[End of the first half!] Will exclaimed, standing in the booth with the microphone in hand. [This is insane! Are my eyes seeing the scoreboard correctly, Dave?!]
[Your eyes aren't lying, it's one hundred percent real,] Dave replied, still staring at the screen with a mix of astonishment and analysis.
On the graphic, the score appeared:
Mater Dei 35 – Notre Dame 31
There was a brief, almost contemplative silence.
[This looks like a Saturday Night in the Big 12. Sixty-six points in just two quarters!] Will commented.
The comparison was not exaggerated. The Big 12 was known for its frantic pace and explosive scorelines, with games like 52–45 between Oklahoma State and Texas Tech, 65–21 by Oklahoma over Texas Tech, or 45–35 between Houston and Oklahoma State.
[We're watching nearly perfect execution on both sides,] Dave added. [And when two offenses get into that rhythm… the defenses are simply trying to survive.]
As the bands prepared for the halftime show, the broadcast displayed the protagonists of the first half on screen.
Two names appeared highlighted:
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker — Steve Rice
[Any objections?] Will asked, in a playful tone.
Dave let out a soft laugh. [Of course not. Just look at the impact both of them have had on the game.]
Andrew's stats were displayed on screen:
17/21 passing (81%)
265 passing yards
3 passing TDs
1 rushing TD
45 rushing yards
0 interceptions
1 75-yard drive in under 1:40
Total: ~310 yards
[As always: flawless and showing up in big games. However, much more aggressive than ever, no clock control for drives longer than three minutes,] Dave commented.
Then Steve's stats appeared:
7 receptions
168 yards
3 TDs
1 deep catch of 52 yards
[Completely dominant from his position,] Dave added. [He's winning every individual matchup and saving third and fourth downs that would have been punts.]
Will nodded and then asked, [What's the atmosphere like down there in the stadium, Angela?]
The broadcast switched to field level, where ESPN reporter Angela appeared with the noise of the stadium still vibrating behind her.
[Will, Dave, it's an absolute cauldron down here,] she said, slightly raising her voice. [The defenses are exhausted. You can see coordinators huddling urgently. They need adjustments, and they need them now.]
[Understandable,] Will commented. [More than sixty points in two quarters. I remember the previous final between Poly and Mater Dei… they scored seventy-four total points, right?]
[Exactly,] Dave confirmed. [It was a high-level final, but with more structured defenses. Even then, the score was already above what these top Southern Section defenses usually allow.]
Tonight, they were already at 66 points in just two quarters. Only eight fewer than the previous year's total. And there was still an entire half left to play.
[Without a doubt, this is rare,] Dave added, more serious. [We're talking about two defenses that normally allow fifteen points or fewer per game. Of course, the offensive level of both teams justified a higher score, but not such a drastic difference.]
Will spoke enthusiastically, [This is what happens when two players enter the zone at the same time.]
Angela nodded from the field. [The defenses look psychologically shaken, you can see it in their body language. They're not out of position on every play, they're just arriving half a second late.]
Dave took on a more analytical tone. [Notre Dame is playing with a clear philosophy: the best defense is offense. They're accelerating every series. They've gone for it on fourth down in situations where other teams would punt. And they've converted, but they're playing with fire.]
[A big part of that success is Rice. He's making catches that, under normal circumstances, would end in an incomplete pass. He's winning 50–50 balls as if they were 80–20,] Will commented.
[Yes, and on the other side, Pritchett doesn't seem to be managing the clock the way he usually does. He's not in conservative mode. He's in offensive machine mode. He's not taking unnecessary risks like Notre Dame on fourth down, but he's not slowing the tempo either,] Angela concluded.
…
In the stadium locker rooms, in the Monarchs' section, Andrew sat on his bench, elbows resting on his knees. His helmet lay at his feet. His face was sweaty. A faint smile was drawn across it without him even seeming to notice. His gaze wasn't fixed on anything in particular.
He was enjoying it.
Without a doubt, it was the most fun game of his senior year. Not because of the media spectacle. But because of the pure competition. Because of the feeling that every possession mattered.
Notre Dame had chosen a clear path: high tempo, no huddle, and zero fear.
Every drive had to end in points. Even if that meant going for it on fourth down. They wanted to keep moving forward at all times. They weren't trying to contain the best offense in the country, they were trying to outscore it.
And it made sense.
Everyone had failed trying to stop him on defense: Servite, Bosco, Poly, De La Salle. Adjustments, double coverage, constant pressure, nothing had been enough.
So they chose the hardest strategy: be even more aggressive.
But Andrew didn't respond with caution.
When he noticed the defense was trying to force quick exchanges, immediate pressure, and an accelerated tempo, he decided to use it to his advantage. He didn't want to slow the game down and turn it into a clock-control exercise. He didn't think about burning time.
His thought process was simple:
You want to run? Let's run.
In just two quarters he already had four touchdowns, three through the air and one on the ground, executing with absolute precision. And so far, without taking unnecessary risks; no long fourth-down gambles with a lot of yardage to gain.
And even so, the Knights were holding the exchange.
Only a four-point difference.
Andrew had scored one more touchdown than they had, in addition to two field goals. That was the slim gap.
Notre Dame had scored three touchdowns and three field goals. Even though their approach was aggressive, it wasn't reckless at every moment.
There were situations where the fourth-down distance was simply too long, and taking the field goal was the smart choice. Maintaining a frantic tempo also meant knowing when to secure points.
'That bastard is playing the best game of his life,' Andrew thought with a faint smile.
By bastard, of course, he meant one of his best friends: Steve.
And it wasn't an exaggeration.
Steve had three touchdowns. Not four like him, but he was a wide receiver. Not a quarterback. He didn't touch the ball on every play.
Andrew, for his part, had thrown three touchdowns: one deep to Sedric, another to tight end Thomas, and a short-to-intermediate pass to Nick, the running back, on that drive of more than 75 yards executed in under two minutes.
The fourth he had scored himself, breaking through the middle and once again proving why he was considered the best dual-threat, in addition to the best Pro-Style quarterback.
On Notre Dame's side, the three touchdowns had come from their quarterback's arm, but all with the same target: Steve.
It was clear that the offensive plan revolved around him, and it was working.
Andrew would never have imagined that the team, and especially the player, who would put him in the toughest spot of his senior year would be his best friend. That kid he had trained since elementary school.
What were the odds that Steve would reach this level?
Andrew knew they were low, but higher than for a normal kid.
Because Andrew had trained them from a young age, teaching them the game, taking advantage of his transmigration. As an equal, not as a coach or a project.
That influenced Archie, Reggie, Kevin, and Steve, they all grew up under that early leadership.
But the one who benefited the most was Steve.
Because beyond the guidance, he had his own talent.
Archie, Reggie, and Kevin had earned scholarships to elite high schools. They were now solid three-star recruits. And that was no small thing.
Being a 3-star means you are a legitimate FBS prospect. It's not rare, but it's not average either. Each recruiting class has roughly between 1,000 and 1,500 players with that rating, which places you within the national top 10%.
But a 3-star has uncertain NFL projection. He isn't seen as a program-changer. He's the kind of solid player who completes a competitive roster in the Southern Section Division I.
A 4-star, on the other hand, is another category. There are only between 250 and 300 per class in the entire country. They dominate in high school, have realistic professional projection, and receive multiple Power Five offers.
And Steve had crossed that line.
In his first year at Notre Dame he adapted, won the starting job, and went from 3 stars to 4.
That alone demonstrated independence. In his senior year he established himself as the offensive leader, topping team statistics and entering the top 10 wide receivers of his class. He was now considered a 4-star.
Archie, Reggie, and Kevin had also grown under the same early influence.
They achieved a lot, that can't be taken away from them. But none made the leap. None managed to rise from 3 stars to 4.
None became one of the leaders at the schools they attended.
Steve did.
Even so, one of the two would lose that night. And Andrew had no intention of it being him.
"Andrew, are you listening to me?"
Rick's voice, the offensive coordinator, pulled him out of his thoughts.
Andrew looked up, stopping his stare at that fixed point on the floor.
"Yeah, coach?"
"You weren't listening…" Rick muttered to himself, though there was no annoyance in his tone. "By the way, why are you smiling?"
Andrew blinked, noticing the faint smile on his face. He hardened his expression, returning to a neutral look. "The game's been fun, I guess…"
Rick studied him for a few seconds, evaluating him. "You're the only one here who can say that."
Andrew scanned the locker room.
The atmosphere wasn't relaxed. It wasn't the almost playful duel he was mentally enjoying. It was a final. A title defense.
In the corner where the defense gathered, the defensive coordinator was speaking intensely. Bruce stood firm, pointing at schemes on a whiteboard they had brought into the locker room.
They weren't shouting uncontrollably, but it was clearly a reprimand to the defense and a discussion of the adjustments they would make in this final half.
On the offensive side, Rick didn't have major technical corrections to make. Execution had been practically perfect. There had been no serious mistakes, no turnovers, no critical penalties.
But Andrew noticed that the faces of Thomas, Sedric, Nick, and the rest didn't reflect enjoyment.
They reflected tension.
They were playing in front of 41,000 people and national cameras. They had done it before, but now the weight of being defending champions rested on them.
Mater Dei was the team everyone wanted to beat.
People expected them to win. To confirm the golden era. To secure the back-to-back championship. Two consecutive section titles. If they didn't achieve it, no matter how brilliant the season had been, many would call it a disappointment.
Rick spoke again. "What I was saying is we're not going to keep playing at this tempo. It's not sustainable. Fatigue is starting to matter. The lines are breathing heavier. Mistakes show up when you empty the tank too early."
He paused for a second and continued, "It's time to control the game."
Andrew nodded. A pace like that couldn't be maintained indefinitely.
Finally, halftime ended.
From the Monarchs' tunnel, Andrew was the first to come out with his helmet tucked under his arm. The floodlights hit him full in the face. And the roar of more than forty thousand people welcomed him like a solid wave.
But the noise didn't reach him. He crossed the white line and, almost by instinct, turned his head to the left. On the other side of the field, the Knights' tunnel was opening as well.
First came out the quarterback.
Then the rest, and finally, Steve. He wasn't a leader; it had never been his goal. He just liked to play, none of those annoying motivational speeches or being the banner of the whole group.
Steve walked out with his helmet already on, chinstrap loose. He turned his head, and their eyes met.
It was an instant.
But in that second, there were years.
Elementary school, middle school, high school…
Constant training sessions, routes repeated hundreds of times, Andrew's corrections, and absurd competitions like who reached the line first, or who had the better forty-yard time.
Now they stood there, on opposite sides.
Steve tilted his head slightly with what looked more like a challenging smile than a friendly one.
Andrew let out a half-smile. Like Steve's, it wasn't friendly, it was competitive, almost savage.
Both adjusted their chinstraps at the same time, looked straight ahead, and jogged onto the field with their teams.
The noise of the stadium flooded back into Andrew's ears.
The third quarter began with Notre Dame on offense. The Monarchs had received the ball at the start of the game, so now it was the Knights' turn to open the second half.
The tempo slowed.
Not drastically, but enough to feel the weight of the hits and the accumulated fatigue, both physical and mental.
Even so, the adrenaline and the game mode installed since the first quarter were still there, simmering beneath the surface.
By the end of the third quarter, the scoreboard reflected another nearly perfect exchange:
Mater Dei 45 – Notre Dame 42
One touchdown each.
One field goal each.
But there was a nuance.
On their touchdown, Notre Dame hadn't gone for the extra point. They went for two. And they got it. An aggressive decision that left them just three points behind. One simple field goal away.
Mater Dei, on the other hand, chose the safe route. They were ahead. It wasn't worth risking a two-point conversion, no matter how high Andrew's success rate was on those plays. Management over spectacle.
The fourth quarter began with Notre Dame maintaining possession. Their drive had been unfinished when the clock marked the end of the third period.
Now they were in opposing territory. The offense advanced to the 30-yard line.
But then came the response. A sack, and then the quarterback forced to retreat further than planned.
Now they faced a 4th and 18 yards.
[Great defensive response!] Will exclaimed from the booth.
Dave nodded, [Fourth down and eighteen yards to go after that sack. It's a tough situation, but the Knights can still put points on the board. Their kicker is within range. He's one of the most efficient in the entire section.]
The stadium held its breath.
Notre Dame's offense looked toward the sideline. The decision had to be made now.
Going a touchdown would be a full declaration of war, and extremely risky.
Securing three points meant tying the game.
To the surprise of everyone in the stadium, the spectators, the journalists, the analysts, Notre Dame's offense gathered in the huddle, the quarterback giving instructions. The kicker did not come in.
They would go for it on fourth down.
[They're taking the risk!] Will exclaimed, almost rising from his seat again. [This is all or nothing!]
[It's not completely crazy. If they tie it, Mater Dei still has an entire quarter to score a touchdown and pull away. Thinking about it that way, this might be the right call,] Dave said, squinting to study the formation.
Notre Dame came out in a spread formation. Four receivers. Steve lined up on the right side.
The stadium, once deafening, now sat in tense silence.
The snap came. The quarterback dropped back three steps. The line held just long enough. A defender broke through the interior after two seconds.
With no more time to wait, he threw. A medium-high pass, slightly behind toward the right sideline.
[He's looking for Rice…] Will narrated.
Steve, who had shaken his coverage, leapt. He extended his right hand. The ball brushed his palm but deflected toward his left side.
A millisecond in which everyone watching held their breath.
And with pure instinct, Steve used his other hand, midair, managing to hook the tip of the ball before it hit the ground.
The stadium erupted in a strangled gasp.
He fell to the turf still securing it with one hand. Quickly, he pinned it to his chest, sprang up immediately, took two steps, and was tackled violently.
There was a brief silence as the line judge ran to the spot where the play had ended. He planted his foot, marking the exact position of the ball.
One eternal second.
He extended his arm forward: first and ten.
The stadium exploded.
In football, a 1st & 10 means the offensive team has gained the necessary yardage to reset the series. They have four new downs to advance at least ten more yards and maintain possession.
[Eighteen yards exactly!] Will shouted. [What a catch!]
Dave didn't hide his amazement. [That's talent and technique. That pass wasn't perfect. It was an awkward reception. But Rice turns it into a live play.]
Notre Dame had survived.
Reset of downs. Twelve yards to the end zone.
This time, they didn't look for Steve. The Monarchs' defenders chased him the moment he crossed the line. The Knights' quarterback read the adjustment, turned his head, and fired a quick pass to the other receiver.
Touchdown.
There was silence in the red half of the stadium and an explosion in the blue.
Notre Dame didn't go for two. They had already been aggressive enough. It wasn't the moment to tempt fate too much. The kicker came in and secured the extra point.
Mater Dei 45 – Notre Dame 49
[For the first time, I'm seeing Mater Dei trailing this late in a game!] Will said, incredulous.
And it wasn't an exaggeration. It wasn't common to see the Monarchs chasing the scoreboard. Not even against De La Salle last year at this advanced stage of the game.
Dave nodded, more measured. [Yes, but now they have possession. And with the pace of drives they operate at, time isn't the problem. Pressure is.]
Will looked at the clock on screen. [A field goal doesn't help them.]
[Exactly,] Dave replied. [They need a touchdown. But if there's anyone who can handle this scenario… it's Pritchett-Tucker.]
The camera showed Andrew adjusting his chinstrap on the sideline.
'Seven minutes and thirty-six seconds…' Andrew thought, looking at the stadium clock.
Down by four.
He had plenty of time. In this very game he had led a drive of less than two minutes. He could do it again. If he scored quickly, the score could shift to 52–49. Even 53–49 if they went for two.
But that implied something dangerous. Giving the ball back to Notre Dame with five minutes left to play.
And even if the Monarchs' defense adjusted, simply leaving them time kept the risk alive.
If the Knights scored, even with a long, risky, miraculous drive, and burned three or four minutes, Andrew would be left with one or two.
Little margin and much greater pressure. So that wasn't the path. He wasn't going to depend on whether his defense could stop them.
There was only one real option.
A long drive. So that when possession returned to Notre Dame, they would have almost no time left.
'Alright… let's do it,' Andrew thought as he walked toward the huddle.
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