[We have just witnessed the first football loss of Andrew Pritchett-Tucker's life.]
Beside him, Kirk, analyst for both ESPN and ABC, remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. [Nebraska earned a huge victory tonight. Outstanding ground game from Taylor Martinez and freshman running back Ameer Abdullah.]
Taylor Martinez was the undisputed starting quarterback for the Nebraska Cornhuskers. A highly dangerous dual-threat quarterback with elite speed running the football, though often criticized for his passing mechanics and inconsistency through the air.
Meanwhile, Ameer Abdullah was a true freshman running back.
Something uncommon for a program at this level and even rarer within top conferences, but the knee injury suffered by star running back Rex Burkhead in Week 1 had unexpectedly opened the starting job for him.
And Abdullah delivered.
[Also a huge game from Will Compton, don't you think?] Brent commented. [Not just anyone manages to sack Andrew Pritchett-Tucker twice.]
[Without a doubt,] Kirk replied, slowly nodding. [And even then, he still struggled tremendously.]
The broadcast showed UCLA's final drive once again.
[The Bruins were literally one or two plays away from a historic comeback.]
The broadcast then displayed Andrew's final stats.
-3 passing touchdowns
-24/35 completions — 68.5% completion percentage
-262 passing yards
-41 rushing yards
-303 total yards
-1 INT
-2 sacks
Then Taylor Martinez's stats appeared:
-1 passing touchdown
-1 rushing touchdown
-11/19 completions — 57.8% completion percentage
-151 passing yards
-78 rushing yards
-229 total yards
-1 interception
The contrast between both offensive styles was crystal clear.
Nebraska still had pure Big Ten football DNA. Meaning a run-heavy offense, the quarterback constantly running the ball, the running back being fundamental, and an extremely physical style of play.
UCLA, meanwhile, depended far more on Andrew's arm talent and processing inside a system much closer to professional football.
Kirk spoke again as replays continued showing Andrew escaping pressure and throwing under contact.
[This kid is a true freshman playing for a rebuilding program, and he just nearly beat a top-20 team in one of the toughest environments in the country.]
Brent slowly nodded as he listened.
[Three passing touchdowns. More than three hundred total yards. Advanced reads. And all of this in only his second college game.]
Kirk let out a small disbelieving smile. [He has eight touchdowns and nearly eight hundred total yards in two games. Honestly…] he paused briefly searching for the right words, [he already looks like one of the best quarterbacks in all of the NCAA.]
What was most impressive was precisely how he was producing.
Andrew was not padding stats inside some simplified pure air raid system where everything revolved around ultra-fast short passes without thinking, where there are no reads and medium-to-deep throws are almost nonexistent.
He was operating a real pro-style offense. Everyone expected him to have good games. After all, he was the greatest high school prospect in history.
But absolutely nobody expected such a rapid adjustment.
Not even the most optimistic analysts imagined that after only two college games, Andrew would already be legitimately entering conversations about the best quarterbacks in all of college football and even the Heisman Trophy race, something nobody ever expected a freshman to even enter because no freshman had ever won it.
Even after the loss, Brent still looked impressed because the contrast with Taylor Martinez made it even more obvious what kind of quarterback Andrew seemed to be.
On the field, less than five minutes had passed since the final whistle.
Nebraska Cornhuskers players were still celebrating as if they had won the Rose Bowl, the historic matchup between the champions of the Big Ten and Pac-12.
At midfield stood Will Compton, captain of the defense, a senior, and one of the unquestioned veterans of the team.
It was already his fifth year within the program.
He had arrived in 2008, spent his first year barely playing at all as a redshirt, something completely normal in college football to physically develop certain players before using up eligibility.
Then came: redshirt freshman, sophomore, junior, and now finally senior year.
It was not unusual for college players to remain four or even five years within a program. Especially those who were not considered generational NFL talents ready to leave early for the Draft.
Will knew that perfectly well.
He was not a future top-20 NFL star. But he was: intelligent, tough, respected, and a genuine leader inside the locker room.
He wanted to finish his career. Finish his degree and leave the program better than how he found it.
"Great game, captain!" shouted Sean, another Nebraska defender, while giving him a hard slap on the back.
Will immediately nodded and bumped fists with him before Sean kept running off to celebrate with the rest.
For a few seconds, Will simply looked around.
The stadium, its lights, the sea of red moving like a wave, the marching band playing, and the cheerleaders celebrating.
A huge smile finally formed across his face. The week had been exhausting.
Nebraska had entered the season with moderately high expectations, but also full of very specific doubts surrounding the team.
They were not viewed as national title favorites.
But they were seen as very serious contenders within the Big Ten.
The atmosphere around the program entering September 2012 was divided between: expectation, excitement, and an enormous amount of technical skepticism.
There was excitement surrounding Taylor Martinez's third year as starting quarterback. Everyone knew about his incredible speed and athleticism, but constant doubts still existed regarding his passing mechanics and consistency through the air.
There was also massive hype surrounding Rex Burkhead, the team's offensive star after surpassing thirteen hundred rushing yards in 2011. Many projected Nebraska to have one of the most explosive rushing offenses in the entire country.
But Burkhead got injured in the first game.
That completely changed the internal atmosphere of the program.
On top of that, Nebraska entered the season with another major issue. Lavonte David, the great defensive star from the previous year, was already in the NFL.
Now Will filled part of that void. But Will did not lie to himself.
He had experience, was a good leader, and considered himself a good college player. But his individual talent was not at Lavonte's level.
He constantly heard that, those doubts about him, throughout the offseason on the internet, sports shows, and analysis programs.
Though honestly, it did not bother him too much. He accepted it.
That was why the entire week leading up to UCLA had been filled with tension: brutal practices, endless defensive meetings, doubts, and pressure.
Because standing across from them was exactly the type of offense defenses feared most: an explosive aerial offense led by the quarterback the entire country was talking about. Even more talked about than Barkley himself, the Heisman favorite, USC senior, and quarterback of the number one team in the AP Poll.
They had just faced the player everyone said would become a future Heisman winner in his second or third year.
The future number one overall pick.
The prodigy.
The standard, among countless other nicknames.
That was why this victory felt so important. Not just because of the rankings.
But because all week long there had been a very real fear of disappointing all those people dressed in red around him.
Now, looking at the stadium exploding with happiness, Will felt something close to relief. A massive collective exhale.
As Will thought about that, his eyes could not help drifting toward Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.
The cameras and thousands of eyes inside the stadium had been fixed on him since the game ended.
He remained in exactly the same position: helmet still on, hands resting on his hips, head slightly lowered toward the turf, though not completely hanging down.
He had been like that for several minutes.
Around him, many UCLA Bruins players were still scattered across the field.
Number 80, Steve Rice, had outright collapsed onto the turf staring up at the sky, completely exhausted.
The veteran leader of the offensive line walked among teammates clapping and patting shoulders, trying to lift spirits after such a brutal loss.
Closer to the twenty-one-yard line, Amari remained crouched down staring at the ground, completely devastated.
Will understood perfectly why. He was probably still thinking about that pass. There had been no incredible defensive play.
No brutal hit.
The ball had simply slipped away from him by inches.
Jonathan Franklin, after having played an outstanding game, cursed quietly under his breath as he slowly began walking away from midfield. The same with Shaq Evans, the wide receiver, and Fauria, the massive tight end.
But practically in the exact spot where the final drive had died, they still remained motionless: Andrew, Steve, Amari, Alexander, and Andrus.
The five true freshman starters on the offense.
Will looked back toward Andrew once again.
Nebraska had far more stability as a program. They had more history, better continuity, and a more mature roster.
UCLA, meanwhile, was relying heavily on something extremely dangerous: freshman talent.
Probably the best freshman class in the country.
But they were still freshmen.
Eighteen-year-old players competing in a game this massive on national television while barely beginning their college careers.
Even so, UCLA's entire season already seemed to revolve around them.
Especially around Andrew.
They had entered the year ranked higher than Nebraska in the AP Poll.
They won their opener, the hype exploded, and within just two weeks the entire country was constantly talking about them.
Will could not help wondering how much pressure must exist inside that team.
Because Andrew was not just a star quarterback inside an established program.
It was a new coaching staff, a rebuilding program, and an extremely young team.
All of it led by Andrew. The pressure on him was probably something Will could not even imagine.
'Four years without losing…' Will thought.
The idea still felt absurd to him.
Four complete high school seasons where he played more than fifty games and won every possible team championship.
Undefeated.
And there were even internet comments and Twitter threads claiming Andrew had not lost in middle school either.
Will did not even know how losing for the first time after a history like that was supposed to feel. Much less doing it while the entire country watched you.
Because Andrew did not seem like merely UCLA's quarterback. He looked like some kind of symbol.
The kid everyone expected to solve the game purely through talent.
And for a moment, even he had believed UCLA would come back. In three minutes they had moved fifty-three yards at a dizzying pace after already playing four full quarters. Nebraska could not stop them.
Maybe he was not the vocal leader of the team because of his age, but he was clearly the gravitational center around which all of UCLA revolved.
At eighteen years old, Will himself had not even played yet.
He had spent years learning the system, physically developing, and slowly growing within the program.
And standing in front of him now was a kid practically the same age as his younger brother, who still did not even know what he wanted to do with his life, carrying monstrous pressure on his shoulders.
Thinking about all of that, Will could not help feeling a certain amount of empathy toward him.
He started slowly walking toward Andrew and the rest of the freshman, intending to congratulate them on the game.
But then he stopped because he saw something unexpected.
A little kid, maybe seven or eight years old, wearing a red Nebraska Cornhuskers jersey, suddenly came running out from one side of the field.
He practically threw himself onto Andrew, hugging him.
Andrew did not even move from the impact. He only lowered his head slightly, looking at the boy, who was now speaking to him with overwhelming excitement while holding something in his hands.
Will was too far away to hear what he was saying. But he saw the kid hand him a marker.
Then Andrew finally reacted. He bent down slightly and signed the jersey.
The kid looked completely overwhelmed with excitement. He gave Andrew another quick hug before pulling away.
Will noticed what looked like the faintest shadow of a smile appear on Andrew's face. He even ruffled the kid's hair a little before the boy ran back toward the stands again.
Will stood there watching the scene, completely perplexed. Even though Nebraska had a national reputation for the sportsmanship of its fanbase, this was not normal.
The murmur around the stadium also seemed to react to the moment, and little by little applause began to spread while the kid ran back toward his section through laughter, comments, and people pointing at him with amused expressions.
Will honestly had never seen anything like that before.
A Nebraska fan running onto the field to ask a rival player for an autograph.
That moment seemed to finally pull Andrew out of his trance. He took a deep breath and started walking.
Will watched from a distance without moving forward again.
He saw Andrew first help Steve up off the turf. Then he did the same with Amari, giving him a hard pat on the back while saying something to him.
After that, he called over Andrus and Alexander so they would start walking too.
He did not look happy. Not even close. But he also did not look like someone completely lost inside his own frustration.
He was still functioning and thinking about his teammates.
That made Will respect him even more, the way he treated the kid, the way he did not emotionally abandon his teammates, and how even after losing he still acted like the center of the group of four freshman who looked devastated by the defeat.
Alongside the respect came another feeling.
A very uncomfortable one.
Fear.
Because if UCLA had already been capable of playing like this in only the second game of this new era, what the hell could they become a year from now?
The worst part was that Nebraska would have to find out. Because important series like this between major programs were normally organized home-and-home: one year in one stadium, the next in the other.
That meant next season they would have to travel to the Rose Bowl.
Will slowly let out a breath. 'Luckily, I'll already be gone by then…' he thought.
There was one thing he had absolutely no doubt about.
This freshman version of Andrew was probably far less terrifying than the sophomore Andrew he would eventually become.
In the small section reserved for UCLA Bruins fans, Andrew's family remained silent.
Luke stood with his hands on top of his head, completely motionless. For him, that already meant a lot.
He simply could not believe what he had just witnessed.
Alex sat with a frown, staring at the field without saying a single word.
Haley bit her lower lip with a worried expression while watching Andrew and Steve still standing near the final yard line of the last drive.
Phil, trying to maintain his usual optimism, started clapping loudly toward the field.
"You guys played a great game!" he shouted, trying to make his voice carry all the way down. "Keep your heads up!"
But even Phil was internally in shock. For several minutes, he had truly felt UCLA was going to win that game.
Manny remained standing in his elegant shirt, his jaw slightly tense. Until he finally muttered, "Statistically, it had to happen eventually."
He did not say it to anyone in particular. More to himself. Football had ended up mattering far more to him than he ever imagined.
Gloria was passionately arguing with an elderly Nebraska fan over a controversial third-quarter penalty. At times she switched directly into Spanish so she could insult him much faster.
The man barely understood half of what she was saying.
Jay did not even bother intervening. He stood there with his arms crossed, frowning while staring toward Andrew.
Claire looked exactly the same as her father.
Cam tried to stay positive, clapping and cheering just like Phil. But he looked on the verge of tears.
Meanwhile, Mitchell was dealing with a completely different problem. He was desperately trying to restrain Lily, who was screaming and kicking while trying to run down onto the field toward her brother.
"Calm down, Lily! We'll see him in a minute!" Mitchell said while physically struggling to keep her still.
"Let me go, mean daddy!" Lily shouted furiously while trying to break free.
"You can't go onto the field!"
"Yes, I can!"
"No, legally you cannot!" Mitch replied.
He was a lawyer. He was not lying. Even though that kid had managed to run onto the field and hug Andrew, it was not legal. Security had reacted calmly after realizing it was just a child. It would probably end in nothing more than a warning or maybe a fine for the parents if the kid had truly slipped away from them.
Mitchell had no intention of risking Lily trying to do the exact same thing.
Meanwhile, more than a thousand miles away, back in LA, the atmosphere was not exactly cheerful either.
Inside Monica and Rachel's apartment, Leonard and Howard were there alongside them.
All four of them continued watching the broadcast from the living room, and the silence was absolute.
The only sounds were the ambient noise of the stadium, the television, and the commentators still talking about the game, the kid, and Andrew.
Leonard remained seated on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees while biting his nails.
Beside him, Rachel kept her eyes fixed on the TV with a worried expression.
Howard was still standing, pacing back and forth completely agitated. "It's our fault!" he suddenly blurted out. "We always go to his games and this time we didn't! We gave him bad luck!"
Leonard turned his head and looked at him. "Howard…"
"I'm serious!" Howard insisted, pointing at the television. "Sports work like that! Teams have rituals and routines! If they don't do them, they lose! We were a constant variable in every Andrew game, me and my camera!"
Leonard slowly shook his head. "Those are superstitions. There are no magical external factors altering sports results."
Howard pointed at him. "Refute my logic with real arguments, science boy!"
Leonard exhaled through his nose. 'You like science too,' he thought.
"The game in Texas," Leonard replied. "The Army Bowl. We didn't go and Andrew still won."
Howard opened his mouth, ready to argue back.
But before he could, Monica walked through the living room again completely fired up.
"That penalty in the third quarter at the six-minute mark was ridiculous!" she complained, pointing at the TV. "He barely even touched him! How the hell do they call that?!"
She kept muttering insults about the referees while pacing around the apartment.
To absolutely nobody's surprise, Howard immediately joined in.
"Exactly! And they didn't call the holding on the final drive either!"
Holding is a penalty that occurs when a player illegally uses his hands or arms to grab, pull, or restrain an opponent who does not have the ball. The foul stops the play and penalizes the offending team.
If they had called it, because according to Howard one of the defenders had grabbed Shaq, the wide receiver, UCLA would have been awarded five yards and an automatic first down.
Leonard rubbed his forehead, slightly exhausted by these two extremely intense fans.
Rachel remained completely silent. She was not even participating in the argument anymore. The result itself was no longer what mattered most to her.
The only thing she could think about was how Andrew must be feeling right now.
[We now go down to Heather Cox on the field,] Brent, the commentator, said.
Instantly, everyone stopped talking.
Heather Cox appeared on screen. She first conducted a quick interview with Nebraska's head coach, congratulating him on the win and asking a few standard questions.
The coach answered with a smile while celebrations continued behind him. But even through the television, something was obvious. Heather barely seemed fully focused on the interview. Every few seconds she glanced toward one side of the field.
Like she was searching for something. Or rather, someone. The interview ended fairly quickly.
[Thank you, coach.]
The second she said that, Heather practically started walking immediately through players and staff members while the cameraman struggled to keep up with her pace.
"She's desperate to find him," Leonard murmured with a frown.
Heather then managed to intercept Jim Mora near the tunnel.
[Coach, your team was one possession away from completing an incredible comeback tonight. What feeling does this game leave you with?]
Mora answered that he was proud of his players, proud of their character, and especially proud of how they competed in an extremely difficult environment.
[There are things to improve and things to learn from this loss, but without a doubt this group is capable of much more.]
Heather nodded quickly.
But once again, it was obvious she kept looking elsewhere.
Searching.
Until finally she saw him.
The camera turned and showed Andrew slowly walking toward the tunnel alongside several teammates.
"There he is…" Rachel murmured almost without realizing it.
Heather quickened her pace.
[Andrew! Andrew!]
Everyone in the living room instinctively leaned a little closer toward the television.
Andrew heard the voice and for a moment seemed to consider continuing to walk.
But he eventually stopped and approached the camera.
-------------------------------------------------
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