mitch turned toward him, "What is it now?" he asked, with the resigned tone of someone who already knew perfectly well what was coming next.

Cam had spent practically the entire pregame making less-than-encouraging comments.

Mitch had already heard enough, and he couldn’t exactly answer him with much confidence either.

Saying don’t worry, our son is going to win would have sounded nice.

But it would have been a lie.

Mitch trusted Andrew. A lot. In other games, he had even arrived at the stadium with that difficult-to-explain feeling that, one way or another, Andrew would eventually find a way.

Not today.

Or, at least, not with the same certainty.

Besides, he was nervous himself. He simply handled it in a much less noisy way than his Cam did.

Cam looked at him for a few seconds, waiting for some reassuring words. None came.

"Hmph," he said, turning his head away with an offended expression.

Mitch slowly exhaled through his nose and checked Lily’s headphones again.

A few yards away from them, Gloria had a completely different approach, "Come on, UCLA! No mercy!" she shouted, raising both arms.

Her voice disappeared almost instantly beneath the noise of the rest of the stadium.

That didn’t seem to discourage her. At one point, she lowered her arms to catch her breath and looked at Jay.

He was sitting with his arms crossed, calmly watching the field.

Gloria frowned, "Come on, Jay! Do something! Your grandson is about to play the biggest game of his life!"

Jay barely turned his head, "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Cheer!" Gloria replied as if it were obvious.

"For who?" Jay asked, pointing toward the field, "Our players haven’t even come out yet."

Gloria opened her mouth.

Jay continued before she could answer, "Besides, it’s three thousand of us against more than fifty thousand of them. We’re not going to win a shouting contest," he argued.

Oregon had tens of thousands of fans, a huge number of college students who had spent hours preparing for that moment, their band, the cheerleaders, and the stadium PA system constantly pushing the crowd.

Every few seconds, some chant would start in one section and immediately be picked up by others.

The band’s instruments burst in between songs.

The cheerleaders moved along the sideline, trying to raise the energy even higher.

UCLA, meanwhile, had a small light-blue island trapped in the middle of all of it.

Jay perfectly understood the idea of supporting the team.

But yelling at an empty field had never exactly been his thing.

"What a killjoy. Age has already drained all your energy," Gloria huffed.

Jay’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t say anything. He reminded himself that his wife was pregnant and her mood had been rather sharp for the past few days. It was better not to argue with her.

Manny, sitting on the other side of her, watched her with some concern, "Mom, maybe you shouldn’t be getting this worked up yet. You know... because of the baby. You need to calm down."

Gloria slowly turned her head toward him, "What did you say?"

Manny looked at her. He saw her expression and immediately reconsidered every decision that had led him to that moment.

"Nothing," said Manny. The answer came out far too quickly.

Gloria held his gaze for another couple of seconds. Then she turned back toward the field, "Come on, Bruins!"

Manny discreetly let out the breath he had been holding.

Jay glanced at him from the corner of his eye. A small smile appeared at the corner of his lips, "I see you’ve finally learned something."

Manny frowned, "What?"

"Not to tell a pregnant woman to calm down," Jay replied.

Manny didn’t deny it.

Monica, sitting near them, kept her eyes fixed on the field.

Although she could barely sit still.

Her anxiety had been through the roof for hours and, now that only a few minutes remained before the game began, she had ended up biting her nails almost without realizing it.

Her head turned toward Rachel.

Rachel was taking selfies. One with the field in the background. Another smiling.

Another holding up two fingers in a peace sign.

Monica watched her for several seconds.

Rachel finally noticed the stare and lowered her phone slightly, "Do you want us to take a picture together?" she asked.

Monica didn’t even respond to that, "How are you so calm?"

Rachel blinked, "I don’t know..." she said with a shrug, "I trust the team. And especially Andrew."

She gave her a thumbs-up with a smile, as though that settled everything.

Monica stared at her in disbelief, "It’s not just about trusting them. It’s Oregon. Number two in the country, and we’re here."

She gestured slightly toward the stands. She didn’t need to explain much.

The noise did it for her.

Monica brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

Sometimes she had the feeling that Rachel didn’t fully understand what the Oregon Ducks represented in college football.

Beside her, Haley didn’t seem to be doing much better either.

She was leaning forward, both elbows resting on her legs, while her right foot tapped against the floor over and over again.

At one point, she turned her head and looked at Alex, "We can win, right?"

The question sounded more like a request for reassurance than genuine doubt.

Alex looked at her. She wasn’t exactly calm either. She was just much better at hiding it.

"The game should be competitive," Alex replied, "UCLA is number six in the country. Oregon isn’t playing just any team."

Haley nodded quickly. That sounded good, "So, can we win?"

Alex opened her mouth. But she didn’t answer right away. Because that was the problem.

For the first time since Andrew had started playing football, her mind gave the other team a clear advantage.

If she had to put it into numbers: 75% for Oregon - 25% for UCLA.

For years, she had unconsciously made that same calculation before Andrew’s games.

Andrew had always been the favorite.

Even against Nebraska, where he had eventually suffered his first loss, Alex had gone into the game believing UCLA had the better chances.

In high school, it hadn’t even been a discussion.

Servite.

De La Salle.

Long Beach Poly.

Whoever.

Andrew had simply been too dominant, and when he also had a team and coaching staff like Mater Dei behind him...

Why would she expect him to lose?

She hadn’t even expected it with Palisades.

But this was different.

Oregon had much more experience.

They had a program that had been established among the national elite for years and that, since Chip Kelly’s arrival, had practically finished inside the Top 10 every season.

They also had a roster loaded with talent and older, more experienced players. Many of them were already used to playing games of this magnitude.

UCLA had talent. But many of them were true freshmen like Andrew and Steve.

Her cousin was having a season that, for any normal freshman, would have seemed impossible.

But the logical side of Alex kept reaching the same conclusion.

Leaving Eugene with a victory was going to be extremely difficult.

"Well?" Haley insisted.

Alex looked at her again. She could say what she really thought.

But she couldn’t see how that would be a positive comment for her sister.

"Nothing," she finally replied.

Haley narrowed her eyes at her, "That wasn’t an answer."

"It was the best one you’re going to get."

Haley let out a breath through her nose. Then she turned to the other side: Leonard.

Surely he would have some reassuring statistical analysis. Some piece of data proving UCLA had better chances than it seemed.

"Leonard, do you think we can win? Tell me something positive," she said.

Leonard looked at her for two seconds, "I don’t know, I don’t want to lie to you. Anything can happen in a football game," he finally said.

"You guys are incredible at cheering people up," Haley muttered, turning back toward the field.

Howard was watching everything much more calmly.

After taking a few pictures and recording some videos of the stadium to upload to his social media, he put his phone away and looked toward Paige and Sam.

Then he noticed Paige’s jersey. A Bruins jersey with Andrew’s number on it.

A teasing smile immediately appeared on his face, "Is that Andrew’s jersey? Does it smell like him?" Howard asked.

The problem was that Paige wasn’t exactly sitting next to him.

Sam was sitting between them.

Paige managed to hear something through all the noise in the stadium, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She turned her head toward Howard.

When she saw that smile, she narrowed her eyes slightly. She didn’t need to have heard him to know he had probably just said something stupid.

"What did he say?" Paige asked, looking at Sam.

Sam leaned toward her and brought her mouth close to her ear to repeat the comment.

Paige listened.

Then she slowly turned her head toward Howard.

He was still smiling.

By that point, Howard, Leonard, and practically everyone else already knew that Paige had spent Halloween alone with Andrew watching Twilight after everyone else had gone to the festival.

And now Andrew had invited her to the game.

The ticket, by itself, didn’t mean much. Andrew got tickets for the others too, so Paige hadn’t received any extraordinary privilege.

Halloween, on the other hand...

That had been more than enough to fuel comments. Especially from Howard.

Paige briefly lowered her gaze toward her jersey.

It was obvious that it didn’t belong to Andrew.

It fit snugly against her body, while any jersey of his would have been huge on her.

Besides, they weren’t even close enough yet for Andrew to be giving her his own clothes.

Howard knew that perfectly well. He was just trying to annoy her.

Paige looked at him again. But she didn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned toward Sam and began whispering something directly into her ear.

Sam listened and looked at Howard.

Then she turned back toward Paige. A smile slowly appeared on both of their faces.

Howard stopped smiling. He couldn’t hear a single thing. All he could see were two girls whispering to each other while looking at him.

Paige added another sentence. Sam lightly covered her mouth to hold back a laugh.

Howard frowned. That was much worse than any response she could have given him.

The classic situation of two attractive girls talking to each other while looking at you, and you had absolutely no idea whether they were making fun of your clothes, your face, your personality, or what the hell else.

"Okay, okay," Howard said, raising both hands. "I’m sorry. I give up! I’ll stop bothering you! Just stop whispering things while looking at me and laughing."

Sam let out a small laugh.

"Good decision," Paige said, turning back toward the field as she waited for Andrew to come out.

She hadn’t even said anything bad about Howard.

Nothing hurtful.

She had simply leaned toward Sam and whispered for her to laugh while they both looked at him. She had been fairly certain Howard would get paranoid and assume on his own that they were talking about him.

It had worked exactly as she expected. A direct attack on his insecurity.

Finally, the music booming through the speakers stopped.

For barely an instant, the noise inside the stadium seemed to drop.

Then the announcer’s voice echoed throughout Autzen, cordial, professional, and noticeably lacking in enthusiasm, [Please welcome to the field... the UCLA Bruins.]

The response was immediate: boos and whistles.

A deep, continuous roar descended from the stands just as the first UCLA players emerged from the tunnel.

Because of the stadium’s compact design, the sound didn’t escape upward.

It fell directly onto the field.

"Shit..." Steve muttered as he jogged out, a few steps behind Andrew.

He had never heard anything like it.

They had played in difficult environments before.

Nebraska had been impressive. More than eighty thousand people, an obsessively loyal fanbase, and a stadium capable of putting enormous pressure on any visiting team.

But Nebraska hadn’t really felt hostile.

They wanted UCLA to fail.

They screamed to make the signals harder to hear, whistled, tried to force false starts, and did everything they could to push their team forward.

But it hadn’t felt personal.

Arizona had been different.

There, after everything that had happened during the previous week and the comments that had heated up the matchup, part of the crowd had developed a particular animosity toward Andrew.

There had been insults.

Constant boos.

Students yelling directly at him whenever he approached the sideline.

A tension that had followed practically the entire game.

But this was on another level.

Andrew crossed the tunnel exit with his helmet on and began jogging toward the field as a wall of sound hit him from every direction.

The boos blended together into a single deafening noise.

In the middle of all that hostile reception, there was a small patch of blue trying to answer back.

The visiting section finally had something to cheer for.

As soon as the Bruins appeared, the three thousand UCLA fans rose practically at the same time.

"COME ON, ANDREW!"

"UCLA!"

"BRUINS!"

Phil was clapping so hard that it almost looked as if he were trying to make up for the numerical difference all by himself.

Cam was on his feet shouting while keeping one hand on Lily.

Leonard and Howard had stood up too.

Haley was waving both arms.

Even Jay, who minutes earlier had refused to take part in a shouting contest against an empty field, was now standing and clapping, "Come on!" he said.

The problem was that all that support could barely break through.

A few minutes later, it was the home team’s turn.

The change in the atmosphere was immediate.

The boos directed at UCLA began to fade, replaced by an expectant murmur that grew with every passing second. The Oregon band got ready at one end of the field, the cheerleaders took their positions, and much of the stadium turned its attention toward the Ducks’ entrance.

Then they heard an engine.

Howard raised his eyebrows slightly.

The sound grew louder and louder until a motorcycle appeared on the grass.

A Harley-Davidson.

And riding it was The Oregon Duck.

The mascot wore his enormous white duck head, his orange beak open in that permanently smiling expression, a green Oregon shirt over his body, and his giant orange feet sticking out on either side of the motorcycle. One hand gripped the handlebars while the other waved toward the stands as if this were the most natural entrance in the world.

Behind him, the Oregon players began to appear, and Autzen erupted into an ovation that seemed even louder than the previous boos.

Tens of thousands of fans stood up at the same time.

The band began to play.

The cheerleaders shook their pom-poms while jumping and shouting from the sideline.

Several explosions made some of the visitors flinch as the fireworks prepared for the entrance went off above the stadium.

The motorcycle moved across the field while the Ducks ran behind their mascot through smoke, music, and a deafening roar.

Howard watched the scene with his mouth slightly open, "A duck on a motorcycle...?" he muttered in disbelief.

He had never exactly been an encyclopedia of college football.

When he found out that Oregon’s mascot was literally a duck, his first reaction had been to make fun of it.

Who the hell wants a duck as a mascot?

But now...

Howard watched the giant duck riding a Harley while more than fifty thousand people completely lost their minds around him.

He had to admit it. The duck had some serious swag.

"That’s pretty cool," he commented.

Paige, sitting beside Sam, followed the motorcycle with her eyes, "It’s just a duck," she said, not looking particularly impressed.

"It’s a duck riding a Harley," Sam commented.

"That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a duck," Paige replied.

Not long after, the introductions came to an end.

The band cleared the middle of the field, the last staff members moved toward the sidelines, and both teams finally took their places.

Oregon would have the first possession.

Andrew remained on the UCLA sideline, helmet on and eyes fixed on the field.

After the opening kickoff, Oregon’s return was fairly standard.

Nothing that got the stadium especially excited.

The Ducks’ offense took the field with around seventy-two yards to go before reaching UCLA’s end zone.

Then the Bruins’ defense was reminded once again of what it meant to face Chip Kelly’s Blur Offense.

UCLA had already gone through it the year before.

In the first Championship Game of the newly formed Pac-12, the Bruins had visited that very same stadium and lost 49-31 to Oregon.

The final score had actually been kinder than the game had really felt.

UCLA had never truly been in control.

They had never been ahead, nor had they ever given the impression that they might actually win that night.

To make matters worse, several of the players who had at least lived through that experience were no longer even part of the team.

The Blur Offense was characterized by its players not using the traditional huddle, that small circle an offense normally forms between plays so the quarterback can communicate the next call.

The players looked toward the sideline, lined up quickly, and went right back on the attack.

The idea was to keep the opposing defense from having time to substitute players, reorganize, properly identify the formation, or even fully process what had just happened.

By the time you were still thinking about the previous play, Oregon was already running the next one.

To relay calls at that kind of speed, Chip Kelly had popularized the use of huge visual boards on the sideline, filled with images, symbols, numbers, and combinations that allowed players to recognize the next call without needing to huddle or listen to a verbal explanation.

And that was exactly what happened. In fifty-one seconds, the Ducks reached the end zone.

[Touchdown, Ducks!] Brent Musburger exclaimed as the receiver crossed into the end zone. [And there it is! Seventy-plus yards, five plays, fifty-one seconds! That’s Oregon football!]

Autzen Stadium erupted.

The Oregon players celebrated in the end zone while the stands once again became a mass of raised arms, shouts, and flags.

Brent continued over the noise, [We’ve seen this so many times here in Eugene. You come in knowing how fast they’re going to play, you prepare for it all week, and then you can’t do anything to stop it.]

[You can simulate tempo in practice. You cannot fully simulate this,] Kirk commented.

Oregon wasn’t finished. The kicker didn’t come onto the field. They were going for the two-point conversion.

The fans reacted with a mixture of surprise and excitement.

It wasn’t exactly out of character for Oregon.

Chip Kelly had been using unexpected two-point conversions for years, especially when he found a favorable formation or believed he could catch the opponent off guard.

But that decision also had a context that was difficult to ignore.

UCLA had become one of the most dangerous teams in the country on two-point conversions that season.

Andrew was one of the main reasons.

A week earlier, against Arizona, the Bruins had converted five in a single game.

An extraordinary number and, to some, completely unnecessary considering the final margin on the scoreboard.

Part of the media had even criticized UCLA for continuing to use them after the game had already been decided, interpreting it as another form of running up the score.

Now Oregon had a chance to send a message of its own.

The Ducks lined up and successfully converted the two-point attempt.

Autzen roared again.

Kirk nodded as the replay appeared, [Good decision by Kelly.]

Brent looked at him, [Going for two?] he asked.

[Yes,] Kirk replied. [UCLA has been exceptional on two-point conversions this season. Pritchett gives them so many options because he can throw it, run it, extend the play and Oregon knows that. If this becomes the kind of game everyone expects, those extra points may matter.]

[So UCLA isn’t the only team with tricks tonight,] Brent said.

The stadium scoreboard changed.

OREGON DUCKS 8 — UCLA BRUINS 0

Less than two minutes had passed since kickoff.

Andrew watched the scoreboard for a few seconds, ’They really are fast,’ he thought, impressed.

He had watched games, studied film all week, and knew what to expect. But seeing it live, from the sideline and against your own defense, was different.

After UCLA’s return, it was finally their turn.

Andrew took the field with the rest of the offense and the noise changed immediately.

Oregon’s celebration turned into pure hostility.

Andrew could barely hear his own voice when he spoke. That wasn’t a surprise either. They had prepared specifically for this.

The center didn’t need to hear Andrew. The receivers knew the hand signals.

Protection changes, routes, and adjustments at the line could all be communicated with prearranged gestures.

Andrew lined up behind the center. He looked over the defense. Moved one hand, and they started driving down the field.

They weren’t as explosive as Oregon’s drive, but they didn’t need to be.

Every first down they picked up triggered a small eruption from the visiting section.

Three minutes later, UCLA was inside the red zone.

Andrew took the snap.

Dropped back.

Pressure came from his left.

He stepped up into the pocket and threw.

The ball traveled eighteen yards on a fast, precise trajectory toward Amari.

Amari caught the pass in stride. Five yards remained. He immediately turned toward the end zone.

He saw a defensive back trying to close the angle, but it was too late.

Amari crossed the line.

[TOUCHDOWN, BRUINS!] Brent exclaimed. [Pritchett puts it right on Cooper, and Amari does the rest!]

The small blue section exploded.

Brent raised his voice even more, [What an answer by UCLA! First possession, on the road, in this noise, against the number two team in the country and the freshman quarterback takes them straight down the field!]

Andrew jogged toward Amari and slapped both hands with him.

"Nice one!" Steve celebrated, jumping toward them.

Then Shaq, Jonathan, and the others arrived.

[Great drive by the Bruins... and of course they’re going for two,] Kirk commented when he saw that Andrew hadn’t left the field.

Andrew took the snap.

Pre-snap motion briefly confused the linebackers and, seconds later, UCLA found the opening they needed.

Conversion good.

[Two-point conversion is good!] Brent announced. [We’re tied in Autzen, and we haven’t even played five minutes of the first quarter!]

OREGON DUCKS 8 — UCLA BRUINS 8

"Yes! That’s it!" Cam shouted, jumping out of his seat.

Without thinking much about it, he hugged Gloria.

"I told you you had to believe!" she shouted, returning the hug with the same intensity.

A few seats away, Howard raised his hand, "Let’s go!"

Leonard high-fived him.

Howard pointed toward the field, completely revitalized, "Who cares about the noise? They can’t stop him!"

Paige clapped with a smile as she followed Andrew with her eyes while he headed back toward the sideline, "Wow! Nice job!" she exclaimed.

But Oregon didn’t slow down.

Not even a little.

On their next possession, the Blur Offense got moving again, and UCLA barely had time to breathe before they found themselves being pushed back toward their own end zone once more.

Mariota, the QB, moved the offense with an almost deceptive calm considering how fast they were playing.

Before long, they were back in the end zone, and this time they didn’t go for the two-point conversion.

The kicker came in. Extra point good.

UCLA’s answer didn’t come.

On their second drive, the Bruins managed to move the ball some, but Oregon’s defense began to show a different face than it had on the opening drive.

UCLA was eventually forced to punt without even getting into a comfortable position to attempt a field goal.

Oregon took advantage.

They didn’t score another touchdown, but they moved the ball well enough to put their kicker within range.

Three more points.

When the clock hit zero at the end of the first quarter, the scoreboard showed a gap that was already beginning to feel significant.

OREGON DUCKS 18 — UCLA BRUINS 8

[What did you think of this first quarter, Kirk?] Brent asked. Then he continued almost immediately. [During that first UCLA drive, it looked like the Bruins might be able to answer blow for blow. It was a very clean series from Pritchett. But since then, they haven’t put any more points on the board.]

Kirk nodded, [Yes. And the biggest problem right now is on the other side of the ball. UCLA’s defense still doesn’t have an answer for Oregon’s tempo. They haven’t been able to contain Mariota, they haven’t been able to contain Barner, or the receivers.]

A replay of several plays from the Ducks’ offense appeared on screen.

[That’s exactly what Chip Kelly wants,] Kirk continued. [Force you to think while they simply keep playing.]

The broadcast then shifted to Oregon’s defense.

[And you have to give a lot of credit to this defensive unit too,] he added. [UCLA’s first drive was excellent. Pritchett caught them off balance several times. But since then, Oregon has settled in.]

This was not a defense lacking talent.

Quite the opposite.

On the edge was Dion Jordan, a six-foot-six senior.

An extraordinary athlete capable of attacking the quarterback as an edge rusher on one play and then dropping back into pass coverage on the next.

To many NFL scouts, he was one of the most intriguing defenders in the entire country and one of Oregon’s biggest names heading into the upcoming Draft.

His combination of size, speed, and mobility made him a nightmare for any offense.

And he wasn’t alone. On the other side was Ifo Ekpre-Olomu, a sophomore.

One of the most productive cornerbacks in the Pac-12 and among the conference leaders in interceptions.

And behind the defensive line was another layer of experience: Michael Clay and Kiko Alonso.

Two senior linebackers who had spent years seeing practically everything an offense could throw at them. They had played in the national championship game two years earlier.

[Clay and Alonso didn’t panic after that first drive. They’ve adjusted their depths, they’re disguising coverages better, and they’re forcing Pritchett to hold the ball a little longer,] Kirk commented.

The Ducks weren’t just a revolutionary offense.

They weren’t only Marcus Mariota, a redshirt freshman having an extraordinary season, and Kenjon Barner, one of the most dangerous running backs in the country.

They also had a fast, physical defense loaded with future NFL players.

A defense that had allowed a touchdown on the opening drive and that, apparently, had already found its rhythm.

The visiting section had grown considerably quieter after seeing the difference on the scoreboard.

They had started well.

Oregon struck first, UCLA answered immediately, and for a few minutes it looked like they could trade scores without a problem.

But after that first drive, nothing.

Phil stood up and tried to bring some energy back, "It’s only ten points, people!" he encouraged with a smile.

"Yeah! Andrew’s gonna bring us back!" Luke exclaimed, raising one arm with absolute confidence.

There wasn’t even the slightest trace of doubt in his voice.

Claire slowly nodded, "That’s true..." she murmured, although she was speaking much more quietly than they were.

She had one hand near her mouth and, almost without realizing it, had started biting her nails too, "It’s only the end of the first quarter. This is just getting started," she added.

Ten points didn’t mean much when there were still three quarters left to play.

So several of them began repeating that to each other.

There was time.

One good drive could completely change the momentum.

An Oregon turnover.

A quick touchdown.

Anything.

However, the second quarter was even worse.

UCLA resumed possession exactly where it had left off at the end of the first.

They kept moving forward until one of Andrew’s passes was intercepted by a player who jumped in front of Steve.

[Ekpre-Olomu intercepts Pritchett’s pass!] Brent exclaimed, suddenly raising his voice. [And he’s got room!]

Autzen exploded.

Thousands of people rose from their seats at the same time as Ifo Ekpre-Olomu secured the ball and started running the other way.

"Let’s go!"

"Run, man!"

"Let’s go, Ifo!"

For a moment, it looked like he might have open field all the way to the end zone.

But Joseph Fauria came from behind.

The UCLA tight end caught up to him and hit him with the full force of his more than one hundred kilos.

Ekpre-Olomu crashed violently onto the turf. For an instant, it even looked like the wind had been knocked out of him.

But it didn’t matter.

The ball had already changed hands.

The entire stadium was celebrating, and a chant began rising from one of the student sections.

"OVER-RATED!"

More voices joined in.

"OVER-RATED!"

Andrew heard them as he walked toward the sideline.

Kirk watched the replay from the booth, [Seven weeks before we see another interception from Pritchett,] he commented. [The last one came on September fifteenth against Oregon State, in that game we all remember. And this one comes at a really bad time for UCLA.]

Andrew pressed his hands together tightly and gave one sharp clap. Then he clicked his tongue.

Amari passed by him and gave him a light tap on the shoulder, "This isn’t over yet."

Jonathan came over as well, "Forget it. The next one’s ours."

They weren’t empty words.

By that point, the offense trusted Andrew far too much to fall apart because of one interception.

Andrew didn’t answer. He only gave a small nod.

Oregon didn’t waste the gift.

Touchdown, and from there, the second quarter turned into a nightmare.

The Ducks’ offense kept playing at a speed UCLA simply couldn’t control. In fact, at an even faster pace than in the first quarter.

One touchdown and then another.

When they couldn’t reach the end zone, they at least put their kicker within range.

Two additional field goals.

On the other side, UCLA’s offense was completely neutralized in the second quarter. Not a single touchdown, not a single field goal.

Oregon’s defense had found its rhythm after that opening drive and never again allowed Andrew to move the offense with the same ease.

When the clock finally reached halftime, the giant screen showed a score that left much of the small visiting section silent.

OREGON DUCKS 45 — UCLA BRUINS 8

A thirty-seven-point difference.

Phil wasn’t trying to lift anyone’s spirits anymore.

Claire stared at the scoreboard without saying anything.

Luke kept looking toward the field, although even his confidence seemed to have taken its first serious hit of the night.

As the UCLA players began walking toward the tunnel, the Autzen crowd sent them off with a mixture of cheers, whistles, and mockery.

Then, from the student sections, a new chant began.

"HEIS-MAN!"

Some people around them immediately joined in.

"HEIS-MAN!"

There was nothing celebratory about the tone.

It was completely sarcastic.

It only took Gloria a few seconds to realize what they were doing. She shot to her feet, "You think you’re so funny!?" she shouted toward the Oregon fans, "He’s eighteen years old!"

Jay looked up at her, "Gloria... They can’t hear you."

Monica, still shaken by how the first half had ended, lifted her head toward the students.

"He’s a true freshman!" she shouted too, unable to stay quiet. "He’s playing against a team that was in the national championship two years ago!"

Howard glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Even emotionally defeated, apparently she still had enough energy to argue with fifty thousand people if it meant defending her YouTube idol.

The ABC cameras seemed to follow Andrew as he left the field. Not because the broadcast was deliberately trying to humiliate him.

Simply because he was the main story of the game.

Cam looked as if his soul had left his body.

Every fear he had carried through the pregame had come true, and in a way far worse than he had imagined.

Now he remained seated, almost completely still, staring at the empty field.

He wasn’t even thinking about the Heisman.

He couldn’t care less about that.

What worried him was something else. How is Andrew going to handle this when it’s over?

Mitch wasn’t doing much better.

During the final minutes of the second quarter, he had remained with his arms crossed and his jaw tight, watching every drive without saying practically anything.

He wasn’t too worried about Andrew having a bad performance either.

Because, objectively, it wasn’t even an individual disaster.

He had thrown a touchdown.

Only one interception.

He had moved the chains on several drives.

It wasn’t as if he had zero touchdowns, three interceptions, and could barely complete a pass.

There were games where an offense could go an entire quarter scoring only seven or ten points.

The problem was that Oregon was playing at a different speed.

Every empty UCLA drive seemed to cost them seven points immediately.

No.

Mitch wasn’t worried about the statistics. He was worried about his son.

Jay remained standing, watching the field as he slowly scratched his chin, "Damn it," he muttered.

Phil turned toward him, "Do you think they can come back?"

Jay looked at him and didn’t answer.

Alex, who had heard the question, turned toward her father too.

Her expression said it all: ’Seriously, Dad?’

Thirty-seven points against Oregon at Autzen.

If Alex had already believed UCLA had the lower chance of winning before kickoff, now...

She didn’t even want to calculate it.

The comeback seemed practically impossible to her.

Claire remained completely silent.

Haley, meanwhile, took out her phone. It was the first time she had ever seen Andrew get beaten this badly.

In high school, she had watched games that were tight at the beginning, but he always ended up winning them.

In college there had been more tense games, like Nebraska and Oregon State.

But this was a real humiliation. Like the one UCLA had handed Arizona the week before.

She opened Twitter. Read for a few seconds, and her expression immediately worsened, "Okay, Twitter is awful," she commented, locking her phone and putting it away again.

Rachel turned toward her, "What are they saying?"

Even her voice sounded different.

Rachel normally had a light, almost musical tone, even when she was talking about complete nonsense.

Now it was subdued.

Haley shook her head, "Nothing. Don’t look."

Rachel watched her for a moment. She decided to listen.

Paige wasn’t taking part in any of the conversations. She kept looking toward the tunnel where Andrew had disappeared.

The second quarter had been horrible.

She had watched Andrew come back frustrated after another scoreless drive.

And there was still an entire half left. If things kept going like this, they could end up losing by fifty.

Maybe more.

Then Paige remembered what Andrew had told her happened after the loss. The panic attack.

’What happened after Nebraska isn’t going to happen to him again, right?’ Paige thought.

The idea left an uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

Almost immediately, her brain started searching for some way to reduce even slightly the possibility of something like that happening again.

Maybe tomorrow, Sunday, they could finish the Twilight movie they still had left.

They could sit together again for a couple of hours, criticize Edward and Bella, laugh at the ridiculous parts, and get Andrew to stop thinking about that game for a while.

Or they could do anything else. It didn’t really matter what.

Anything.

As long as he didn’t shut himself away alone and keep going over what had happened here again and again.

She still hadn’t realized something. The game wasn’t even over yet, and she was already thinking about how to be there for him afterward.

In the ABC booth, Brent looked at the scoreboard once again, [Well... this is not the first half UCLA imagined.]

[I don’t think anyone expected it,] Kirk agreed, [UCLA’s defense simply hasn’t found a way to stop this tempo. And we know Oregon can put up these kinds of numbers in a single half. Last week they scored fifty-six points before halftime.]

He paused briefly and added, [But that was Colorado. This is UCLA. The number six team in the country. We all expected a much closer game tonight, but so far Oregon is showing exactly why so many people believe this team is on another level from everyone else in the rankings except Alabama.]

Brent nodded, [Do you think Pritchett is having a bad game?]

Kirk took a second before answering, [Yes.]

Then he immediately qualified it, [In fact, I’d say this is his first truly bad game at UCLA. But I’d also tell you that, among the few positives the Bruins have had tonight, he’s still probably the best of them.]

The broadcast showed his first-half statistics.

[He’s completing more than sixty-five percent of his passes. He has one touchdown, led the two-point conversion, and has managed to move the chains at several points, helping set up a field goal. He only has one interception.]

[For any normal freshman, those numbers wouldn’t necessarily be terrible, but...] Brent said, leaving the sentence unfinished.

[This is Pritchett-Tucker,] Kirk completed it, [We’re comparing him to the standard he’s created for himself all season.]

Brent let out a small laugh, [That’s a pretty high standard.]

[Yes, but even so, when your team is losing by more than thirty-five points, no one can say the offense is having a good night.]

[With the first half over, who’s been the best player in the game so far?] Brent asked.

[Mariota is having a great game,] Kirk said, as the statistics appeared on screen.

Marcus Mariota was also a freshman.

Although there was one important difference compared to Andrew.

He was a redshirt freshman.

He had spent an entire season inside Oregon’s program training at the college level, learning Chip Kelly’s system, developing physically, and adapting to the pace of college football before playing his first year as the starter.

He had won the job during the spring and 2012 preseason, beating out Bryan Bennett.

It had taken him only a couple of months to become one of the biggest breakout players of the season.

Although he was still several steps below the media and statistical phenomenon that Andrew represented.

Up to that point, Mariota had accumulated:

Passing Touchdowns: 19 TD passes.

Interceptions: 5 INTs.

Passing Yards: 1,520 passing yards.

Rushing Yards: 400 rushing yards and 5 rushing TDs.

Total Touchdowns: 24 touchdowns.

Total Yards: 1,920 total yards.

Excellent numbers for any freshman quarterback.

But not explosive enough to put him in the same Heisman conversation as Andrew or Johnny Manziel.

There was another factor as well.

Oregon probably had the best offense in the country.

Chip Kelly’s system was so efficient, so fast, and surrounded by so much talent that there was always the question of how much belonged to the quarterback and how much belonged to the machine around him.

A simply competent quarterback would probably put up good numbers in that offense too.

Mariota, however, was considerably more than competent.

And there was something practically no one in the football world could know yet.

No one except Andrew.

If history continued following a path similar to the one he remembered, Marcus Mariota would eventually win the Heisman Trophy in 2014.

But that was still two years away.

Right now, he was just another freshman trying to prove that he belonged among the elite.

Kirk studied the statistics for a few seconds, [He already has two touchdown passes tonight. But if I have to pick the MVP of this first half, I’m going with Kenjon Barner.]

The broadcast immediately switched to several replays of the running back.

[Two rushing touchdowns,] Kirk said. [And the amount of yardage he’s already gained on the ground in just two quarters is extraordinary.]

Brent nodded, [He’s tearing apart UCLA’s front seven.]

[Completely.]

Of the five touchdowns Oregon had scored up to that point, two belonged directly to Mariota through passes.

The other three had come on the ground.

On those plays, the quarterback had simply taken the snap, handed the ball off, and let his running backs do the rest.

That was why they didn’t appear in his personal statistics.

That difference also explained part of what made Oregon so dangerous.

They didn’t need Mariota to throw five touchdowns or have a magical night.

[We’ll see how this continues in the third quarter,] Brent commented. [The question now is whether UCLA can find any kind of answer.]

Twenty minutes remained before the third quarter began.

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