Long Island, New York — The Gellers' House
In the Gellers' living room, the big-screen TV displayed the ESPNU logo over a sea of stands vibrating inside Veterans Memorial Stadium.
On the coffee table, trays of crudités were neatly lined up, along with pretzels and bottles of water. Everything was labeled: "1st Quarter," "2nd Quarter," "Halftime"... all courtesy of Monica.
"Don't touch! That's for the first quarter and it hasn't even started yet, C… Ross's friend," Monica scolded, swatting away the hand reaching for a pretzel.
The young man on the couch pulled his hand back as if he'd seen a knife. "Ross's friend? Seriously?"
"Your name was… Chad?" Monica asked, frowning.
The guy shook his head.
"Chuck? Chester?"
"No!" he exclaimed, offended. "I'm not the singer from Linkin Park! It's Chandler. Chandler! It's not that hard."
"It is, man," Ross said casually, sitting beside him. "Even our college friends struggled at first."
Of course, it was harder for Monica to remember his name since it was the first time she'd seen him in person and had only heard Ross mention him maybe three times in conversation.
Ross and Chandler were visiting, having just started their freshman year of college, where they'd met and become friends.
Rachel, sitting on the floor in a baggy sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, spoke without taking her eyes off the TV.
"Yeah… and your last name was… Bong?"
The ESPN graphic read: "St. John Bosco vs Mater Dei — Trinity League, Game 4 — Live." The camera panned across packed stands, bands tuning up. Cut to the tunnels. Just minutes left.
"It's Bing!" Chandler protested, throwing his arms up in disbelief. "Bing. Very easy to remember!"
Rachel smirked. "Sounds like a microwave ding," she quipped, amused by her own comment.
Chandler blinked, looked at Ross, and raised an eyebrow with heavy sarcasm.
"Great. Wonderful. I come to your house, your sister can't remember my name, won't let me grab food, and her best friend thinks my last name is the sound of a kitchen appliance."
Ross shrugged, eyes glued to the screen. "Welcome."
Judy, the Gellers' mother, sitting on another couch, looked at her daughter pacing back and forth, eyes darting between the TV and the coffee table to make sure no one touched anything prematurely.
"Monica… why don't you sit down and breathe? You're reminding me of when you used to run out of air as a child…"
"I'm fine like this. I'll sit once the game starts," Monica said, her nerves disguised as stiffness.
"Are they coming out already or are we getting another documentary about the stadium?" Rachel groaned, tapping her foot impatiently against the carpet.
Much to her own annoyance, ever since that day at the beach in San Diego, she couldn't deny she'd watched a couple of Andrew's videos. She hadn't become a fan, not at all. She did it because she'd grown curious about him in a way she'd never admit to Monica, who would just say: "I knew it! No one can resist my idol's charm!"
What interested her was that whole beach day they'd spent together, and that talk about passion in life, something that had made her think about fashion as a possible path.
Of course, he was a guy who lived thousands of miles away, and besides, he had a girlfriend.
'Well… had a girlfriend…' Rachel thought, remembering that Andrew had removed his relationship status with Pippa Fitz-Amobi from Facebook. She shook her head, as if erasing the thought. The distance was still the same.
On the screen, the stadium speakers announced stats for the umpteenth time. Chandler rolled his eyes.
"Another documentary, or just to remind us he scored twenty-three touchdowns in five games…" Chandler quipped, then glanced sideways at his friend. "By the way, Ross, how many touchdowns did Andrew have?"
"I think twenty-three…" Ross replied with a small laugh.
"Oh, and let's not forget the beating. Tonight I'll fall asleep and dream of a big number two and three kicking my ass," Chandler added.
"It was a slip," Monica said automatically, his court-appointed defender. "It just slipped out and she still backed him up. Besides, you're jealous."
"I am not jealous!" Chandler shot back instantly. "I'm just saying, everyone's talking about him like it's some massive commotion, when it's just high school football."
Ross smiled without taking his eyes off the TV. "Trust me, it's not empty hype. Andrew's amazing. We went to Comic-Con together last summer and had a blast. Every now and then we even game online when our schedules line up."
Chandler whipped his head around. "Excuse me? The quarterback the whole country's buzzing about goes to Comic-Con and plays video games with you?"
"Yeah," Ross said calmly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "You'd like him. You and Andrew, even Leonard and Howard, you're the same brand of nerdy."
Chandler's jaw dropped. "The star quarterback from Mater Dei… a convention nerd? The world's upside down."
At that moment, Jack slowly pushed himself up from his recliner, patting his knees. "Anyone want a beer?" he asked, looking straight at Ross and Chandler.
He jerked his chin toward the coffee table, making it clear the labeled bottles were off-limits.
"Yes, please," Ross and Chandler said in unison, raising their hands like two teenagers asking for permission.
"Jack, they're eighteen!" Judy snapped, with her usual tone, half scolding, half alarmed.
Jack didn't even pause as he headed toward the kitchen. "Come on, Judy, it's just two beers. They're men already, they've got hair down there."
Ross covered his face with his hand. "Thanks, Dad, for the mental image I never needed."
Chandler chuckled and patted his friend's shoulder.
When Jack returned with two cold cans and handed them over, the ESPNU announcer's voice boomed from the TV:
[Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! First, let's welcome the visiting team… the Mater Dei Monarchs!]
Like a general at war, Monica raised her hand, silenced the room with a sharp "Shhh!" and sat down next to Rachel.
On screen, the Mater Dei players emerged from the tunnel, led by Andrew. The crowd greeted them with a wave of deafening boos and whistles, it was hostile territory. Yet the small but fierce red block of Mater Dei fans in one corner of the stadium held their ground, clapping and chanting like a wall against Bosco's ocean of blue.
A second later, the tone shifted:
[And now… here come the home team, the St. John Bosco Braves!]
The stadium shook. Chants, drums, and blue flags filled the air like a collective roar.
As the camera panned across both teams on the sidelines, Chandler lifted his phone like a microphone and adopted a sports announcer voice.
"All right, Ross Geller… how many touchdowns do you think Andrew's putting up tonight?"
Ross smiled a little nervously, settling into the couch. "Four."
"And you, Ross's sister and self-proclaimed number-one fan?" Chandler asked, pointing the phone at Monica.
Monica didn't take her eyes off the screen and answered firmly, "Five."
Rachel spoke up before Chandler could even ask her. "Six."
"Whoa… you sure have a lot of confidence in him," Chandler said, half-surprised, half-mocking. "Should we strip Monica of the number-one fan title and give it to you?"
Rachel shot him a death glare, enough to make Chandler swallow hard and change targets immediately.
"What about you two, Mr. and Mrs. Geller?"
Jack rubbed his chin like he was calculating a stock investment. "Mmm… he's averaging 4.6, I think we all know that. I'll round up: five."
"I'm rounding down: four," Judy countered, dead serious, like she was placing a bet.
"Those are the predictions from the Geller household," Chandler said, wrapping up his act as if he were an ESPN reporter.
"And you, Chester?" Rachel teased, her tone playful now.
Chandler grimaced slightly but answered, "I'm a man of statistics. If the average is 4.6, I'll say four."
This conversation wasn't only happening in the Geller house.
In hundreds of homes across California and other states, in bars in Georgia, in dorm rooms in New York, on Twitter, the question was the same: How many touchdowns would Andrew score in the game?
And the fact that everyone said four or more was unusual. In the Trinity League, an elite quarterback had an outstanding game if he threw 2 or 3 touchdowns. With four, he was cover-page material and MVP of the week. Five or six was the stuff of legends.
The roar of the stadium bled through the TV, cutting the chatter short.
The ESPN commentator's voice filled the room: [Everything's ready at Veterans Memorial Stadium! The opening kickoff is about to begin. Bosco will start on offense.]
On screen, Mater Dei's special teams lined up. The kicker set the ball, took a few steps back, and the referee's whistle blew.
The foot connected. The ball sailed through the night air, and the game was underway.
The camera followed the return: a Bosco player caught it at his own 8-yard line, started to run, and with good blocking managed to bring it out to the 32 before being taken down. A solid return that Bosco fans celebrated.
[And here comes the Bosco offense, led by senior quarterback Chris Johnson! A four-star prospect, right Dave?] the play-by-play announcer asked.
Dave, the analyst, took over: [That's right, Will. Chris is class of 2011, a four-star QB. We saw him this summer at the Dana Hills Tournament, where he led Bosco to the final.]
He took a short breath and continued: [He had a great game with five touchdowns, but still lost, because on the other side was Andrew Pritchett, who threw six. And if we're talking about this season so far, Chris is playing his best ball: 11 touchdowns, just over a thousand yards, and only four interceptions in five games.]
[Good numbers, no doubt, especially in the Trinity League…] the announcer added, measured. [But of course, if you put them next to Andrew's… the comparison is brutal. Twenty-three touchdowns in five games, more than 1,600 yards, and just one interception. That's video-game level.]
[Can't argue with that,] Dave laughed. What they were seeing from Andrew at this point in the season made every other high school QB in the country look second-rate.
The camera zoomed in on Chris adjusting his helmet and barking orders at his line, while the Bosco crowd erupted in cheers and chants.
"They said it!" Monica exclaimed, eyes glued to the screen. "Nobody's on his level."
"Well, that Chris kid isn't a scrub either…" Jack chimed in. "Eleven touchdowns isn't bad, especially at this level."
"Please…" Monica shot back, her tone sharp. "Andrew's got double. Double!"
"No. Double plus one," Rachel corrected.
Chandler, beer can in hand, smirked. "Impressive, sure, but the press talks about Andrew like he's Jesus Christ in cleats. Poor Chris gets introduced and immediately compared to him. That's gotta be depressing."
Bosco's drive began. Short run, short pass to the running back near the sideline.
Bosco was moving the chains with patience, no rush. The clock ticked.
First down, second down, third down. Another conversion. The drive stretched on. Twelve plays total, nearly five minutes gone. Helmets clashed violently, the crowd roared. And finally, a pass to the wide receiver in the red zone:
[Touchdown Bosco!]
The stadium erupted. The blue half jumped as one body. The camera stayed with the receiver who had scored: he took a couple of steps, turned toward the Mater Dei visitors' section… and struck an exaggerated dab.
It wasn't a coincidence. That gesture was one of the celebrations Andrew had made popular years earlier on his channel and at Palisades. He didn't use it anymore, but it remained iconic, and many still used it not just in sports. The Bosco player was clearly doing it as provocation.
In the Geller living room, Monica clicked her tongue furiously, "Pathetic."
On the broadcast, the play-by-play announcer returned to a serious tone: [Now Bosco's kicker lines up for the extra point…]
Dave added, [Andrew Pritchett almost never takes the safe route. Every time Mater Dei scores with him under center, they go for two. This is practically unheard of, and very few people talk about it.]
[Oh, go on,] Will said with genuine interest.
[The success rate for two-point conversions in high school barely hovers around 35 to 45 percent. Extra-point kicks are nearly automatic: 85, even 95% for some programs. Nobody risks it… except Andrew. And clearly his coach trusts him. The wild part? With him, the success rate skyrockets to 87%. That's insane. He turns the improbable into routine. He always finds a pass,] Dave explained, his tone both informative and amazed to be saying it aloud.
"Eighty-seven percent!" Jack exclaimed, eyes wide, beer can in hand. "That's almost safer than kicking, plus you get two points. Do you realize that?"
"It's incredible," Judy admitted softly, genuinely surprised by the number.
On screen, Bosco's kick was good. The ball sailed cleanly between the uprights.
[And Bosco takes the lead, 7–0!] the announcer called, as the home crowd roared.
[Now let's see the response. Time for the team to return the ball, and then for the kid the whole country's waiting to see.]
Bosco's kicker took his run, struck the ball, and Mater Dei's opening kickoff flew into the night sky. The red returner caught it at the 5-yard line, sprinted up the middle, cut right, and made it to the 38 before being dragged down by two Bosco players.
[Great return. Mater Dei will start in favorable field position… and here comes Andrew Pritchett,] the announcer declared.
The stadium vibrated. The camera zoomed in on Andrew, wearing number 19, walking in calmly through a mix of boos and cheers.
Mater Dei's drive began. Andrew's offense moved like a machine, direct, no stalling.
And then, on the sixth play: Andrew dropped back in the pocket, glanced right, faked, turned to the middle, and launched a deep pass of over 25 yards. The perfect spiral landed in Victor's hands, who crossed the end zone untouched.
[Touchdown Mater Dei!] the announcer shouted. [A lightning drive of just 2:40 and six plays!]
The stadium split in two: Bosco fans whistling, Mater Dei fans leaping and chanting, forcing their presence to be heard.
[That's the difference with Bosco. They stretched their drive to 12 plays, nearly five minutes. Andrew plays at a different pace: precision, mid-range passes, breakneck rhythm,] Dave highlighted immediately.
Rachel and Monica leapt off the couch and hugged, screaming.
"Take that, Bosco bastards!" Monica shouted, eyes blazing.
"That was amazing!" Rachel added, swept up in the emotion.
Jack raised his can proudly. "That's my boy!"
"Your boy?" Judy said, arching an eyebrow at her husband.
Jack, unfazed, shrugged and nodded toward their daughter, clapping as if she were at the stadium itself, eyes shining as Andrew high-fived his teammates on screen.
"Well… who knows, right? Maybe someday."
He said it in that way of his, half joke, half truth. Judy clicked her tongue, but Monica didn't even hear, too locked onto the screen.
Jack knew his daughter had actually met Andrew once. Even his son Ross had become friends with Andrew at Comic-Con.
Chandler shook his head in disbelief. "Six plays. This guy isn't playing football… he's playing Madden on easy mode."
"Told you, man. Different level," Ross said with a grin, like he was watching his buddy wreck opponents, and he really did consider him a friend.
[And here it comes… just like I told you earlier,] Dave said with a trace of excitement. [He's not going for the extra point. He's going for two.]
Andrew took the snap, and in less than three seconds fired a pass to his tight end, Thomas. Conversion good.
[And Mater Dei takes the lead, 8–7!] the announcer shouted.
The stadium went silent for a heartbeat before erupting into a mix of boos and cheers.
Bosco went back on offense, but this time it was different. Mater Dei's defense bit on every snap. Incomplete pass, stuffed run, instant pressure on the QB. Three-and-out in just 1:10 off the clock.
Once again, Andrew trotted onto the field. This time nearly 70 yards ahead of him. A tougher spot than before, but it didn't matter.
Five plays were enough. A deep bomb to Sedric in the corner of the end zone. Touchdown.
Mater Dei didn't hesitate. Another two-point conversion, good again.
[16–7!] the announcer cried. [Mater Dei on fire, and Andrew showing why the whole country's talking about him!]
In the Geller living room, Monica and Rachel jumped up and hugged again, while Jack clapped hard and Chandler pressed a hand to his forehead, locking eyes with Ross.
The first quarter ended with Mater Dei 16 – Bosco 7.
Just minutes later, the second quarter began. Bosco, rattled, tried to recover. Their offense pieced together a patient drive: eleven plays, runs and short passes, chewing clock. After 4:20 minutes, they finally crossed the goal line on a power run. Touchdown Bosco.
[And Bosco is back in it!] the commentator exclaimed. [They close the gap to 16–14 after the extra point!]
But the answer came quick. Andrew stepped on the field with a calm look, so calm it was almost defiant, like he was playing in his own backyard.
In eight plays and exactly three minutes, he shredded the defense again. Touchdown, once more connecting with Victor.
This time Mater Dei opted for the kick. Extra point good.
23–14.
Bosco returned, but the red defense was locked in. Two runs stuffed, one pass swatted away, the drive ended cold. Three-and-out.
The camera cut back to Andrew, and the Bosco section of the stadium grew quieter and quieter.
Andrew didn't forgive. With a blistering tempo, he moved the chains until unleashing his fourth touchdown of the night, another bomb to Victor that lit up the visiting stands.
Two-point conversion: good.
31–14.
The whistle blew for halftime. The break arrived with Andrew unstoppable: four touchdowns in two quarters, and Bosco staggering.
[What a first half!] the announcer said. [Mater Dei heads to the locker room with more than double the lead. And Andrew is already writing another historic night, and we've still got half a game to go.]
On screen, the numbers appeared clear as day: Andrew Pritchett — 4 TD, 0 INT, 250 passing yards in two quarters.
"Four touchdowns in two quarters!" Monica shouted, throwing her arms up, eyes shining like she'd scored them herself. "He's having the game of his life!"
Rachel smiled and clapped enthusiastically. "And there's still half a game left… this is insane! Why don't we have a quarterback like that at our school?"
Chandler held his head in disbelief. "Okay, fine, I admit it… the beatdown is real." He slumped back into the couch, surrendering completely. "We are witnessing the Jesus Christ of high school football."
Ross laughed, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
Jack pointed at the screen with his beer can in hand, grinning from ear to ear. "Looks like the predictions came up short, huh? He's already passed Chandler's, Ross's, and Judy's. And I think mine and Monica's are gonna fall short too."
"Yeah… I didn't think I'd be the one under," Monica admitted, still wearing that proud smile on her face.
Rachel arched a brow and, with a barely disguised hint of triumph, said, "Well… someone here did say six. And got called dramatic, right?" She raised her eyebrows, glancing sideways at the others.
"Yeah, yeah, we're sorry," Chandler admitted, resigned. "Nobody in their right mind would've bet on six touchdowns in a game like this."
Not even Monica, and she trusted Andrew with her eyes closed.
"What can I say… I've got a good eye," Rachel replied, shrugging with a sly smile. A quiet little victory.
Chandler pulled his phone from his pocket, wearing the face of a man who couldn't resist a joke at the worst possible moment.
"I'm tweeting this," he announced loudly as he typed quickly: "Bosco, thanks for showing up. Show courtesy of Jesus Christ in a helmet. #NationalBeatdown #TheBeatdownIsReal."
"Let's not celebrate just yet," Monica cautioned. She approved of the tweet, but it was better to post it once the blowout was over and nothing surprising could happen.
After the halftime show at the stadium wrapped up, the game resumed, the third quarter began.
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