Thursday, November 20, 2010
Only one day remained before the big final.
And the atmosphere on the Mater Dei campus didn't resemble anything Andrew had ever experienced as a student since arriving at the school.
Normally, in the days leading up to a game, the entire school buzzed with an almost festive energy: enthusiastic excitement in the hallways, smiling teachers, players walking around with confidence as everyone greeted them.
But not this time.
This time, the usual joy had transformed into something quieter, more contained.
The confidence was still there, yes, but hidden behind a kind of almost-superstitious respect. No one wanted to jinx it, no one dared to say out loud we're going to win or show too much confidence that might backfire later.
Instead, there was a blend of anxiety, anticipation, and pride. The sort of tension you feel when everyone knows something big is about to happen, but nobody wants to make a move that might alter the outcome.
The pressure felt different.
The headlines, the cameras, the national ESPN coverage, the internet treating the matchup like a college bowl game, everything contributed to the feeling that this wasn't just another high-school football game.
Even the numbers confirmed it:
It was Mater Dei's fourth nationally televised game that year, tying the legendary record set by St. Vincent-St. Mary with LeBron James. And although the record was already secured, since the national broadcast was confirmed, what truly mattered was ending the eleven-year drought without a section title.
In the hallways, Andrew received the same greetings as always: "Let's go, Monarchs!" "You got this, Pritchett!" but they sounded more restrained, less euphoric.
Even within the team Andrew noticed the shift. During practices that week, the euphoria that had followed the win over Mission Viejo slowly faded, replaced by disciplined silence.
The seniors, including Kevin, the defensive leader, were more serious than ever. Not a single joke, not a single word out of place. Even Víctor and Nick, the two who were always the most confident and the first to say they would win, looked tense.
If even they were nervous, it meant this wasn't just another game.
It was the game that could return Mater Dei to its throne after more than a decade.
Classes were held as usual, actually a bit more demanding than normal.
Andrew had two important assignments that week: one he had already turned in on Tuesday, and another for Geography that was due that same Thursday. He submitted both on time and expected a good grade, since Nancy told him they were very well done.
The good news was that there wasn't a single exam the entire week.
And not because they weren't scheduled, according to the original calendar, there was supposed to be a test that very day, but because the school, with its discreet diplomacy, had decided to move the dates.
Nobody said it openly, but everyone knew. Normally, Mater Dei never made exceptions, not even for its top athletes.
But this week was different.
Partly for logistical reasons, partly out of caution, and above all because the entire school revolved around the Southern Section final.
The air in the classrooms wasn't academic, it was the air of an eve.
With first period over, Andrew found himself in the cafeteria with Nick, Víctor, Thomas, and the rest of the guys from the team.
It was lunchtime, and although Mater Dei's cafeteria was enormous, with more than two thousand students passing through every day, it was impossible for the group to go unnoticed.
More than twenty football players, wearing their red sweatshirts with the Monarchs logo, occupying four tables pushed together, always drew attention. And even more so with just one day left before the big final.
Andrew sat in the center, as usual, and began meticulously organizing the lunch he had packed from home. Everything measured: exact portions, nothing fried, clean protein, and a couple of pieces of fruit.
He set his water bottle to the side and started eating while listening to the others, whose conversations were much quieter than usual.
No one was talking about the game.
Not about the opponent, not about the game plan, not even about the ESPN coverage.
Until Víctor, unable to hold it in any longer, slammed his hand on the table hard enough to rattle the trays.
"Damn it, I just want it to be tomorrow already!" he burst out, a mix of frustration and anxiety in his voice.
The group let out nervous laughs, but no one contradicted him. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.
"Relax, guys," Kevin stepped in, "Today's the last practice. We've been perfect since Monday. We just have to do what we always do."
"That does not calm me down!" Víctor huffed, shaking his head. "What we always do suddenly feels harder than ever."
He was one of the few who dared to talk to Kevin like that, Kevin weighed over 250 pounds. But the two had been friends for a long time.
Nick, sitting beside him, gave a jittery smile and turned toward Andrew. "Come on, captain. Say something motivating, yeah?"
Andrew looked up from his plate. He had been more wrapped up in his own thoughts than in the conversation.
And in his head, funnily enough, he wasn't thinking about the game at all, he was thinking about the prank on Claire from the day before.
He remembered it and couldn't help smiling. It had been glorious. His aunt had even given him permission to upload it to YouTube, so he had already started editing the video.
It wasn't just the prank, it was all the behind-the-scenes setup leading up to it, where Andrew played the director and coached Haley, Steve, and even Alex in express acting lessons.
He also explained the context of why he was pulling such a prank on his aunt.
Of course, he wouldn't upload it before the final. Not only because he didn't have the time, but because of strategy.
He didn't want the public seeing him doing heavy pranks the day before the most important game of the season.
"Does this guy take anything seriously?" he could already imagine what Twitter would say.
Although, if he really thought about it, watching people argue online might be entertaining.
Andrew lifted his gaze. His teammates were watching him in silence, waiting for motivational words that might light something inside the group. Only the cafeteria's background noise broke the tension.
"We're going to win," he said at last, in a voice so calm that it was barely audible.
Nick frowned. "What did you say?"
Andrew set down his fork, and repeated, this time with a firm voice, "I said we're going to win. Why so nervous? We're the best team."
He paused briefly, then continued,
"Our offense is the best in the state, lie, in the country. In ten games we've scored over 380 points. Our defense is one of the top five in the state."
As he spoke, his tone slowly rose, and his eyes moved from face to face across the table.
Víctor was listening intently, Nick was starting to grin, and even Thomas, the always-serious one, couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at his lips.
"The pressure?" Andrew went on. "We know what that feels like. We played with national media watching us against Bosco, against Servite, and last week against Mission Viejo. We know what it's like to have cameras pointed at us; we know what it's like to have over a million people watching you on TV…"
He leaned forward slightly, "But does Long Beach Poly know that? Do they really think they can handle all of that better than we can?"
For a moment, there was complete silence.
Until Nick burst out laughing, "He's right! Those guys are gonna be scared shitless!"
"Exactly," Andrew replied, still not smiling. "They've got a good team, sure, but they're not on our level. They beat Servite by eight. We beat them by nineteen. Are you seriously afraid of these guys?"
A murmur of approval swept across the table.
Kevin tapped his fist lightly on the table, and several others followed his lead.
"Long Beach Poly's legs are gonna shake!" Victor shouted, and the entire cafeteria started looking their way.
But Andrew wasn't done. He leaned forward.
"Listen to me. This game is going to be history, this won't be just another championship for Mater Dei. It'll be the most remembered championship in the school's history. It's going to surpass the most-watched game LeBron James ever played in high school."
His words echoed inside everyone.
Then he continued, "Do you really want to be the team that lost on that day? Or do you want to be the team that broke every record and lifted the title in front of more than thirty thousand people?"
There was a brief silence as Andrew looked at them one by one until he asked:
"So which one are we going to be? The team that wins, or the losers?"
"The one that wins!" Nick shouted, slamming his fist on the table.
"The one that wins!" Victor echoed. Then Kevin. Then Thomas. Then Sedric. And then everyone.
The chant spread like a wave.
Tables shook. The shouting began to infect the surrounding rows, and within seconds half the cafeteria was chanting:
"Monarchs! Monarchs! Monarchs!"
The teachers in the corners exchanged looks, resigned, but smiling.
Andrew looked around with an expression between surprise and bewilderment. He hadn't planned any of this. He only wanted to lift his teammates' spirits a bit, break that heavy tension that had been lingering since Monday.
But now entire tables of students who weren't even on the team had joined in, some banging their trays, others filming with their phones.
Second period began shortly after, bringing some calm back to campus. Classes passed without incident, and at exactly three o'clock, Andrew headed to practice.
Practice was short, barely an hour and a half. No contact, no unnecessary physical effort.
During a short break, Rick walked over to Bruce, who was watching from the 40-yard line.
"I see them different today, Bruce," Rick said, arms crossed and a thoughtful look on his face. "More relaxed. They seem like a completely different group compared to Tuesday or Wednesday."
Bruce nodded, eyes still fixed on the field, "Yes… I noticed too."
Then one of the assistants approached with an amused smile, lifting his phone.
"I think I know why they're like that," he said, showing them the screen.
It was the video of Andrew's speech in the cafeteria, recorded by a student and already circulating online.
Andrew appeared at the center of the table, saying firmly, "Do you really want to be the team that lost on that day? Or do you want to be the team that broke every record and lifted the title in front of more than thirty thousand people?"
The shouts that followed seemed to rattle the phone itself.
Rick let out a laugh, "Well… looks like our quarterback already ran the team meeting for us."
Practice ended shortly after. The players gathered at midfield for one last talk. After that, they began heading toward the locker rooms, but Andrew was stopped by Bruce.
"When you're done, come see me in the office. I want to talk to you for a minute," Bruce said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
"Sure, Coach, I'll be there," Andrew replied, nodding, a bit of fresh sweat still clinging to his forehead.
Andrew showered quickly, got dressed in a gray sweatshirt, and instead of heading to the parking lot like the others, he took the hallway leading to the head coach's office.
He knocked gently on the open door.
Bruce was leaning over his desk, looking through some papers with a cup of coffee beside him. When he saw Andrew, he lifted his head, gave a slight smile, and stood up.
"Let's take a walk," he said simply, motioning with his head.
They left the office and crossed the hallway in silence until they stepped onto the main field, now empty and still. The sunset painted the bleachers orange, and the wind barely stirred the flags with the Monarchs logo.
They walked along the sideline, side by side, the sound of their steps on the damp grass accompanying them.
"How are you feeling, Andrew?" Bruce finally asked.
"Ready, Coach," Andrew replied, then added honestly, "Although… a little anxious. I've never played in front of that many people."
Bruce nodded, unsurprised, "That's normal. None of the boys have. They're all anxious about it."
The final, as was tradition in the CIF Pac-5, would be played at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, about twenty minutes from campus. A legendary venue with a capacity of 35,000 spectators.
The same stadium where, eight years earlier, Mater Dei and Long Beach Poly had played a legendary final before 29,000 people, broadcast on regional ESPN.
The previous year, the Servite vs. Edison final had drawn 27,000 attendees with Fox Sports West covering the event.
But this year was different.
This year national ESPN would broadcast the game, and word around campus was that the tickets were completely sold out. The stadium would be packed, 35,000 fans screaming under the lights. Not even the players from past Mater Dei finals had played with so many eyes on them.
For Andrew, even with everything he had lived through, this was new territory. In his previous life, in Texas, the biggest crowd he had ever played in front of was 26,000.
Now it would be nearly ten thousand more.
Ten thousand extra voices.
Ten thousand extra eyes on him.
And, for the first time in a while, he felt it: pure excitement.
Bruce studied him for a few seconds, noticing that blend of calm and fire in his eyes.
"That feeling you have," he said, "don't lose it. If you don't feel anything before a game like this, it means you don't care about the football anymore."
Andrew nodded with a small smile.
Bruce stopped walking, hands in his pockets, staring out at the empty field, "I'm going to be honest with you, son," he said, without taking his eyes off the turf.
"When we recruited you, I never imagined it would become what it is now. I knew you were good, very good, but… I didn't think this good. I've coached five-star quarterbacks, Gatorade Player of the Year winners, kids who went to USC, Notre Dame, Alabama, and even then, I've never seen anyone do what you're doing."
Andrew lowered his head, smiling shyly. Coming from Bruce Rollinson, undoubtedly top three among the most respected high-school coaches in California, that meant a lot.
"Thanks, Coach," Andrew replied. "But it's also thanks to all of you. I've learned a lot since I got here."
"Good to hear," Bruce said with a sideways smile. "And speaking of pressure… even I feel it, I won't lie."
Andrew looked at him, curious.
"Eleven years without winning a section title," Bruce continued, almost reflective. "Eight years without reaching a final. And meanwhile, across campus, the basketball team wins one after another. Gary and his boys lifting trophies, filling display cases… and people, well, you know how they are."
He paused briefly, then added, "They start murmuring, wondering if maybe you've lost your touch, if maybe it's time to retire."
Andrew didn't answer right away. He just watched him quietly.
Bruce never complained, never talked about himself. But that confession revealed the weight he carried, even as a legendary coach.
Mater Dei basketball was living its own golden era under Gary McKnight, the most successful high-school basketball coach in California's history. League championships, state titles, trophies every season.
A program so disciplined and dominant that, at any other school, it would be the unquestioned symbol of institutional pride.
But Mater Dei was different.
No matter how much the basketball team dominated the state, the soul of the school had always been football. It was their identity, their calling card.
And even if the basketball gym packed two or three thousand people, nothing compared to the atmosphere of Santa Ana Stadium with ten thousand fans roaring, or, like now, Angel Stadium filled with thirty-five thousand spectators.
Andrew broke the silence calmly, looking toward the horizon.
"Coach, you changed the history of this program," he said with conviction. "You made it big and respected. It doesn't matter what people say or what happened in the last few years. It was just a rough patch…"
He finally looked at Bruce and, after a few seconds, added with a smile, "Tomorrow we will win."
Bruce glanced at him sideways, silent for a moment before smiling.
"Yeah, kid…" he murmured at last, "tomorrow we will win."
After a few final words, they said goodbye with a firm handshake. Andrew walked to the parking lot, started his BMW, and drove off campus.
When he arrived home, he parked in front of the garage and immediately noticed something strange.
A car he didn't recognize at first was parked by the entrance. He frowned, tilting his head. It only took a couple of seconds for him to guess who the surprise visitor might be.
"Oh no… she came back from Canada?" he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the car and walked toward the door.
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