At Autzen Stadium, the more than fifty thousand Oregon fans took barely a second to understand what had happened.
The referee raised both arms.
Touchdown.
UCLA had won.
"What the fuck…?" an Oregon student murmured from the student section.
Half his face was painted green and yellow. Both hands had ended up on top of his head almost by reflex as he stared at the scoreboard as though expecting the numbers to change again.
They didn't.
OREGON DUCKS 64 - UCLA BRUINS 67
Barely half an hour earlier, it had been a party.
Oregon had been leading by more than thirty points. Autzen had been shaking. The students had been jumping into one another, the stands roaring after every touchdown, and every time Andrew returned to the field, another wave of mockery had poured down from the crowd.
Now no one was chanting.
The contrast was almost unsettling.
Absolute silence couldn't exist in a stadium with more than fifty thousand people. There were still isolated voices, the occasional stray insult, the sound of the speakers, and thousands of conversations starting at the same time.
"This can't fucking be real," a guy with a cup of beer in his hand murmured.
But the roar was gone.
In its place was a low, disorganized murmur.
Oregon's sideline was just as shocked as their fans, if not more.
Marcus Mariota remained staring toward the end zone. He held his helmet in one hand.
For several seconds, he barely moved.
There was nothing else to do. No other drive, no other possession.
They were done.
A few yards away from Mariota, Kenjon Barner kept his jaw clenched, 'What the hell just happened…?' he thought.
He was still struggling to process it.
He had rushed for four touchdowns.
He had been one of the best players on the field for practically the entire night. For much of the game, Oregon had done whatever it wanted offensively.
What more was he supposed to do?
Barner looked at the scoreboard again.
It was real.
Chip Kelly didn't react immediately either. For a moment, he remained completely still.
First he looked toward the referee. Then at the scoreboard. Then back toward the end zone, where practically all of UCLA was celebrating. He adjusted his cap. That was enough.
"All right! Bring it in! Bring it in!" he shouted as he began walking along the sideline.
Kelly started gathering them together.
The blow was enormous. They had held a thirty-seven-point lead and had lost it. But he was the head coach.
He could try to understand how the hell that had happened later. Right now, he couldn't allow himself to remain frozen alongside his players.
Oregon's coaches, trainers, and staff members began heading onto the field to retrieve the defensive players.
Some were still completely motionless. Others walked slowly toward the sideline.
After releasing the pass, Andrew had lost his balance under Dion's contact. He managed to plant one knee on the turf to keep from falling completely and, from there, watched the ball travel only a few yards, with a slight arc.
He saw Steve's hands close around it. Then he saw him turn his body, cross the goal line, and almost immediately disappear between two defenders.
Then he looked up at the referee.
Both arms went up.
Touchdown.
For a fraction of a second, Andrew simply stayed there.
Then he heard his own sideline explode and saw the scoreboard change.
It was over.
There was no extra point or two-point conversion left to attempt.
Oregon had opened that second overtime with a field goal. UCLA needed, at minimum, another field goal to extend the game.
They had scored a touchdown.
The six points were enough.
The instant Steve crossed the goal line, the game had automatically ended.
A smile slowly appeared on Andrew's face, "Yes…" he murmured.
Then he simply let himself fall backward onto the turf.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. After an entire game of running, taking hits, escaping the pocket, and chasing a comeback that had seemed impossible at halftime, his body finally seemed to understand that it was allowed to stop.
Andrew looked up at the night sky.
The enormous lights of Autzen dominated practically his entire field of vision.
'We did it!' he thought.
"ANDREW!"
Hearing his name made him turn his head, and he saw Andrus Peat running toward him, 'Oh, shit—
Peat threw himself on top of him, "WE FUCKING DID IT!" he shouted, letting out a side of himself that almost never appeared. Andrus was usually calm, reserved, but right now—
Andrew burst out laughing and tried to brace himself so he wouldn't get crushed.
Then another weight piled on: Vadal Alexander, the other offensive guard, a true freshman who weighed far too much for someone his age.
Then came Xavier Su'a-Filo, the sophomore who had gone on a Mormon mission and had returned this year, putting together an extraordinary season at his position.
Jake joined them too, the center who was always snapping the ball to Andrew, falling on top of the others.
Andrew tried to sit up. He couldn't. There were too many bodies on top of him, "Guys!" he protested, laughing, "I can't breathe!"
Then the rest arrived.
Players began pouring in from the sideline, guys who had been far too distant to have taken part in the play.
Datone, the defensive leader, was one of the first defenders to reach the pile, "Thirty-seven fucking points!" he roared as he slapped one of his teammates on the shoulder.
Aaron, the one who had made the interception, appeared behind him.
Andrew couldn't even see the sky anymore.
A few yards away, Dion Jordan was still on the ground.
He had finished the play practically sitting on the turf after completing the motion with which he had tried to bring Andrew down.
For several seconds, he didn't get up.
His eyes remained fixed on the spot where UCLA's quarterback had been. Or, more precisely, where he assumed he still was.
Dion took a deep breath as he replayed the play in his head.
He had closed the angle. Andrew had tried to escape to the left and he had caught him. He had completely taken away his right arm.
He had him.
He had done practically everything he was supposed to do at his position.
Then…
How the hell had that ball come out?
Dion knew the answer. He had been inches away. Andrew had tried to raise his right arm.
He couldn't.
So, while losing his balance, he had simply transferred the ball from one hand to the other. As if that option had been available the entire time.
Jordan looked back toward the pile of UCLA players, 'How the hell did he do that with his left…?' he thought.
There was frustration in the question.
But also disbelief.
"Dion."
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Dion looked up.
Nick Aliotti was standing in front of him.
Oregon's defensive coordinator wore a tense expression, but he clearly wasn't willing to let one of his best players stay there sitting on the turf, watching the opposing team celebrate.
"Come on. Get up."
Dion remained there for another second, looking toward the end zone. Then he took the offered hand. Aliotti pulled him to his feet.
When Andrew finally managed to stand up, he was still breathing hard.
He took off his helmet and looked toward the end zone.
Steve was there. He had just high-fived Thomas, the tight end Andrew had spent two years with at Mater Dei.
Steve turned his head and found Andrew looking at him from a few yards away. A smile immediately spread across his face.
Steve started walking toward him. Then he sped up.
"Great pass!" he shouted before practically jumping onto him.
Andrew laughed and caught him, "Great catch!"
They hugged tightly for a second, accompanying it with several hard pats on the back before separating.
Steve was still smiling, but then he slowly shook his head, "I almost had a heart attack when I saw number ninety-six on top of you and watched you switch the ball to the other hand."
Andrew exhaled through his nose.
The left-handed pass hadn't exactly been perfect either.
It had come out with a bit of an arc, without much velocity, and had traveled only a few yards through the air.
But it had gone where it needed to go.
"It was all calculated," Andrew replied with an exaggeratedly confident expression.
Steve stared at him in silence, "It wasn't, was it?"
Andrew held that expression for about two seconds.
Then he finally nodded with a crooked smile, "No."
Steve burst out laughing.
In fact, when the play had started, Andrew hadn't been planning to throw the ball to Steve. It was only because he ended up switching hands that the pass became possible.
The hand switch had been pure instinct.
It wasn't like that time in high school when, dealing with discomfort in his right shoulder, Andrew had decided before the snap that he would throw with his left.
That had been deliberate.
He had time to think about it.
This time, he hadn't.
Of course, it wasn't as if his left arm were completely useless either.
He had practiced with it for years.
Short passes, drills for fun, and more serious reps.
But practicing something and using it while a defensive end nearly two meters tall was dragging you to the ground with the game on the line were two completely different things.
"Nice improvisation."
Andrew immediately turned his head.
Norm Chow was standing behind them.
The offensive coordinator walked toward the two of them wearing the same serious expression he carried through practically every practice, quarterback meeting, or film session.
Andrew was getting used to receiving praise from him. It was rare, but Chow gave it, at least to him.
"I know technically that wasn't in the playbook—
Chow hugged him.
Andrew froze for a fraction of a second, surprised.
Chow.
Hugging him.
Then he felt two hard pats on the back, "Hell of a play, kid."
Andrew smiled.
Chow pulled away and pointed toward the spot where the play had ended, "Jordan won that rep. He took away your right arm and had you going down. Nine quarterbacks out of ten take the sack there. We kick the field goal and go to a third overtime. But you found six points."
Andrew's smile widened even more.
Steve nodded several times as though he were sitting in a class.
Chow continued, "The playbook puts you in position to make plays. It doesn't exist to stop you from playing football."
Chow was a very meticulous man and someone who respected the playbook. But he knew perfectly well that this comeback would never have happened if Andrew had treated every play like an equation that had to be followed down to the last decimal.
Chow gave him another pat on the shoulder, "You were great tonight. You too, Steve. Excellent catch between two defenders."
Steve grinned from ear to ear.
Then another voice came from behind them, "There he is!"
Mora appeared, walking quickly toward them.
Throughout the entire comeback, he had remained relatively composed.
Even after the tying score, he hadn't celebrated explosively like everyone else. He had simply taken a drink of water, stayed thoughtful, sat down on the bench, and said a few words to Chow.
Now there was no next series left, and the difference showed.
Mora had a huge smile on his face. He reached Andrew and hugged him tightly.
Then he pointed at Steve, "And you."
Steve raised both hands, "Caught the easy part."
It wasn't false modesty. Steve was usually the first one to take pride in his catches or plays.
But the final reception had traveled only about four or five yards through the air. Andrew had managed to get the ball out when he looked completely trapped; Steve had simply been where he was supposed to be.
"Bullshit," Mora replied as he hugged him too, "Great catch."
Short didn't mean easy. The window had been tiny.
He had caught the ball practically surrounded by green jerseys, had to secure the catch, turn immediately toward the goal line, and take barely a single step before absorbing contact. Then he used the defenders' own momentum to finish crossing the line.
One second of hesitation and they probably would have stopped him short.
Steve smiled.
Mora looked at the two of them again for a second.
His quarterback and one of his starting wide receivers.
Two true freshmen who had known each other since they were kids and had just completed the greatest comeback in college football history together.
And that final catch didn't even really summarize Steve's game.
During the comeback, he had ended up becoming the receiver Andrew looked for again and again whenever plays started breaking down.
He had caught a deep pass of more than forty yards and turned the reception into a touchdown.
He had also shown up on intermediate routes and found space whenever Andrew escaped the pocket.
As the game drifted farther and farther away from the original structure of the playbook, the connection between the two of them seemed to become even more dangerous.
Amari and Shaq had had their moments.
But that night, Steve had ended up being the receiver Andrew found most often whenever everything around him started falling apart.
Not necessarily because he was always the first read.
Simply because they both seemed to understand what the other was going to do once there was no longer a route drawn up.
Years of playing together turned into something almost instinctive, and on the most important play of all, it had happened again.
Mora slowly shook his head, as if part of him still couldn't quite believe what he had just witnessed.
Then he became the head coach again.
There were too many players to congratulate and too many members of his staff who had played a part in that comeback for him to stay there much longer.
"Enjoy this one," he said before walking away, "You earned it."
Steve watched him go for a second. Then he raised one arm, "Frat party!"
Chow slowly turned his head toward him.
Steve immediately lowered his arm, "Just kidding," he said quickly.
Chow slightly raised an eyebrow, "I didn't say anything."
If there was one section more out of control than the field itself, it was the nearly three thousand UCLA fans.
All night long, they had been surrounded by an ocean of green and yellow.
They had endured the yelling, the chants, and the mockery.
They had watched Oregon turn the game into a blowout during the first half, and for a while, traveling all the way to Eugene had started to feel like a terrible decision.
Because at least at home, you could get up from the couch or try to think about something else.
Not there.
There, they had to remain in their seats while the score kept growing and Autzen celebrated every touchdown as if it wanted to remind them that they were completely alone in enemy territory.
When the third quarter began, most of them were probably hoping for only one thing.
That UCLA would show some pride and at least make the score respectable.
No one expected to end up witnessing history, and now, after suffering through every minute, every third down, and every possession of that comeback, surely none of them would have traded being there for anything.
"MITCHELL, HE DID IT!" Cam shouted.
His voice was completely hoarse.
Ever since UCLA had started closing the gap, Cam had celebrated every first down, every field goal, and every touchdown as if it were the play deciding the national championship.
Mitchell probably didn't even hear him.
He had completely lost his usual restraint.
At that moment, he was hugging Phil, who happened to be the closest person to him.
"I knew it! I always knew it!" Phil shouted.
Mitchell couldn't hear him. The two of them were jumping up and down while hugging each other.
Claire, realizing that her Phil was busy hugging Mitchell, ended up turning toward the person on her other side.
Jana Peat.
Andrus's mother didn't need an invitation either.
"OH, MY GOD!" Jana shouted as she hugged Claire so tightly she almost lifted her off the ground, "They did it!"
Claire burst out laughing as she tried to keep her balance.
A few seats farther down, Lily remained with her hearing protectors on.
She was no longer in anyone's arms.
She had celebrated when Steve crossed the goal line, although in a much more restrained way than practically every adult around her.
As far as she was concerned, her brother had just won. Like he did almost 98% of the time.
That fell well within the normal functioning of the universe for her.
Then Lily turned her head.
A few rows away, near the edge of an Oregon section, she spotted a boy who had spent much of the game celebrating every Ducks touchdown with a particularly annoying level of enthusiasm.
The boy saw her too.
Lily slowly raised one finger to her lips, "Shhh."
The boy stared at her for a second. Then he frowned.
Lily smiled in satisfaction and turned back toward the field.
Luke, on the other hand, was completely out of control.
He had jumped onto Manny and was now practically using him to keep from falling as he continued celebrating, "Let's fucking go!"
"Yes, yes! I get it!" Manny replied, laughing as he tried to hold him up, "Get off before you kill both of us!"
Gloria was a different problem. She wasn't even looking at the field.
She had found several Oregon students who, during the first half, had been especially enthusiastic participants in the overrated chants.
Now she was pointing directly at them, "Sing now, idiots!"
She shouted it loudly enough to be heard even through the chaos of the visiting section.
One of the students turned his head.
Gloria spread her arms, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Jay gently grabbed her by the arm. Not really to stop her. More to make sure she didn't decide to go down six rows and continue the argument in person.
His own gaze remained fixed on the scoreboard.
A small, almost disbelieving smile appeared on his face, 'He did it,' Jay thought.
He didn't say anything. But the smile didn't disappear.
Monica and Rachel were hugging, jumping together between the seats.
"We won! We won!" Rachel shouted.
Then she stopped and looked at Monica more closely, "Wait… are you crying?"
Monica quickly wiped a hand beneath one eye, "I'm not crying!"
Rachel's eyes widened, "You're crying!"
"I'm not!" Monica shot back, offended by the accusation.
Rachel immediately started getting emotional too, "Oh, no. If you cry, I'm going to cry too. I'm the one who cries! You can't start first!"
A little farther back, Haley was hugging Alex.
For once, Alex wasn't analyzing anything.
There was no logical explanation for how UCLA had managed to erase a thirty-seven-point deficit.
She simply had her arms around her sister and a huge smile on her face.
Haley pulled back just enough to look at her, "Did you just scream over a touchdown like you got an A on a test?"
Alex looked at her, "Don't ruin it," she said.
Haley laughed.
Howard remained standing with both hands on top of his head. He hadn't changed position since the referee had signaled touchdown, "That son of a bitch did it."
Leonard stood beside him, equally motionless, "The impossible became possible."
Howard turned slightly toward him, "That sounded way too dramatic."
All of them had thought the game was over.
Not that UCLA was in trouble.
Not that they needed a great second half.
Over.
Some had imagined that maybe they could cut into the deficit. Save a little dignity. Force Oregon to keep its starters in a little longer. Nothing more. But now they were celebrating.
Paige remained standing among all of them with an incredulous smile. Her heart was still beating far too fast.
She had spent practically her entire life in Texas.
She had grown up watching entire families organize their weekends around high school and college football games. She had seen adults yell at televisions, travel for hours for a game, and argue for days over a single play.
It had always seemed exaggerated to her, and as a child with an enormous ego thanks to her parents, she had looked at it with a certain amount of disdain.
Now she was beginning to understand it.
She had felt the frustration of the first half. The small flicker of hope when UCLA started answering back.
The fear every time Andrew took a hit.
The feeling that every touchdown was bringing them closer to something that still seemed impossible, and then that final pass.
Her heart still hadn't decided to return to a normal rhythm.
Paige let out a small laugh to herself. Although she also knew there was a catch to her newfound understanding of football.
If Andrew weren't playing down there, she probably wouldn't have felt even half of it.
Beside her, Sam had both hands cupped around her mouth, "My boyfriend caught the game-winning pass!"
Paige turned toward her.
It was, at minimum, the seventh time she had shouted it.
At some point, the UCLA players began walking toward that corner of the stadium.
Before returning to the locker room, they wanted to go over to their people.
They had applauded even during the first half and tried to encourage them when they were down thirty-seven points.
Among them were players' parents and siblings.
Students who had traveled from Los Angeles.
Alumni.
Fans who had simply decided to spend an entire weekend following the team to Eugene.
Now that small section was, by far, the loudest place in Autzen.
A large portion of the Oregon fans were already beginning to leave quickly, filling the stairs and exit corridors, while the visiting stands remained practically untouched.
No one from UCLA was in any hurry to leave.
Andrew arrived with several of his teammates.
He carried his helmet in his left hand and, as he approached the stands, raised his right arm.
The reaction was immediate.
The applause grew louder. Some people leaned over the railing.
Others raised their arms, and then it began to come from several rows.
"AN-DREW! AN-DREW! AN-DREW!"
The chant spread quickly.
Andrew let out a small laugh and kept waving.
Then he started searching. And then he found his parents, his uncles, cousins, and the others.
Andrew's smile grew wider.
He raised his hand a little higher.
Cam answered with both arms as if he were trying to guide an airplane onto the runway.
Mitchell simply raised one, still smiling.
Phil did something that looked like a mixture of a military salute and a celebration.
Andrew couldn't help laughing. Then he saw Howard make an exaggerated bow with his hands.
Leonard, playing along, pretended to remove a hat and gave a slight bow.
Andrew shook his head.
His gaze kept moving.
Until it stopped on Paige. She was wearing a UCLA jersey with his number. Her blonde hair fell in long waves over her shoulders, parted almost perfectly down the middle, and under the stadium's artificial lights, some strands took on almost golden highlights.
She still wore that expression somewhere between happiness and disbelief that she hadn't managed to lose since the final touchdown.
Andrew saw her.
For an instant, the smile already on his face changed slightly.
It was subtle.
The corner of his mouth lifted a little more, and he raised his hand directly toward her.
Paige took about half a second too long to react. Then she raised hers with a slightly stiff motion.
Andrew smiled even wider before continuing on with his teammates.
Paige slowly lowered her hand. Then she frowned slightly.
She had seen the smile.
Before finding her, Andrew had already been smiling. But when their eyes met, the corner of his mouth had lifted even higher.
Paige automatically tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, 'Why am I analyzing the curve of his mouth?' she thought.
"That's cute."
Paige turned her head.
Sam was watching her with a suspiciously amused smile.
"What?" Paige asked.
Sam pointed at her hair, "The strand thing."
Paige narrowed her eyes, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Sam mimicked the gesture, lifting a hand toward an imaginary strand of hair, "You always do that when you get nervous or when you're overthinking a problem in a book."
"Shut up and find your boyfriend," Paige snorted without much humor.
Sam blinked. Then she seemed to remember that she had a much more important priority.
She immediately turned toward the field, "STEVE!"
Paige flinched slightly.
Several people in the nearby rows turned too.
Sam cupped both hands around her mouth, "STEEEEVE! OVER HERE!"
"Oh, my God…" Paige murmured.
Steve, who was walking a few yards behind Andrew, lifted his head.
He looked toward the stands.
Sam started waving both arms again as if she were trying to be spotted by a rescue helicopter.
Steve finally found her. His face lit up and he raised one hand.
Sam practically jumped.
'Twilight completely broke her,' Paige thought.
ABC was still replaying the final plays.
The left-handed pass. Steve's catch and the exact moment he crossed the goal line.
The referee raising both arms and then the complete explosion of the UCLA sideline.
Brent and Kirk still sounded incredulous, although their tone had already begun to change. The game was over. Now it was time to try to understand what they had just witnessed.
A graphic appeared on screen.
ANDREW PRITCHETT-TUCKER — UCLA
Completions/Attempts: 34/48 — 70.8%
Passing yards: 486
Rushing yards: 96
Total yards: 582
Total touchdowns: 7
Interceptions: 1
Kirk let out a small laugh as he looked at the numbers, [You know what's unbelievable? At halftime, we were talking about Andrew having a bad game.]
The broadcast briefly showed the first-half interception before returning to several plays from the comeback.
[He just never disappoints,] Kirk continued, [This is NCAA history tonight. The largest comeback college football has ever seen. Pac-12 history. Seven total touchdowns in one game. Forty-two touchdowns already this season. Nobody had ever done that before. Not Barkley, not Luck, not Leinart… But nobody has ever played Pac-12 football quite like Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.]
More statistics began appearing underneath.
Pac-12 record — 7 total TD in a game
42 total TD this season — new conference record
Previous record: Matt Barkley — 41 total TD
[This is the game that's gonna be remembered as the Andrew Pritchett-Tucker match. 18 years of age. You can't write a script like this!] Brent commented.
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