The beating Oregon was putting on UCLA was not happening quietly.
The game was being televised nationally on ABC and, as both teams disappeared into the locker rooms for halftime, a completely different game was beginning online.
Twitter was on fire.
Short comments, television screenshots, retweets, and hashtags dominated the platform during live events. That night, there was more than enough material to work with.
Among the trends in the United States, terms related to the game were beginning to appear:
#OregonDucks
#Andrew Pritchett-Tucker
#Autzen
#Kenjon Barner
#GoDucks
#Heisman
#UCLA
Even OVER-RATED began climbing after part of Oregon's student section chanted it following Andrew's interception.
One of ESPN College Football's accounts posted the score as soon as the second quarter ended.
@ESPNCFB:
HALFTIME in Eugene: No. 2 Oregon leads No. 6 UCLA, 45-8. Ducks have taken complete control at Autzen.
The replies began piling up almost immediately.
@matthewhale:
this is your Heisman favorite?
@DylanMorrow.s:
Welcome to Autzen, Andrew.
@KevinBishop92:
45-8 😂 pretty sure last year's UCLA team everyone called terrible looked better against Oregon
@RyanEllis:
ESPN spent two months crowning this kid
@SMcCarthyeds:
Freshman finally looks like a freshman.
@TrevorLsdIV:
Oregon has 45 AT HALF. Forty five.
@NicoleBennett86:
Everyone said this was supposed to be the marquee game... clearly the real game is Alabama-LSU.
…
It did not take long before another outlet posted a photograph taken during the final minutes of the second quarter.
Andrew was sitting on the bench, helmet off and elbows resting on his legs.
His gaze was lowered while Norm Chow spoke with another member of the offense a few feet away.
@SInews:
A long night in Eugene for Andrew Pritchett and UCLA. Oregon leads 45-8 at halftime.
💬 Tweet replies:
@Erissd2Sanders:
Where are all those 2-point conversions now, Andrew?
@JaredCollins1991:
Look at the scoreboard, Pritchett. You gonna pose for the picture this time too?
@ChrisWalton11:
Football Jesus finally met a real football team.
@AdammsReynoldss:
Someone check if the Messiah has another miracle left.
@BrandonKeller:
Where's @ChandlerBing now? 😂
That one picked up hundreds of retweets within minutes.
Because Chandler had been showing up throughout UCLA games all season.
Every time Andrew tore apart a defense, sooner or later some comment from him would appear.
He had been the one who created and popularized the nickname Football Jesus, and now half of Twitter wanted to know where he was.
Another sports account, considerably less interested in being cautious, posted:
@BleacherReport:
Oregon leads UCLA by 37 after TWO quarters. This could get historically ugly in Eugene.
💬 Tweet replies:
@wzeinst:
Karma works fast.
@Adams-l2g:
Klein is undefeated. Andrew is getting embarrassed on national television
@Eloydrex188:
Heisman race just changed in 30 minutes.
@shiwajason82:
Imagine talking about running up the score last week and then THIS happens
…
Even Taylor Swift's tweet from the previous week began receiving replies again.
She had commented on that image of Andrew walking calmly and looking at the scoreboard while, behind him, everything seemed to be descending into chaos.
Now someone decided to bring it back up.
@asthondowson1029:
@taylorswift still think he looks calm?
…
Thousands of people began talking about the game. But that did not mean all of Twitter was attacking Andrew either.
His following was enormous.
There were plenty of people defending him. Andrew had millions of followers, a massive fanbase, and eight weeks of extraordinary performances backing him up.
But Twitter worked in a fairly simple way during games.
When you were winning, everything was sunshine and roses. When you were losing, the haters and critics came out.
That was why, even though thousands of people were defending Andrew, the overall feeling when scrolling through the timeline was something else.
Mockery, memes, comments about the Heisman, and people digging up old tweets.
Fans of other teams, such as Kansas State, were bringing up Collin Klein, saying he was the real favorite for the trophy without being overhyped by the media and ESPN.
Texas A&M fans did not take long to appear either.
Johnny Manziel was another extraordinary freshman, firmly in the conversation as a possible Heisman winner. If Andrew stumbled, his fans could finally find a reason to put Manziel ahead of him.
And Oregon and USC fans were enjoying every second of it.
For the latter, watching UCLA's star quarterback—the freshman who had turned the Bruins into a Top 10 team and directly threatened USC's supremacy in Los Angeles—get torn apart on national television had a certain special appeal.
Andrew had not lost a single game since high school, piling up championships, records, and dominant performances with barely any interruption.
And when his first college loss finally came, against Nebraska, he had not exactly given people many opportunities to attack him.
He had played well under the circumstances.
UCLA had lost by a narrow margin. Andrew had kept the team in the game until the very end. The general conclusion had not been that he had failed. If anything, it had been the opposite.
After that came several extraordinary weeks.
Now, for the first time, Twitter could watch him bleed and see that he was human.
…
Upper Manhattan, New York
A few blocks from Columbia University, one of the bars frequented by students had several televisions on.
The largest screen was still showing the game between Oregon and UCLA.
But since it was halftime, not everyone's eyes were fixed on the television anymore.
The place had returned to the normal noise of a Saturday night. There were conversations, laughter, and the occasional group arguing about the game.
Most of them were neutral.
Some were rooting for UCLA simply because of the story of the season, because of Andrew, or because it was fun to watch a program that had spent years outside the elite become relevant again.
But it was not their university.
So watching the Bruins lose might surprise them, maybe even make them feel a little bad, but afterward they could simply go on with their night without much trouble.
"Hey, Chandler! They're calling you out on Twitter!"
The voice came from a nearby table.
One of the students was holding his phone up while looking toward him.
Chandler was in an unusually subdued mood. Quiet, without a smile or mocking smirk, and he had not made a single sarcastic comment in more than twenty minutes.
Ross was sitting beside him, arms crossed and wearing an equally somber expression.
For them, this was not exactly just another game.
They knew Andrew.
Not well enough to call themselves best friends, but at the very least, friends.
They had talked with him, and later they had even played online with him several times, along with Leonard, Howard, and Steve.
Besides, Monica really was close to Andrew.
Close enough that, at that very moment, she was in Eugene watching the game in person.
Something Chandler had been pretty jealous of only a few hours earlier.
Now, maybe a little less.
Chandler turned his head toward the student. "Seriously?"
The guy nodded as he scrolled through his screen. "A lot of people are asking about you."
Chandler slowly exhaled through his nose.
He was not surprised. If there was anyone in that bar who understood perfectly how Twitter worked, it was him.
All season long, he had been one of Andrew's loudest defenders.
He had mocked Nebraska even after the loss.
He had verbally torn Arizona apart during the previous week's game.
Every time Andrew made an incredible play or broke a record, Chandler found some way to turn it into a Bible verse.
He had created and popularized the nickname Football Jesus.
His account had grown enormously because of it.
His bio still proudly included a reference to being the creator of the nickname, and beneath his name was something his followers never got tired of pointing out: Followed by Andrew Pritchett.
Every time Andrew beat an opponent, Chandler had new material. But the internet kept its own score.
If you spent two months laughing whenever you won, then on the day you lost, everyone you had laughed at remembered exactly where to find you.
Chandler finally pulled out his phone.
He did not need to look very hard.
Notifications.
Mentions.
More mentions.
@keepsimple12s:
Need an update from the Football Jesus PR department @ChandlerBing
@thomas23zx:
Yo Chandler, Messiah is down 37. Thoughts?
Another one.
@charliieoms3:
Funny how quiet @ChandlerBing got tonight.
Chandler stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Ross glanced at him. "Are you going to respond?" he asked.
Chandler slowly lifted his gaze toward the score on the television. "I don't know if being down thirty-seven points is exactly the best time to start an internet war," he replied.
"Mm," Ross murmured.
On his other side, Janice watched him with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
She understood why Chandler was worried.
What she did not understand was why guys could turn a football game into a matter of life and death.
"Chandler," she finally said, resting a hand on his arm, "I don't understand why you guys take this so seriously. It's not even our university!"
Chandler slowly turned toward her.
Janice raised both hands. "I'm just saying..."
"It's about Andrew, Janice!"
Several people nearby turned their heads.
Chandler stood up almost without realizing it. "This started before UCLA! We've been following him since high school. Palisades, Mater Dei, YouTube, all those games, the records, the championships..."
Ross nodded solemnly from his seat. "It's true."
Janice looked at both of them.
From the seriousness in their voices, anyone would have thought they had personally followed Andrew through his entire career rather than, for the most part, watching him through a screen.
Then Chandler looked down at his phone. The mentions were still coming in, and a different expression slowly appeared on his face as he began typing.
"Oh, no... What are you doing?" Ross asked, "I thought you just said this wasn't a good time to start an internet war."
"That was me thirty seconds ago," Chandler replied without stopping his typing. "I can't only show up when everything's going well. I have to be here when things get rough too."
Ross thought about it for a few seconds. Then he nodded.
Janice stared at him in disbelief. "Chandler, you're writing a tweet. You're not running onto the field with them," she said.
Chandler raised one finger without taking his eyes off the phone. "Moral support takes many forms, Janice."
"Oh. My. God."
Chandler finished typing. He looked over the message, smiled, and pressed Tweet.
Ross leaned slightly toward him. "What did you write?"
Chandler cleared his throat. "Do not gloat over me, my enemy. Though I have fallen, I will rise. Micah 7:8. Laugh now. There are still two quarters left."
"I'm surprised by how well you've learned Bible verses..." Ross said.
"That's what surprises you?" Chandler asked.
"Also, a little, that you still believe in a thirty-seven-point comeback."
Chandler grimaced.
Well.
Even for him, that was difficult.
He was not convinced UCLA was going to come out of the locker room and erase a thirty-seven-point deficit against Oregon at Autzen as if it were nothing.
But he was not going to disappear now either.
He could not conveniently turn into a ghost on the first night when everything went wrong.
Besides, he believed there was still a game to play. Not with any real chance of a comeback, but Andrew could return to the field and throw a few touchdowns, finish with better numbers, and turn that disaster into something considerably less humiliating.
If he managed to close out the game with strong statistics, showing that he had not fallen apart after the first half, it would probably also soften some of the damage to his Heisman candidacy.
…
Medford, Texas
At the Cooper house, ABC was still on.
Halftime was not over yet.
Mary was sitting there watching the television with a slight frown.
George remained sunk into his chair, one hand resting on the armrest. 'I wonder how Cole is taking this...' he thought.
Cole, Andrew's biological father, was their neighbor. He was probably watching the game with his son right now, who was an Andrew fan.
Georgie sat with his arms crossed, not saying anything either.
Mandy was beside him with her young daughter, watching the mood in the room with some curiosity at the unexpected sports funeral that had formed there.
The Coopers had also been following Andrew for almost three years.
But the ones taking it the hardest were Georgie and, especially, Missy.
Missy had recently started college at Texas A&M, but she had come home that weekend and had practically arranged her schedule around the game.
Which could be considered a small betrayal in College Station.
Texas A&M had its own freshman quarterback becoming a national sensation.
Johnny Manziel. Better known as Johnny Football.
One of Andrew's main rivals in the Heisman conversation.
But if anyone asked Missy which game she would rather watch, there was no debate. UCLA and Andrew.
Her classmates could call her a traitor all they wanted.
At that moment, she was sitting at one end of the couch with her phone held in both hands.
Her thumbs never stopped moving.
The only constant sound in the room came from the ABC commercials and, every now and then, Missy's small irritated huff whenever she read something else on Twitter.
George looked at her. "Are you still arguing with people on that phone?" he asked.
"No. I'm educating people who say stupid things and don't know football," Missy corrected without looking up.
"Language..." Mary murmured.
Unlike many fans who only showed up when Andrew threw five touchdowns or broke some record, Missy was almost the opposite.
Finally, the commercials ended and the broadcast returned to Eugene.
ABC first showed an aerial shot of Autzen Stadium, still completely lit up and packed, before dropping back down toward the field.
The players were already returning from the locker rooms.
UCLA emerged from one sideline.
Oregon from the other.
[We're back in Eugene!] Brent announced as the broadcast showed Andrew putting his helmet back on. [Thirty minutes to play and a massive mountain to climb for the Bruins. UCLA will have the first possession of this second half.]
Brent waited until the return formation appeared. [How do you think they need to approach this second half?]
[They can't think about the scoreboard. If they come out trying to get everything back at once, this game could end even worse. They need a good drive. Move the chains, rebuild some confidence, and put seven points on the board,] Kirk replied.
The return left the ball around UCLA's 30-yard line.
"Seventy yards..." George murmured, taking a sip of his beer.
In the Cooper living room, everyone focused on the television again.
First down.
Andrew took the snap and quickly got the ball out to one of his receivers.
A gain of three yards.
Second and seven.
Nothing spectacular.
But UCLA did not waste any time either.
[No long huddle,] Brent noted. [Pritchett is already bringing the offense back to the line.]
Andrew received the next signal, lined up behind the center, and briefly looked over the defense.
Snap.
Oregon brought good pressure.
The pocket began collapsing almost immediately.
Andrew took a step back, avoided the first rusher, and escaped to his right.
Missy leaned forward. Georgie did the same. The play had broken down. In theory, that was a bad sign.
[Pritchett out of the pocket...]
Andrew kept moving laterally. A defender closed in on him.
[Looks like he's going to run... but no!] Brent commented.
Andrew did not attack forward. He stayed behind the line of scrimmage.
That already revealed quite a bit. As long as he did not cross that imaginary line, he could still throw.
Andrew was waiting. Buying time to give his receivers a few extra seconds to adjust their routes.
Steve noticed it, immediately changed his route, and started running deep. The defender covering him reacted too late.
Andrew slowed almost in motion. Planted his right foot. Raised his arm and threw.
[Pritchett going deep... toward Rice!]
The ball took off.
At Autzen, that strange shift in sound happened, the one that only appeared when a home crowd began realizing, all at once, that something had gone wrong.
Steve glanced slightly upward and caught the ball in stride.
Steve came down, regained his balance, and accelerated. A little more than ten yards remained.
Finally, he crossed into the end zone.
"THAT'S IT!" Missy exclaimed, clenching her fist.
Georgie began clapping. "Good, good," he said with a small smile.
Without going crazy. They were still down by more than thirty points.
But after spending practically the entire second quarter unable to find an offensive answer, that mattered.
When Steve crossed the goal line, an explosion erupted from the sections occupied by UCLA.
Three thousand people were finally able to celebrate another touchdown.
The rest of Autzen was caught somewhere between murmurs, a few frustrated whistles, and a brief silence of surprise.
[TOUCHDOWN UCLA!] Brent exclaimed. [What a throw by Pritchett! Oregon had the pressure, the play looked dead, and it turns into a deep touchdown for Steve Rice.]
The replay appeared immediately.
Kirk watched it and commented, [Great decision. Rice understands that Andrew is still behind the line, sees that he's buying time, and turns the route vertical. And then you need a quarterback capable of making that throw while moving to his right.]
[Two plays. Seventy yards. Twenty-four seconds,] Brent said with a short laugh.
[Everyone comes to Eugene talking about Oregon's speed, and now this kid and his childhood friend just scored on them in twenty-four seconds,] Kirk said.
For years, Oregon had gotten the country used to lightning-fast drives: 1:04, 1:26, 0:51...
This time, the Bruins had done it faster.
The camera followed Steve for a few seconds. He did not celebrate. Then it switched to Andrew, who did not celebrate either.
He was already jogging back toward his teammates and signaling with one hand.
UCLA went for the two-point conversion.
Andrew took the snap.
He first faked toward the outside, made the defense react, and at the last instant handed the ball off to Jonathan Franklin.
Franklin lowered his shoulder. A defender managed to get a hand on him, but it was not enough.
He crossed into the end zone.
[Franklin... and the conversion is good!] Brent called. [UCLA puts up eight points in just a matter of seconds.
…
Upper Manhattan, New York
Chandler did not celebrate. He did not even raise his arms.
He remained seated in front of the television with his hands clasped in front of his face, staring intently at the screen.
Ross did clench his fist. "Yes," he murmured.
But there was not much more than that.
Eight points were eight points, but they were still down by 29.
Besides, Oregon had the ball now. It would not matter much if Andrew started answering if UCLA's defense kept allowing touchdowns on every possession.
The broadcast returned to the field after the kickoff return.
Oregon sent out the same offense that had torn UCLA apart during the first half.
Chip Kelly was still not ready to pull anyone.
With a game completely decided, the normal thing would be to start protecting your key players. Increase the rotations to avoid having a star get injured unnecessarily while leading by forty points. Oregon had shown that just a week earlier against Colorado.
They had scored fifty-six points in the first half.
During the entire second half, only fourteen.
But that had been Colorado.
This was No. 6 UCLA, a team with Andrew, who had just scored on them in less than thirty seconds.
For Kelly, the game still needed to be put away.
Oregon started up again at its usual pace.
UCLA's defense began backing up once more. But this time, something was different.
After two quarters of dealing with that speed, they were starting to recognize it better.
They had halftime to talk about adjustments, catch their breath, and even if it was only a psychological detail, Andrew's touchdown had brought some energy back to the entire sideline.
The defense managed to keep Oregon out of the end zone.
Autzen applauded anyway when the field goal unit came on.
The attempt was good.
Several defenders slapped hands as they left the field.
It was strange to celebrate after allowing points.
But at that moment, forcing Oregon to settle for a field goal almost felt like a small victory.
The scoreboard changed.
OREGON DUCKS 48 — UCLA BRUINS 16
After the kick, Andrew returned to the field alongside Steve, Andrus, Fauria, and the rest of the offense.
The return had left the ball around UCLA's 26-yard line.
Seventy-four yards to go. Less than five minutes had passed in the third quarter.
Andrew lined up behind the center.
First snap, and the ball reached his hands.
He dropped back only a few steps without leaving the pocket.
He looked left first. The safety followed his eyes.
Andrew quickly came back toward the middle and fired the ball through a narrow window between the linebacker and the safety.
Fauria caught it.
Ten yards.
[Pritchett finds Fauria and UCLA immediately moves the chains!] Brent called.
Kirk watched the replay. [Look at Pritchett's eyes. First he moves the safety outside, then he comes back to the middle. That is not a big window. That ball has to come out exactly when it does.]
Ten yards were enough.
In football, gaining the necessary ten yards before using all four downs reset the series.
Once again: 1st & 10.
The offense could start over with four more chances to gain another ten yards.
Next play.
Andrew took the snap. The pressure collapsed the pocket. He escaped, and this time he was not looking to throw.
[Pritchett breaks out of the pocket and takes off!] Brent exclaimed, rising slightly from his seat.
Andrew accelerated toward the right sideline.
He crossed the line of scrimmage and kept gaining ground, moving closer and closer to the sideline.
Dion Jordan came from behind. Six-foot-six. Exceptionally long arms. One of the most athletic defenders in the entire country.
He took the right angle and lunged at Andrew, who looked trapped.
Then Andrew stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
The change was so sudden that Jordan, who had already fully committed his body forward, had no way to recover.
He flew right past him. Shot out of bounds and came within inches of running straight into The Oregon Duck.
[Dion Jordan goes flying past him like a runaway train!] Brent exclaimed, now actually rising from his seat.
Autzen reacted with a collective murmur.
Andrew accelerated again.
But not toward the sideline.
Another defender was already closing from that direction, and if Andrew kept going straight, he was going to run directly into him.
So Andrew planted his foot. Cut inside.
[And he changes direction again!]
He kept going.
One defender began chasing him from behind. Another came from the middle.
Andrew kept his legs moving, looking for another opening.
Finally, two Oregon players arrived at the same time.
This time there was no escape.
One wrapped him around the waist while the other came in from the side.
Andrew finally went down on the turf.
He had made it to roughly Oregon's 25-yard line.
A run of nearly forty yards.
Brent let out a short laugh as the replay began. [Pritchett-Tucker just turned a broken play into a massive run. And look at this... Dion Jordan looked like he had him completely trapped.]
The replay showed the exact moment again.
[Dion, who for much of the first half looked like he was becoming his nightmare, ends up completely taken out of the play.]
Kirk nodded as he watched the monitor. [That is ridiculous body control. It's not just speed. A lot of fast quarterbacks end up out of bounds there. What makes it special is his ability to stop, change direction, and accelerate again without losing his balance.]
Ross and Chandler looked at each other for a moment.
Neither said anything.
Not yet.
They immediately turned their attention back to the television.
Andrew was already back on his feet. He briefly gathered with the offense. It lasted only a few seconds.
Andrew called the play. The players broke the huddle almost immediately and ran to their positions.
It was not exactly Oregon's Blur Offense.
UCLA was still using the huddle.
But Andrew seemed determined to give them as little time as possible to breathe, substitute players, or reorganize.
Andrew took the ball, dropped back a few steps, and threw.
[TOUCHDOWN UCLA!] Brent exclaimed. [Delicious pass from Pritchett to Cooper, straight into the end zone!]
"YES!" Chandler and Ross shouted at the same time, jumping to their feet.
The people in the bar did not pay much attention to them, because the game that had looked completely over only a few minutes earlier was at least beginning to show some signs of life.
Andrew did not waste time celebrating. UCLA went for two again and converted. Three for three.
OREGON DUCKS 48 — UCLA BRUINS 24
Kirk studied the numbers for a few seconds. [The gap is still enormous. Oregon has exactly twice as many points as UCLA, but in just a few minutes, UCLA has scored two touchdowns and converted two two-point attempts. Sixteen points. And Pritchett, who at halftime looked like he was heading toward his first truly bad night of the season, already has three touchdowns. This is no longer a bad game.]
Without paying much attention to the analysis, Chandler made a gesture with his hand and said, "Calm down, there's still a long way to go."
He adjusted his shirt and sat back down.
Ross did the same.
Neither of them wanted to be the first to say it.
Not even as a joke.
…
Autzen Stadium — Eugene, Oregon
The stadium was not quiet. Not even close.
Oregon still had tens of thousands of fans in the stands and was leading by twice as many points.
But the atmosphere was no longer exactly the same as it had been at halftime. There was a kind of growing uneasiness.
During the first thirty minutes, UCLA had managed only one touchdown.
Now they had scored two in less than eight minutes.
Andrew, who earlier had looked frustrated, unsettled, and trapped by Oregon's defense, was suddenly finding openings.
Nothing serious.
Just that small shift that happens when a game that had looked completely dead starts forcing you to pay attention again.
In the visiting section, the contrast was even more obvious.
They had celebrated both touchdowns.
But now almost everyone was sitting again or leaning forward, watching the field with absolute concentration.
Nobody wanted to talk too much. It was too early.
Even Phil stayed quiet and did not try to give one of his optimistic speeches.
Even Gloria, for once, was not provoking the Oregon fans around them.
The Ducks returned to the field and began another drive. Mariota moved the ball quickly again, mixing short passes with runs by Barner, and for a few minutes it looked as though Oregon would simply impose its rhythm again.
UCLA, however, was no longer giving ground as easily as it had in the first half. The tackles were coming sooner, the linebackers were better positioned, and they were beginning to anticipate some of the routes that had torn them apart during the first two quarters.
Oregon advanced to around UCLA's 35-yard line.
Mariota took the snap, dropped back, looked to his right, and threw toward an intermediate route near the sideline.
But Aaron Hester had read the play.
The UCLA cornerback jumped in front of the receiver just as the ball arrived.
[INTERCEPTED!] Brent suddenly shouted. [Aaron Hester picks off Mariota!]
Hester secured the ball against his chest, turned immediately, and started running the other way.
For a second, no one seemed to fully process what was happening.
Then the UCLA sideline exploded.
"GO! GO! GO!" Steve shouted, running several yards parallel to the play from the sideline.
Amari raised both arms.
Shaq, who had been sitting on the bench, jumped to his feet and dropped his Gatorade bottle.
Andrus and several linemen ran along the sideline following the return while the coaches tried to keep them behind the white line.
Hester crossed midfield.
An Oregon receiver tried to catch him from behind.
He could not.
[Hester has open field!] Brent continued, his voice rising higher and higher. [Forty! Thirty! Twenty!]
Autzen began to change sound again.
First came a roar trying to push Oregon forward. Then surprise.
Finally, an increasingly heavy murmur as everyone realized no one was going to catch him.
[TEN... FIVE... TOUCHDOWN UCLA! AARON HESTER WITH THE PICK-SIX!]
Hester crossed into the end zone with the ball still clutched tightly against his body and let out a shout as his defensive teammates arrived behind him.
The visiting section erupted.
Cam shot to his feet. Howard and Leonard slapped hands hard. Haley hugged Alex without even warning her, and a few seats away, Monica did exactly the same to Rachel, who did not seem to mind in the slightest.
Gloria shouted something toward the field that was completely swallowed by the noise.
"Finally the defense does something!" Paige exclaimed as she clapped.
She did not say it angrily exactly, but with a mixture of relief and resignation. After spending the entire first half watching Andrew try to answer while Oregon kept putting points on the board again and again, someone on the other side of the ball had finally given them a hand.
Sam let out a laugh beside her while clapping as well. "About time."
Paige then turned toward the UCLA sideline.
Andrew was clapping too. He had a small smile on his face, but he was nowhere near as explosive as his teammates.
Andrew was still looking at the scoreboard too much.
As if even after that defensive touchdown, he needed to remind himself how far they still had to go.
UCLA did not go for two this time.
The extra-point unit came onto the field and the attempt was good.
OREGON DUCKS 48 — UCLA BRUINS 31
For the first time in a long while, the gap had dropped below twenty points.
Oregon was going to receive the ball again.
In football, after any score, even a defensive one like a pick-six, the team that just scored has to kick the ball away and give possession back to the opponent.
So, only a few minutes after Mariota had handed over seven points with an interception, the Ducks prepared their offense to take the field again.
To the relief of more than fifty thousand Oregon fans, the Ducks finally found the end zone again.
The drive lasted a little over two minutes and twenty seconds. It was not as explosive as the ones from the first half, but it was efficient enough to remind UCLA that Oregon still had an offense capable of punishing any mistake.
This time there were no tricks.
No two-point conversion.
The extra-point unit came on, the kick was good, and Autzen celebrated almost as if they had just finally shut down any comeback attempt.
OREGON DUCKS 55 — UCLA BRUINS 31
Twenty-four points again.
When the return ended, Andrew put his helmet back on and walked onto the field.
The defenders returning to the sideline looked at him as they passed. Some patted him on the shoulder. Others raised a fist or simply gave him a short nod.
The game was still a mountain, and now Andrew had to keep climbing it without allowing himself another empty drive.
The return did not help much either.
UCLA would start from around its own 21-yard line: 79 yards to the end zone.
It was the deepest starting field position they had had all night.
By then, the sky above Eugene had gone completely dark and the lights of Autzen dominated the field. At the start of the game, there had still been some natural light left.
Not anymore. Now everything felt more enclosed and intense.
Andrew took the first snap.
The pocket began to collapse and he escaped laterally again.
Again.
[We're seeing something completely different from Pritchett in this second half,] Brent commented. [He's constantly leaving the pocket.]
Andrew moved to the right, staying behind the line of scrimmage, waited one more second, and threw on the move.
Complete pass and a first down.
[Because the conventional structure wasn't working, Brent. Oregon was controlling him inside the pocket,] Kirk commented.
The next play broke down again.
Andrew escaped to the left this time. He faked a run.
A linebacker came forward and Andrew stopped and made a short throw.
Gain of nine.
[So now he's doing something else,] Kirk continued. [He's forcing Oregon to defend for five, six, seven seconds. And when you have a quarterback who can run like he can, that completely changes the rules.]
Andrew took another snap.
The pressure came from the inside.
So he began to escape, crossed the line, and ran.
Ten yards.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
A safety came in from the side and finally managed to shove him out of bounds.
Andrew fell onto the turf still clutching the ball against his chest.
It did not come loose.
No fumble.
Brent leaned forward. [This is backyard football now!]
Kirk laughed. [Pretty much.]
[He's got defenders chasing shadows all over the field!] Brent continued. [He breaks one way, stops, cuts back inside, throws on the run... and look at him.]
The camera focused on Andrew, still on the ground near the sideline.
There was a small smile on his face.
Not directed at any defender. Not mocking. Just amusement. As if, after spending half the night frustrated, he had finally found a way to play that he actually enjoyed.
A few yards away, The Oregon Duck watched him silently from the sideline, forgetting for a few seconds to hype up the crowd.
Steve appeared immediately and held out a hand.
Andrew took it.
Steve pulled him up. "Let's go."
Andrew wasted no time.
The Bruins lined up.
The noise rose again.
"OVER-RATED!"
"OVER-RATED!"
Andrew paid no attention. "SET! HUT!"
His voice barely cut through the roar, but it was accompanied by the signal he made with his hand.
Snap, and he dropped back several steps.
Andrew looked up. The window was tiny, but it was there, so he raised his arm and threw.
[What a pass!] Brent exclaimed.
The ball sliced through the space between two defenders, traveling nearly twenty yards.
Amari caught it. He turned almost in the same motion and found himself facing the end zone.
Seven yards.
That was all.
A teammate appeared in front of him to block, and Amari accelerated across the goal line.
[TOUCHDOWN UCLA!] Brent roared. [Look at that throw! That ball has eyes, a brain, and a PhD in astrophysics! Absolutely majestic!]
Kirk burst out laughing. [That's a new one.]
The replay justified the enthusiasm.
The window had been tiny.
Two defenders closing in.
Andrew releasing the ball at the exact moment before it disappeared.
Amari catching it in stride and then seven yards of pure acceleration into the end zone.
Three drives in the third quarter and three touchdowns.
Mora sent out the kicker.
With the rhythm the game had taken on, there was no point in unnecessarily risking another point by attempting a two-point conversion. If they really managed to keep cutting into the lead, every point could end up mattering.
The kick was good.
OREGON DUCKS 55 — UCLA BRUINS 38
"Four touchdowns!" Luke exclaimed, putting both hands on his head.
He looked toward the sideline.
Andrew was drinking water while Mora and Chow spoke to him, still completely focused on the game.
Less than an hour earlier, he had looked headed for the worst game of his career.
Now he had four passing touchdowns.
More than Mariota himself, who still had two.
Of course, that did not mean Mariota was playing badly. Oregon had scored a large portion of its touchdowns on the ground.
Even so, the change was hard to ignore.
There was no pessimism in the Oregon stands either.
Not yet.
They were still winning.
But things were starting to feel strange.
UCLA was scoring like a machine gun.
Touchdown.
Touchdown.
Pick-six.
Another touchdown.
A first half that had looked like a public execution was turning into something no one liked the way it was developing.
The Ducks returned to the field trying to regain control.
This time, they could not.
UCLA's defense managed to stop the drive before Oregon even reached comfortable field goal range.
No points.
For the first time in a long while, Andrew's offense got the ball back with a real opportunity to cut into the lead again.
Autzen responded by raising the volume.
The Bruins moved the ball.
Not with the same violence as the previous three possessions, but enough to keep the drive alive.
Oregon finally stiffened near its own territory, keeping UCLA out of the end zone.
But they were not far enough away to punt either.
The kicker came back onto the field. Three points were still three points. The kick was good, and the third quarter came to an end.
A lot of Oregon fans stared at the scoreboard almost as if they needed to confirm that it was actually correct.
The UCLA fans did exactly the same.
OREGON DUCKS 55 — UCLA BRUINS 41
Only two touchdowns apart.
UCLA had gone into halftime down by thirty-seven. Fifteen minutes later, they had turned the blowout into a two-possession game.
Brent looked at the scoreboard again as if he needed to make sure he was not reading it wrong. [Are my eyes working, Kirk?] he asked. [From thirty-seven points down to just fourteen in one quarter. What the hell is happening here?]
Kirk exhaled through his nose, still wearing an incredulous expression. [I don't want to get too far ahead of myself, because there's still an entire quarter left and Oregon is still winning, but... if UCLA somehow turns this around, we could be talking about the biggest comeback in college football history.]
He did not want to say too much.
But the game had already crossed a line.
This was no longer just UCLA making the score look respectable.
It was no longer Andrew piling up statistics with the game already decided.
The game was open again.
[What's the record?] Brent asked.
[Michigan State against Northwestern. October twenty-first, 2006. Michigan State was down 38-3, a thirty-five-point deficit, with about ten minutes left in the third quarter,] Kirk replied.
The broadcast showed UCLA's players gathering near the sideline as the break between quarters began.
[And they ended up winning 41-38,] Kirk continued. [Thirty-five points. That still stands as the largest comeback in Division I-A history.]
[So if Mora, Pritchett, and these Bruins somehow win tonight...] Brent said.
Kirk slowly nodded and finished the thought. [We'd be talking about thirty-seven points. A new record. And not against just any opponent. Against Oregon.]
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.
Brent finally smiled sideways. [Jesus Christ... Want to remind the country who was the only man in Baton Rouge this morning who picked UCLA?]
[Not yet. There's still an entire quarter left,] Kirk said, shaking his head.
At halftime, what was supposed to be a competitive game between two Top 10 teams had looked like it had turned into a boring blowout.
Now, heading into the final quarter, they could be fifteen minutes away from witnessing something historic.
The fourth quarter began with Oregon resuming possession exactly where they had left off.
But once again, UCLA managed to stop them.
The Ducks tried to move the ball with their usual tempo, although they were no longer as fresh. On top of that, the Bruins' defense was more motivated than ever and had adjusted to the pace after halftime.
Oregon had to punt, and when the return ended, Andrew came back onto the field.
There were around twelve minutes left.
He did not come out desperate.
But he was not slow either.
Something in between.
Fast enough not to waste clock, but controlled enough not to turn every snap into a desperate gamble.
Little by little, they moved into enemy territory.
Autzen was still roaring. But now every snap felt different.
They were no longer shouting just to celebrate the blowout or mock UCLA.
They were shouting because they needed to stop them.
Andrew took the ball.
The protection held long enough.
Steve found the smallest bit of separation between the corner and the safety.
Andrew saw it. Raised his arm and threw.
The pass came out like a bullet.
[Pritchett... and Rice! AGAIN!]
Steve caught the ball in the end zone.
Touchdown.
[The man with kaleidoscope eyes sees another window! Dion Jordan, Ifo Ekpre-Olomu, Kiko Alonso... Oregon has NFL talent all over this defense, and right now none of them can shut him down!] Brent roared.
The UCLA section exploded.
Mitch shot to his feet.
Cam shouted with both arms raised.
Claire hugged Phil.
Luke was practically jumping in place.
Leonard and Howard slapped hands so hard that both of them winced afterward.
Thousands of UCLA fans screamed toward the field.
For the first time since that comeback had begun, the celebration no longer felt like simple pride in refusing to quit.
Now there was real hope.
Mora sent out the kicker. There was no longer any reason to go for two.
Earlier, they had used two-point conversions because they needed to make up points quickly.
Now they were exactly where they wanted to be. Two conventional touchdowns, two extra points, and they could tie it.
The kick was good.
The scoreboard changed.
OREGON DUCKS 55 — UCLA BRUINS 48
"Only seven!" Steve exclaimed, clapping as he headed back toward the sideline. Then he turned toward the defenders preparing to go back onto the field. "One more! We only need one more!"
Several of them answered with helmet taps, pats on the shoulder, and short nods.
Andrew, meanwhile, barely made it to the bench before dropping onto it.
He was drenched in sweat.
He had run more than in any other game that season. Not just in official rushing yards, but because of everything that had happened behind the line of scrimmage: lateral escapes, spins, sudden stops, changes of direction, and throws after extending plays for several seconds.
His breathing was still heavy.
One of the assistants immediately approached and handed him a bottle of Gatorade.
"Thanks," Andrew murmured.
He took several long drinks without taking his eyes off the field.
Now it depended on the defense.
Oregon went back on offense and this time managed to get something more.
Not a touchdown.
But they did advance far enough to get into field goal range.
When the kick went through the uprights, much of Autzen applauded, although the reaction was far more restrained than it would have been an hour earlier.
Three points were good.
But not reassuring.
Especially after everything they had just witnessed.
The scoreboard moved again.
OREGON DUCKS 58 — UCLA BRUINS 48
Andrew returned to the field.
The offense moved the ball, although this time Oregon managed to prevent the explosive play the Bruins had found again and again during the third quarter.
They had to settle for a field goal.
OREGON DUCKS 58 — UCLA BRUINS 51
The difference was back to seven.
Just one touchdown.
There were a little over five minutes left, and Chip Kelly changed priorities.
Oregon kept using the no-huddle because it was a central part of their offensive identity, but they were no longer trying to turn every possession into a race against the clock.
They had not suddenly become a slow offense.
They were simply using the clock with safer plays and runs.
[Oregon is famous for possessions that last two minutes,] Brent commented as Mariota looked back toward the sideline. [Now they're doing something completely different: protecting a seven-point lead and forcing UCLA to watch the seconds disappear.]
It was not exactly turtle mode.
They were still playing faster than many teams in the country.
But compared to the Oregon everyone was used to, it almost seemed slow.
The clock kept ticking down.
On the UCLA sideline, the tension increased with every second.
"Shit, stop them!" Steve blurted out, looking first at the field and then at the clock.
2:14.
Oregon had advanced to around UCLA's 40-yard line.
Third down.
They needed four yards to move the chains.
3rd & 4.
Mariota took the snap and ran the read. But this time, UCLA's defenders did not bite on the fake.
Mariota managed to gain one yard.
Nothing more.
A field goal from there would have meant an attempt of more than fifty yards.
Too long to be considered a comfortable option, especially for a college kicker with the game on the line.
The logical alternative seemed to be the punt.
Pin UCLA near its own end zone.
Force Andrew to drive practically the entire field.
But Chip Kelly had never been particularly fond of always choosing the logical option.
The offense stayed on the field.
Kirk raised his eyebrows. [They're going for it.]
If Oregon got those three yards, they could keep draining the clock.
Maybe force UCLA to use its timeouts.
Maybe end the game without even giving Andrew a real chance to get the ball back.
Mariota took the snap. He looked to throw, but found nothing. He dropped back another step, then another.
The pocket broke down and he started running. But because of all the ground he had given up while looking for the pass, he no longer needed just three yards.
He needed quite a bit more.
But he did not get it.
The hit stopped him short of the line to gain.
"YES!"
The UCLA sideline exploded.
Even Andrew immediately jumped up from the bench and started clapping.
Turnover on downs.
UCLA ball.
Andrew looked at the clock.
1:45.
They still had two timeouts.
It was not much time.
But it was not a desperate situation either.
A timeout allowed them to stop the clock completely during the final minutes, and UCLA still had two of the three it had been given for that half.
That meant they did not need to play as if every snap had to turn into a deep bomb.
Andrew put his helmet back on.
They had roughly sixty yards ahead of them.
Tight, but possible.
Andrew started the drive by mixing everything together. Quick passes, vertical throws, escaping the pocket when it broke down, and complete improvisations.
There was no single formula, and that was exactly why the Ducks' defense could not stop him.
UCLA kept moving.
Not desperately.
But not comfortably either.
But at a fast enough pace that, for the first time, the word tie no longer seemed like a fantasy.
The clock dropped below one minute.
Andrew completed another pass.
Timeout.
Then another gain. They lined up again with less than thirty seconds remaining.
UCLA was roughly twenty-five yards from the end zone.
Autzen roared with everything it had left, trying to intimidate them, keep the offense from hearing, force a mistake.
Andrew took the ball, dropped back, looked up, and threw.
[Another pass! This one is going straight to the end zone!] Brent exclaimed, almost immediately rising to his feet.
The ball dropped toward the back.
Shaq appeared between two defenders.
He jumped, extended his hands, and caught it.
Caught it.
[SHAQ EVANS HAS IT! TOUCHDOWN UCLA!]
The Bruins' sideline exploded.
[Sixth touchdown pass of the night for Pritchett! UCLA, which was down thirty-seven points, has just tied this game!]
But the contrast was brutal.
Thousands of Oregon fans remained frozen, staring toward the end zone as if they were still processing what they had just witnessed.
Brent could barely contain himself. [He has driven the spear straight into the heart of Oregon, right here in front of their own people!]
[No words,] Kirk said as he watched the image.
Shaq had disappeared beneath a pile of blue jerseys.
Andrew, who was farther away because he had made an intermediate throw, raised both arms and shook them forcefully.
Until Andrus and Alexander rushed over excitedly to embrace him.
There was chaos on the sideline too: backup players, assistants, trainers, even some of the coaches moved right up to the permitted boundary, shouting and hitting each other in celebration.
Everyone except Jim Mora.
He remained standing with his arms crossed and a completely blank expression.
He did not even seem to react to the touchdown.
He walked a few steps. Bent down and picked up a bottle of water.
Drank.
Then he sat beside Chow and partially covered his mouth while saying something to him.
Kirk looked at the statistics appearing on the screen. [Third game this season in which Pritchett has reached six touchdown passes. The highest number of passing touchdowns in a single game in conference history. But the extra point is still coming...]
The conversion was routine.
More than ninety percent of those kicks went through.
But rarely had such a seemingly simple kick carried so much weight.
It was good.
The scoreboard changed.
OREGON DUCKS 58 — UCLA BRUINS 58
For a few seconds, the cameras simply showed the numbers.
Thirty-seven points apart at halftime.
Now none.
Kirk slowly exhaled. [We're going to overtime.]
That was exactly what happened.
There was no time left for another possession.
The fourth quarter ended with the score tied.
It was time for overtime.
NCAA overtime worked very differently from the NFL.
There was no game clock determining how long each period lasted.
Instead, both teams were guaranteed one possession in each overtime. Each offense automatically began at the opponent's 25-yard line.
That meant that from the very first snap, only twenty-five yards separated them from the end zone.
From there, normal rules applied. If they gained ten yards, they moved the chains and received another four downs to keep advancing toward the end zone.
The possession ended when the team scored, whether by touchdown or field goal, missed a field goal attempt, or turned the ball over through an interception or a fumble recovered by the defense.
Then the other team got its turn.
That was the most important part.
A coin toss was held to determine who would get the first choice.
Oregon won, and Chip Kelly chose to defend first.
It was the usual decision.
Because starting on defense gave you information.
If UCLA scored a touchdown, Oregon knew it also needed to reach the end zone to stay alive.
If the Bruins managed only a field goal, the Ducks knew a touchdown would immediately win the game, while another field goal would at least tie it and force a second overtime.
And if UCLA ended the possession without scoring...
Oregon would only need a field goal to win.
That was why most coaches preferred to defend first.
Knowing exactly what you needed before beginning your own possession was too valuable an advantage.
The officials finally signaled the positions.
UCLA would have the ball first.
Twenty-five yards.
That was all they needed to gain to score another touchdown.
From that distance, a field goal was already perfectly realistic. Even without moving the ball much, UCLA was close enough to think about three points.
But nobody wanted to settle for that.
Not while going first.
Because if UCLA ended the possession with a field goal, Oregon would get the ball knowing exactly what it needed.
Autzen had been momentarily stunned by the tie at the end of regulation.
Now it was roaring again, louder and more hostile.
Every snap felt as if the stands were trying to physically push UCLA backward.
Every yard was difficult.
And Andrew could not find a way into the end zone.
The kicker came on.
The attempt was comfortable.
OREGON DUCKS 58 — UCLA BRUINS 61
Andrew walked off the field and pulled off his helmet in frustration.
'Shit...' he thought, clicking his tongue.
Getting points was not bad.
But it was not what they needed either.
Now Oregon was practically guaranteed the chance to at least tie it.
A touchdown ended everything.
The entire comeback.
The thirty-seven points.
Everything could disappear with one good Oregon possession.
"Hey, don't overthink it. Trust your teammates and let them do their job," Mora said as he approached.
Andrew nodded and put his helmet back on, even though he did not need to go onto the field yet and might not take another snap in the game.
Oregon also ended up being forced to settle for a field goal.
The kick went through the uprights, and Andrew let out the breath he had been holding.
OREGON DUCKS 61 — UCLA BRUINS 61
They were still alive.
'This isn't over,' Andrew thought.
He immediately stood up and adjusted his helmet, ready to go back onto the field.
Norm, who was beside him, turned his head toward him. "You're not going in yet."
Andrew looked at him. For a second, he did not understand. Then he remembered the overtime rules.
"Oh, right..." he murmured and sat back down.
In the second overtime, the order was reversed.
Oregon had won the original coin toss and chosen to defend first in the opening period, which had allowed them to play their possession knowing exactly what they needed after UCLA's field goal.
But that advantage could not always belong to the same team.
The order alternated.
Because Oregon had possessed the ball second in the first overtime, they now had to open the second overtime on offense.
That meant UCLA would be the team with the strategic advantage of responding this time.
If Oregon scored a touchdown, Andrew would go in knowing he needed exactly the same thing.
Andrew kept his helmet on and rested his forearms on his legs.
Chow glanced at him. "For a second, did you think it was your turn?"
Andrew stayed silent. Forgetting such a basic rule was not something he liked admitting.
Chow raised an eyebrow slightly. It was strange to see Andrew, who knew practically every rule by heart, forget something like that.
"It's been a long few hours," Andrew finally replied.
That earned a small smile from Chow.
Then both of them turned their attention back to the field.
Oregon was forced to settle for another field goal.
For UCLA, those three points were celebrated almost like an interception.
It was not ideal.
But it was much better than a touchdown.
OREGON DUCKS 64 — UCLA BRUINS 61
Now the Bruins were in a fairly clear situation.
A field goal would tie the second overtime and send the game to a third.
A touchdown would end it.
And from the 25-yard line, getting at least three points seemed very likely unless Oregon immediately made something big happen: a deep sack, a turnover, or a major penalty.
Andrew stood up.
This time, it really was his turn.
Chow looked at him and gave only a slight nod.
No speech.
None was needed.
By that point Andrew knew the playbook, understood the situation perfectly, and after everything he had done during the second half, Chow trusted him to make the right decision.
Andrew walked onto the field.
Autzen roared again.
But it no longer had the triumphant tone it had carried during the first half.
Now it sounded desperate.
UCLA did not gain much.
Once again, Andrew found himself facing a third-down situation.
3rd & 6.
Six yards.
It seemed like almost nothing after he had thrown passes of twenty, thirty, forty, and even fifty yards throughout the night.
But near the end zone, the field became compressed.
There were no longer forty yards behind the defense to attack.
The safeties could play closer.
The linebackers had less ground to cover.
Everything became tighter.
More congested.
A six-yard pass could be considerably harder than one of thirty or forty.
Making the right decision, at the right moment, with the right touch...
Even so, if UCLA failed to convert, Mora would simply send out the kicker on fourth down.
A field goal from this distance was almost automatic.
But Andrew wanted to end it.
He lined up behind the center and said, "SET... HUT!"
He gave a signal with his hand.
Snap.
The protection collapsed almost immediately.
Andrew dropped back and escaped to his left.
There was no opening ahead.
Only green jerseys, and behind him came Dion Jordan once again.
Their matchup had stretched across practically the entire game.
During the first half, Jordan had been a nightmare.
But after halftime, Andrew had started winning most of their battles.
Now there was one more.
[Pritchett is cornered by Dion Jordan!] Brent called.
Jordan closed the distance.
Andrew tried to raise his right arm, but he could not.
Jordan's enormous reach completely took away the throwing motion.
Then Brent noticed something strange. [Wait... is he switching the ball to his left hand!?]
Yes.
Andrew changed hands.
There was no time to think about it.
It was instinct.
He transferred the ball to his left hand just as Jordan finally reached him.
The defender began wrapping him up.
Andrew lost his balance.
But before going down, he threw a short left-handed pass that traveled barely four yards through the air.
Steve was there.
The ball arrived awkwardly, but it was catchable.
[RICE MAKES THE CATCH!]
Two Oregon defenders immediately crashed into him.
Steve took the first hit.
Then the second.
He twisted his body, kept the ball pressed against his chest, and used the momentum of the tackles themselves.
One yard.
Then another.
He crossed the line as he fell.
But he was in.
For a second, nobody knew anything.
Andrew was on the turf.
Steve seemed to have disappeared beneath two defenders.
The entire stadium looked toward the referee.
The official ran toward the goal line.
He saw Steve clutching the ball in his arms as if it were his newborn child.
He raised both arms.
Touchdown.
Brent exploded. [TOUCHDOWN UCLA! STEVE RICE GETS INTO THE END ZONE!]
The Bruins' sideline completely lost control.
This time everyone poured onto the field. They had won. There was nothing stopping them anymore.
The three thousand UCLA fans in the stands erupted at the same time.
The more than fifty thousand Ducks fans, on the other hand, were frozen.
Brent continued excitedly, [Pritchett switching the ball to his other hand and somehow getting a pass away to his old friend! UCLA has just completed the greatest comeback in college football history!]
OREGON DUCKS 64 — UCLA BRUINS 67
...
Chapter Title: Historic Comeback
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