POV T.J. McDonald (USC defensive player)
I saw number 19 appear in the middle of the darkness of the tunnel.
'Pritchett-Tucker,' I thought.
The figure finally stepped out into the light and began jogging toward the field.
Then the Rose Bowl came apart. It wasn't just louder than before.
It was much louder.
Louder even than the hostility we had received when we came out a few minutes earlier. The boos against us had been brutal, but this was something else. It wasn't only excitement at seeing the team that was having an excellent season take the field, but above all devotion toward number 19.
I watched thousands of people rise from their seats as the volume kept building with every passing second.
"PRIT-CHETT! PRIT-CHETT! PRIT-CHETT!"
The last name began rolling down from different sections of the stadium until it blended with another chant.
"HEISMAN! HEISMAN! HEISMAN!"
The UCLA band was playing with everything it had. The cheerleaders jumped in front of the tunnel as they waved their pom-poms, and behind Pritchett, the rest of the team began pouring out at a run.
That caught my attention too. He was out in front, alone.
Not accompanied by some defensive captain, not shoulder to shoulder with another senior.
The entire team was coming out behind him.
The image was strange when you remembered that the guy leading that entrance was a true freshman.
Pritchett raised one hand toward the stands. Nothing exaggerated, just a brief wave.
It was enough. The Rose Bowl climbed another level.
Joe Bruin, UCLA's mascot, practically ran over to him and raised a hand. Pritchett gave him a high-five with a slight smile at the mascot's celebration over managing to get a high-five from him.
Then he continued toward the sideline as his teammates finished flooding onto the field behind him.
I kept watching him. If that had happened in September, I would've thought it was ridiculous.
A freshman playing well for one or two games and an entire stadium treating him like he was a legend.
But it wasn't September anymore. Pritchett had started ten games.
Becoming a starter was extremely difficult and rare for a freshman on a team from a top-five conference football program.
But not impossible. I'd seen Matt do it four years earlier at USC.
Matt had become the first true freshman quarterback in USC history to start a season opener.
But it hadn't been simple. It was the 2009-2010 season.
Pete Carroll, the legendary head coach we had that season, had run an intense competition throughout the spring and summer camp. Matt had graduated from high school a semester early specifically so he could arrive early, practice with the team, and have a real chance to compete.
Junior quarterback Aaron Corp had been ahead, with more experience and winning the competition.
The job was his. But then Corp suffered a knee injury in August, Matt took advantage of the opportunity and won the starting job.
That didn't take anything away from him. He had competed against other quarterbacks, answered when the door opened, and then proved he could remain the starter.
But Pritchett's situation had been different. As far as I knew, nobody at UCLA had to get injured for him to get the job. He won it.
The backup quarterback, Brett Hundley, was still there, and he wasn't bad.
We had seen him come in during third and fourth quarters when UCLA already had games practically decided. He had the arm, the mobility, and enough talent to start for plenty of good programs.
Going back to 2009, when Matt won the starting job, we began the season as one of the best teams in the country.
Top four.
You were coming off years of Pete Carroll, Rose Bowls, conference championships, and national expectations. We ended up falling all the way to number 24 and closed the season by winning the Emerald Bowl.
A mid-tier bowl.
Pritchett, on the other hand, had arrived at a program that had finished the previous year by being humiliated by us, with a new staff coming in.
He had been able to choose. A player with that many offers wasn't forced to go to UCLA.
He could've picked an established program. One that competed for titles every year and where all he would've had to do was keep the machine running.
But he chose UCLA and then exceeded expectations.
The Bruins had started the preseason around number 17.
Now they were number three in the country.
Pritchett was leading the Heisman race and had broken UCLA and conference touchdown records.
So with all of that, the reaction and fanaticism from the Bruins fans made a lot more sense.
I looked back at the stands, still chanting his last name, and then at him. Pritchett was already by his sideline, talking to Rice as if there was nothing extraordinary about any of it.
So no.
It wasn't exaggerated.
If a true freshman, the most highly recruited prospect in the country, chose your school when he could've gone to practically any major program, and ten games later had you ranked number three in the nation, competing for the Heisman and dreaming about things that would've seemed impossible a year earlier, I guess that was how you welcomed someone like that.
After an entire week of talking about the game, the press conferences, the predictions, College GameDay, the tailgate, and that entrance into the stadium, everything that didn't matter was finally over.
The game started.
UCLA won the toss and chose to receive.
The opening kickoff went high and deep. The return was pretty ordinary, nothing spectacular, leaving the Bruins with decent field position to begin their first drive.
I put on my helmet.
Around me, the rest of the defense did the same.
"Let's go!" I shouted, clapping my hands once before starting to jog toward the field.
All eleven of us went out together as the noise began rising from the stands again. From my position, I quickly looked toward the opposite sideline.
UCLA's offense was already coming out: Shaq, Cooper, Franklin, Peat, and of course Pritchett, who I saw adjusting his chinstrap as he headed toward the huddle.
After an entire week, the game was finally starting.
First snap.
The noise was loud, enough to make normal communication difficult, but it wasn't anything we hadn't experienced before. We'd played in hostile environments, SEC stadiums, Big 12 stadiums, places where you could barely hear the teammate standing next to you. It wasn't ideal, but it was familiar.
I saw the ball reach Pritchett's hands and reacted immediately.
The lines collided up front.
I moved forward from my position, reading the play as we tried to close the gaps and force him to get rid of the ball quickly.
He didn't. One second passed. Then another, and he still hadn't released the ball.
Breslin managed to break around the edge and started closing on him at full speed.
Our best quarterback hunter.
Pritchett saw him coming.
Instead of throwing and getting rid of the ball, he started moving laterally to the right, keeping the ball close to his chest while Breslin chased him.
'A run?' I thought.
The idea surprised me a little because it was the first snap of the game and it already looked like he was improvising.
Pritchett faked like he was going to keep going outside, forcing Breslin to widen his angle, and in the next instant he cut inside explosively.
He found the opening before we could close it and accelerated upfield.
Five yards.
Eight.
Ten.
The stadium started roaring again.
One of our guys was about to get him, but before he could be tackled, Pritchett decided not to expose himself.
He stepped out of bounds after crossing the first-down marker, avoiding contact completely.
The reaction was immediate. The stands erupted, and the UCLA players on the sideline raised their arms.
The cheerleaders jumped along the sideline.
Joe Bruin practically rushed up to the edge of the field, jumping and throwing both arms into the air as Pritchett headed back toward the huddle.
"Come on, come on!" I shouted, clapping hard to wake my teammates up.
It wasn't the best start, but it wasn't a disaster either. It had been barely ten yards or a little more, not a forty-yard pass or a broken play all the way to the end zone. We'd given up a first down. Nothing more.
The drive continued.
We adjusted as UCLA moved down the field, closing the gaps better and forcing them to work harder and harder for every yard, though that didn't stop them from gradually pushing us back toward our own end zone.
Franklin picked up a few on the ground, Pritchett completed a couple of short passes, and whenever it looked like we'd finally contained a play, he found a way to buy another two or three seconds and turn it into something useful.
Until we finally got them into a situation that worked for us.
Third and eight.
About twelve yards separated UCLA from our end zone.
The field goal was practically guaranteed if we couldn't stop them, but I didn't care about that. Three points after that drive was acceptable.
What mattered was preventing seven.
We tightened up, and one of our priorities was obvious: number 80.
Steve Rice.
On paper, he might show up as UCLA's third receiver, but that label didn't really explain his importance.
Shaq Evans was more physically imposing, but Rice was different. A lot of his production came on crossing routes, quick throws over the middle, and slants: diagonal cuts toward the inside designed to give the quarterback an immediate window.
And on third down, Pritchett looked for him constantly.
We had seen it all week.
So when the snap came, our linebackers and secondary closed the inside zones especially well.
The ball landed in Pritchett's hands. Rice cut inside, but he was covered. The second read wasn't there either.
Then I saw the opening and came after him harder. I went after him. But from the other edge, Breslin appeared.
Pritchett saw him too late.
Morgan arrived with speed and wrapped both arms around him before driving him hard into the turf.
Sacked.
"YES!" I shouted, clenching my fist as I ran toward them.
The stadium let out a collective groan.
Breslin, on the other hand, shot up off the ground.
He sprang to his feet and started celebrating, rolling his shoulders and taking a couple of steps like he was dancing while our teammates came over to congratulate him.
He wasn't literally standing over Pritchett. But you didn't have to be a genius to know who the celebration was for.
Pritchett was still on the turf. He planted one hand, slowly pushed himself up, and eventually got back to his feet.
I was already moving toward Breslin to shut it down before he crossed the line when I saw Pritchett lift his gaze.
Pritchett just stared at him. Nothing more. His lower lip pushed slightly forward. His eyebrows rose, and then he started nodding.
He nodded once, then a second time, and even a third, slowly and without taking his eyes off Breslin.
He didn't say a word, nor did he walk over to complain or try to start a fight.
He just nodded, as if he'd just taken note of something he intended to remember later.
Then he turned around and walked toward his sideline.
I don't know why, but I liked that less than if he'd answered with some kind of taunt.
"That's enough," I told Breslin, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We don't want to get hit with fifteen yards."
He nodded, still smiling.
The celebration hadn't been enough to draw a flag. Defenders celebrated sacks all the time, especially after stopping an important third down. The problem started when the referee decided you were directly taunting the opponent.
That could turn a great stop into fifteen free yards.
Fortunately, Pritchett hadn't helped escalate it either.
He didn't come over, there was no shoving, and there wasn't even an exchange of words.
The referees let it end there.
But while UCLA sent the field goal unit onto the field, I could still see that gesture perfectly in my head.
I shook my head and focused again.
UCLA had struck first.
The scoreboard changed to 3-0.
It wasn't a bad start for us. We'd let them move through a good part of the field, yes, but in the end we'd tightened up when it mattered and forced them to settle for three points. Ideally, we would've stopped the drive much earlier, but after the way they'd started, keeping them out of the end zone counted as a small victory.
Now it was our offense's turn.
After the return, Matt put on his helmet and got ready to go in. I walked over before he crossed the sideline and gave him a hard slap on the back.
"Let's go, man! It's yours!"
Matt turned with a smile and slapped me back on the shoulder.
Then he looked toward the rest of the offensive players.
"Let's go!" he shouted, motioning with his hand for them to follow him.
The drive listed around three minutes.
It wasn't perfect. There were third-down situations that could've ended badly, but the offense got through them.
From the sideline, we followed every play while the noise of the Rose Bowl tried to make communication difficult.
Then came the big strike.
Matt took the snap and threw a pass of about fifteen yards to Marqise.
Marqise caught it in stride.
Everyone on our bench practically stood up at the same time.
"LET'S GO!"
Marqise took contact from the first defender and broke through it.
That was all he needed. Now he had open field.
Several of us started running down the sideline with him as he accelerated.
Ten yards.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
The last defender got there too late. Marqise crossed the goal line and entered the end zone.
Touchdown.
Our section exploded.
The Trojan Marching Band started up immediately as Marqise raised the ball and several teammates arrived to surround him. From our sideline, helmets flew into the air, shoulder pads were slapped, and shouts erupted.
Matt came back smiling. That felt like us.
The kicker came on a few seconds later and made the extra point.
UCLABRUINS 3 — USC TROJASN 7
In the first exchange of drives, they had struck first. But we had struck harder.
Still, it was only the first quarter.
There was far too much football left to draw any conclusions. But you could feel the change in energy on our sideline.
We had entered the Rose Bowl with the entire stadium against us, taken UCLA's opening drive, and then answered with seven points.
That gave us confidence, and UCLA's next return gave us even more.
The return went badly.
Our coverage got there quickly and forced the returner down very close to his own end zone.
When we went back onto the field, I looked at the ball's position and smiled.
Now this I liked.
UCLA would start practically backed up against its own goal line. I settled into depth while our defensive line got ready to attack.
Pritchett lined up behind center. From where I was standing, I could see just how close he was to his own end zone.
Very close.
If he dropped back only a few steps with the ball, he'd be inside it, and then the rules changed. If we managed to bring him down behind the goal line, it wouldn't just be a sack.
It would be two points: a safety.
The stadium was still roaring, trying to lift its offense.
I looked toward our line.
Breslin had understood the situation too.
We had all understood it. Now Pritchett didn't have the entire field behind him to escape.
The ball reached his hands and I immediately crashed into the line trying to protect him. I managed to open a gap and burst through just as he started dropping back.
One step, then another, and suddenly he was inside his own end zone.
That changed everything. I felt a surge of energy run through my body. If we caught him there, it wouldn't just be a loss of yards. It would be two points for us and, as the cherry on top, we'd get the ball back on offense.
I wasn't the only one who accelerated.
Pritchett saw the pressure and broke toward the side, running laterally inside the end zone as the play completely fell apart. I went after him, and Breslin appeared too, trying to close off the angle.
We had him. Or at least that's what I thought. There was less and less room. I was inches away from reaching him.
So was Breslin.
Pritchett kept moving, looking for an escape that no longer existed, until suddenly he did something I wasn't expecting.
He jumped, and while he was in the air, he extended his arm and threw.
'What...?' I thought.
Instinctively, I raised my hands, trying to block the trajectory.
Too late.
The jump had given him a clean throwing window over us, and the ball shot out.
'A jump pass?' I thought in surprise. I didn't even watch him land.
I immediately turned my head to follow the ball. It was flying deep.
I couldn't calculate the exact distance from where I was, but it was easily more than thirty yards through the air.
Then I saw the player the pass was targeting. Number 80.
Rice.
For a fraction of a second, my brain simply couldn't process what I was seeing.
The ball dropped exactly toward him.
Rice caught it.
One of our defenders tried to close on him at the exact same moment, but he was too late. Rice absorbed the contact, spun away, and took off.
Open field.
The Rose Bowl exploded. The sound grew louder than it had been at any point before, but I barely heard it.
All I could see was Rice running.
Twenty yards.
Thirty.
Nobody in front of him.
He eventually crossed the goal line and entered the end zone.
Touchdown.
I stood still for a moment.
Then I turned my head toward Pritchett.
'How the hell had he just done that?' I thought, still trying to wrap my head around it.
The play had been dead. He'd been inside his own end zone with two defenders about to bring him down.
And in that moment, he'd decided to jump and throw on the move.
And it hadn't been a short or intermediate pass either. He'd thrown it deep and accurately.
A huge part of the power behind a throw came from your legs, the rotation of your hips, pushing against the ground and transferring all of that movement into your arm.
He had just done it without any of that, in an extreme situation.
When Pritchett saw that the pass hadn't just been completed but had gone for a touchdown, he clenched both fists before violently driving his arms downward.
Then he turned his head and stared directly at Breslin.
I knew immediately what that look was about.
"DANCE NOW!" Pritchett shouted. "COME ON, DANCE!"
There was nothing playful about his tone. It was a challenge.
Breslin stood still for a second. I saw his expression change.
His jaw tightened. So did his shoulders.
Trash talk was never pleasant, especially when it came from someone younger and from the team that was your biggest rival.
I was close to Pritchett, and I knew exactly what Breslin was going to do before he even took the first step.
I stepped between them.
"Let's go back. Now," I said without raising my voice and without leaving room for an argument.
Breslin looked at me and let out a breath, but he turned around and started walking toward our sideline. I followed him, but at one point I turned back to look at number 19.
He was still watching us, and now I understood that earlier gesture a little better.
All we'd done was fire him up.
…
[General point of view]
[TOUCHDOWN, UCLA!] Brent shouted from the booth, already on his feet, the microphone in one hand as the Rose Bowl roared beneath them. [RICE AND PRITCHETT LIGHT UP THE ROSE BOWL! The touchdown every Bruins fan wanted to see! A flash of absolute genius from number nineteen!]
The replay appeared on the screens. Andrew dropping back into his own end zone, pressure closing in from both sides, the jump at the last possible instant, and the ball leaving his hand before dropping perfectly toward number 80.
[And it had to be Steve Rice!] Brent continued. [First touchdown connection between the two in this rivalry game. Childhood, Palisades, UCLA... a connection that goes back a long way.]
Kirk barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on the monitor as the replay switched to a sideline angle.
[Such coldness...] he murmured. [Look where he is. He's running inside his own end zone, he has two defenders practically on top of him, and he can't set his feet. He jumps and drops a pass about thirty-four yards through the air. That is very, very difficult. Pritchett's arm is elite, and we're talking about an eighteen-year-old kid.]
The replay once again showed the ball dropping toward Rice.
[The decision looks incredibly dangerous until you see where the ball ends up,] Kirk added. [A few seconds ago, UCLA was one play away from going down 9-3 on a safety. Now they're up 10-7. First snap of their second drive, and it's a touchdown. The stadium knows it. The players know it. That completely changes the energy.]
And the energy had changed.
In the section where the players' families and friends were sitting, it wasn't quite the absolute chaos of the student section, but it wasn't far off either.
Gloria had thrown her arms around Jay the moment Steve crossed the goal line.
Jay was smiling now with much more ease, completely different from the man who, only seconds earlier, had let out a curse when he saw Andrew backpedaling into his own end zone.
"I knew it!" Phil shouted, throwing both arms into the air as if he had never doubted it for a second.
Claire, still clapping hard, slowly turned toward him, "Phil... from the moment Andrew stepped into his own end zone, you started repeating get rid of the ball like twenty times."
Phil decided he hadn't heard a thing.
"GO BRUINS!" Phil shouted even louder as he kept clapping.
A few seats away, Chandler was still staring toward the field with both hands resting on top of his head.
Haley had just finished celebrating when she noticed him. She blinked in surprise, "Are you going to cry?" she asked.
Chandler's eyes were slightly glassy, "The moment calls for it," he replied without the slightest bit of shame.
It was the first Andrew touchdown he had ever seen live with UCLA, and it hadn't been just any touchdown.
It was his first against USC.
He had watched the play unfold from only a few yards above the field, with the entire Rose Bowl on its feet, his heart practically stopping when Andrew got trapped in his own end zone and two defenders seemed to have him cornered.
Then came the jump, the ball sailing over them, and Steve, someone he also knew personally, catching it before running all the way into the end zone.
Watching games on television was one thing.
Being there while more than seventy thousand people exploded at the same time was something else entirely.
Haley watched him for a moment and, realizing that for once Chandler didn't seem to be preparing some sarcastic comment, smiled at him with a certain tenderness.
Chandler noticed. A pretty girl had just looked at him like that. That made him swallow.
"Look," he said immediately, holding out one arm toward her. "Goosebumps."
Haley lowered her eyes toward his forearm. Then she looked back at him. Her smile turned into a small laugh.
A short distance away, Sam was experiencing the touchdown in a much less restrained way.
"YES, STEVE! SHOW THEM!" she shouted while jumping, before turning toward Paige.
Paige was smiling too. She had celebrated and was still clapping, although with considerably more composure than Sam.
That didn't last long.
Sam grabbed her by the arms, "Our boyfriends just scored the touchdown together! Isn't that awesome!?"
Paige's eyes immediately widened, "Shh," she said, covering Sam's mouth with one hand and quickly glancing toward Andrew's family.
They were relatively close.
Luckily, between the band, the shouting, and the entire stadium still celebrating, none of them seemed to have heard.
Paige slowly removed her hand and looked at Sam with the slightest frown, "We're not dating. Don't skip five stages."
Sam raised both hands in surrender.
Paige looked back toward the field.
She knew Andrew had already told his parents that they had gone out together. It wasn't like he was hiding her or treating her as something casual.
That was exactly why it would be even more embarrassing if they heard Sam shouting that they were boyfriend and girlfriend when they weren't yet.
'Yet,' she thought.
Paige blinked once when she realized what she'd just thought. Then she started clapping again, pretending nothing had happened.
In one of the VIP boxes, Justin Bieber had already gotten to his feet when Andrew started dropping back into his own end zone. He had followed the entire play leaning forward, completely tense, until he saw his friend jump and release the ball at the last possible instant.
When Steve broke free and entered the end zone, Justin threw both arms up.
"Look at that jump! That's insane!" Justin said.
The replay began playing in slow motion on the stadium's massive screen. From that angle, it looked even better: Andrew suspended in the air, two defenders closing in on him, and the ball leaving his hand over both of them.
One of Justin's friends let out an incredulous laugh.
"That looks like a Madden play."
"Not the first time," Justin said, almost snorting.
Several boxes away, Austin Swift was also on his feet, applauding with a smile. He turned to his right.
"See? I told you we had to come watch him live."
Scott Swift watched the replay with his arms crossed.
He had played college football decades earlier and still watched the sport with a much more old-school eye: line play, protection, the running game, and simple decisions. That was exactly why it wasn't particularly easy to impress him with a single play.
"The kid has an arm," Scott admitted.
Austin narrowed his eyes, "Has an arm?" he repeated. "Dad, he's a true freshman closing in on fifty touchdowns in a season. Has an arm is selling it a little short."
Scott didn't answer. He simply looked back at the replay on the giant screen.
Taylor, sitting beside them, watched the exchange with amusement. The play had made her stand up for a few seconds too, but after what she'd seen against Oregon, she was starting to develop a strange tolerance for that kind of thing.
'Should I tweet something?' Taylor wondered.
The thought came almost out of habit.
Every time she mentioned Andrew, the internet reacted as if she'd thrown gasoline onto a bonfire. Screenshots, replies, theories, and headlines.
It was kind of fun. Taylor smiled to herself and shook her head.
No.
It was still too early.
Farther along, in another box, Kobe Bryant was applauding with a slight smile, "He's good..." he murmured.
Jack Nicholson, beside him, was still standing, laughing as he applauded, "Good?"
Kobe looked at the replay again. This time he paid attention to the feet, or rather, the lack of them.
Kobe smiled a little more, "All right. Very good."
Jack burst out laughing, "Now we're talking."
Barkley and USC's offense returned to the field. The emotional swing had been considerable.
Only a few minutes earlier, the Trojans had managed to take the lead, and after a bad UCLA return, they had even had the chance to increase the pressure with the Bruins practically backed up against their own end zone.
Instead, the first snap of the next drive had ended in a touchdown.
One play in less than a minute.
The crowd at the Rose Bowl was much more invested in the game now, finally leaving all the pregame buildup behind. The band never stopped playing, and every USC third down came with a level of noise that forced Barkley to constantly move closer to his teammates to confirm the signals.
Even so, the Trojans managed to advance to around the 45-yard line.
That was where they stalled. After a reception that failed to gain the necessary yardage, they faced fourth down.
USC chose to punt, and the stadium celebrated it almost like they had scored points.
Brent raised his voice above the noise, [For the first time tonight, the Bruins defense keeps the Trojans from putting any points on the board! Now they have a chance to start pulling away.]
After the change of possession, Andrew came back onto the field with Amari, Steve, Shaq, Franklin, and the rest of the offense.
This time, there was nothing spectacular.
There didn't need to be.
UCLA started moving the ball in a much more methodical way.
An eight-yard gain, then another twelve, a run up the middle, and the biggest play of the drive, a twenty-yard pass that brought them much closer.
USC's defense wasn't being destroyed by one single play.
That was exactly the problem. They couldn't figure out how to stop the whole package.
Little by little, without needing another miracle, UCLA found itself back in front of the end zone.
Five yards.
Andrew lined up behind center.
Franklin behind him.
USC's defense immediately packed the box, expecting either a pass or a run, with practically everyone close to the line.
"SET HUT!" Andrew shouted.
The ball arrived and he dropped back.
He raised the ball, everyone thought it would be a pass, but at the last second he placed it into Franklin's body.
The defense had bitten on the fake.
Franklin attacked the gap.
Alexander opened the first lane, allowing Franklin to lower his shoulder into the next defender and keep moving.
He broke through the last contact and crossed the goal line.
[TOUCHDOWN, BRUINS! JONATHAN FRANKLIN BREAKS THROUGH THE MIDDLE AND UCLA STRIKES AGAIN!]
Franklin raised both arms while his teammates came from behind to surround him.
The kick was good, and the scoreboard changed again.
UCLA BRUISN 17 — USC TROJANS 7
The Rose Bowl shook again. This time, it hadn't been an impossible play. There hadn't been a forty-yard pass or some ridiculous escape. But the opposing defense still couldn't find a way to stop them.
The first quarter ended with that score.
The second quarter began with USC on offense and, although they couldn't reach the end zone, they at least managed to get three points out of the drive.
Better than nothing.
UCLA BRUINS 17 — USC TROJANS 10
After the kick, Andrew came back onto the field and started moving the chains almost immediately.
"Set... hut!"
The ball reached his hands and barely two seconds later came out on a short pass toward Amari.
Amari caught it with his back to the defenders and was brought down almost immediately, but still managed to gain five yards.
Second and five.
"SET... HUT!"
This time Andrew found Fauria over the middle. The tight end caught it, gained enough ground, and moved past the marker.
First down.
The offense kept moving that way, without needing to look deep yet. Short routes, quick throws, simple and precise reads. USC tried to adjust, but Andrew always seemed one step ahead.
Then came his fifth completed pass of the drive.
Brent immediately raised his voice from the booth.
[RECORD TIME! Pritchett-Tucker has just reached 243 completions in a single season. That moves him past Drew Olson's 242 in 2005 and gives him a new UCLA record.]
The Rose Bowl's giant screen showed the statistic.
UCLA — COMPLETIONS IN A SINGLE SEASON
1. ANDREW PRITCHETT-TUCKER — 243
2. DREW OLSON — 242 (2005)
The stadium reacted immediately.
Mora, Chow, and several members of the staff started applauding from the sideline, while a few players briefly went over to Andrew before getting back into formation.
Steve gave him a slap on the back, "Congratulations, record man."
Amari looked up at the screen and let out a small smile, "Another one…"
By now, he almost seemed used to it.
Fauria, on the other hand, looked at Andrew with a teasing expression as they entered the huddle, "Any words for this great achievement before the next play?"
Andrew looked at the screen for a second. Then he turned his attention back to his teammates, "They're just completions."
There were a couple of laughs.
To him, that statistic didn't seem to carry much weight on its own. They had something more important in front of them: putting six points on USC.
"Now the next thing we're going to do is..." Andrew said, and they kept moving.
A few minutes later, already near USC's 40-yard line, Andrew gathered them in the huddle again.
This time, his expression changed slightly, "All right... we're going with the trick play."
Several heads lifted immediately. They had practiced it. But they still hadn't shown it in a game.
Andrew finished giving the instructions and they broke the huddle. The formation didn't look particularly unusual.
USC got set.
Andrew lined up behind the center, "Set..." he said, then stomped his foot hard against the turf.
The signal.
Jack, the senior center, snapped the ball back.
Andrew took two steps back and handed it to Franklin. From the booth, Brent followed the action.
[Franklin takes the ball... runs toward the line...]
Jonathan moved forward as if it were a conventional run.
The linebackers reacted.
The safeties took one or two steps forward.
Then Franklin stopped abruptly, turned his torso, and tossed the ball back.
Andrew, who had stayed several yards behind the line of scrimmage, caught it completely free.
Brent realized it at the same time as practically the entire stadium.
[IT'S A FLEA FLICKER!] he shouted.
For a moment, USC's defense had thought Andrew was no longer part of the play.
That was exactly the point.
On a flea flicker, the quarterback hands the ball to the running back, who sells the run and forces the defense to react forward. Then he pitches the ball back to the quarterback, giving him time to look for a deep pass while the defenders try to recover their positions.
USC had bitten on the fake.
UCLA's receivers were already several steps downfield.
Andrew lifted his head. He had time, much more than usual. He planted his feet and launched the ball deep toward the end zone.
Brent raised his voice again.
[HE'S GOING FOR SHAQ!]
Shaq Evans had already created separation. He entered the end zone looking back over his shoulder.
The ball dropped from above, and he jumped, catching it with both hands.
[TOUCHDOWN, UCLA! SHAQ EVANS!]
The Rose Bowl exploded again.
The band started up immediately while Shaq raised the ball with a huge smile on his face and several teammates ran toward him.
Andrew came jogging over at a good pace too. When he reached the end zone, he jumped and bumped helmets with Shaq before the rest of the team surrounded them.
Brent was still laughing from the booth.
[They fooled all of us! First time we've seen that play in UCLA's playbook this season. They kept that one hidden pretty well.]
Kirk was still watching the replay, [Yeah... and this touchdown just produced something else.]
Another graphic appeared on the screen.
UCLA — PASSING YARDS IN A SINGLE SEASON
1. ANDREW PRITCHETT-TUCKER — 3,477
2. CADE McNOWN — 3,470 (1998)
Kirk pointed to the statistic, [Pritchett started the game with 3,322 passing yards. With this throw, he's now gone over 155 in the game and reaches 3,477. A new UCLA single-season passing-yard record.]
Another ovation poured down from the stands.
Brent let out a laugh, [Breaking UCLA's passing-yard record against USC of all teams... pretty poetic, isn't it?]
Andrew was already heading back toward the sideline, exchanging high-fives with teammates and coaches, when Steve pointed toward the giant screen.
Andrew looked up, 'Another one...?' he thought with a strange expression.
The look lasted barely a second. He shook his head slightly, sat down, and started drinking the water an assistant handed him.
After the extra point, the score stood at:
UCLA BRUINS 24 — USC TROJANS 10
USC couldn't answer before halftime.
Barkley ended up throwing his first interception of the game, something that wasn't entirely unexpected either considering he had come in averaging more than one per game.
UCLA's defense, fueled by the momentum of the game, the noise of the Rose Bowl, and the confidence of playing with a lead, finally found the opportunity it had been looking for.
There was no return for a touchdown.
There didn't need to be.
The interception simply gave the ball back to the offense, and Andrew didn't waste the possession.
UCLA drove down the field again and ended up adding another six points, although this time the touchdown didn't show up in Andrew's passing statistics. Near the goal line, he handed the ball to Franklin, who finished the play on the ground.
Another UCLA touchdown.
Before the second quarter ended, they still managed to add one more field goal.
When the clock finally hit zero, the scoreboard was hard to ignore.
UCLA BRUINS 34 — USC TROJANS 10
[END OF THE FIRST HALF! AND WE HAVE A HUGE SURPRISE HERE IN PASADENA!] Brent exclaimed.
The Rose Bowl answered with another ovation as both teams began heading toward the locker rooms and the staff prepared the halftime show.
In the home stands, the dominant feeling was pure celebration.
UCLA wasn't just winning. It was dominating.
A chant began rising from the student section:
"REVENGE! REVENGE! REVENGE!"
Kirk slowly nodded as he looked at the scoreboard, [Yeah... I think very few people expected UCLA to go into halftime with a twenty-four-point lead. But we also know Jim Mora isn't going to consider this over. This team, in particular, knows how quickly a game can change.]
You didn't have to look very far for examples.
Against Oregon, UCLA had gone into halftime trailing by thirty-seven points and still managed to complete a comeback that had seemed impossible.
Another example was Alabama the previous week. They had been down twenty points to Texas A&M during the first quarter and still managed to close the gap to only five.
Twenty-four points was a big lead, but they couldn't afford to get comfortable.
Brent looked back down at his notes, [And we still have another important number to keep an eye on in the second half.]
The screen changed.
PAC-12 RECORD — TOTAL YARDS IN A SINGLE SEASON
CODY PICKETT — 4,273 (2002)
Andrew's name appeared underneath.
ANDREW PRITCHETT-TUCKER — 4,098
[Andrew started the game with 3,846 total yards and he's already up to 4,098. And before we even talk about the record, that already puts him in a very small group.]
Brent paused as other names appeared on the screen.
Up to that point, only three quarterbacks in conference history had managed to surpass 4,000 total yards in a single season.
Cody Pickett.
Nick Foles.
Brock Osweiler.
Andrew had just become the fourth.
[Four thousand total yards in a single season. Only three quarterbacks from this conference had reached that mark before him,] Brent continued. [Now Pritchett is the fourth.]
Kirk nodded beside him, [And let's remember once again the detail that makes all of this even more extraordinary, even if plenty of people are probably tired of hearing it: he's a true freshman.]
On top of that, Andrew hadn't just joined the club. He was already dangerously close to taking the top spot.
[At 4,098, he's only 175 yards away from tying Cody Pickett and needs 176 to pass him,] Brent added. [So today he could go from becoming just the fourth quarterback in Pac-12 history to surpass four thousand... to finishing as the quarterback with the most total yards in a single season this conference has ever seen.]
Kirk nodded, but didn't add anything. For a moment, he became lost in his own thoughts.
He went back to that morning.
To College GameDay.
To the exaggerated prediction. Ridiculous, even.
And yet, as he looked at the scoreboard, one very specific face came back to mind.
Chandler.
Kirk let out a small smile and pushed the thought aside. There was still far too much football left.
In the stands, Chandler himself was still sitting motionless in his seat, staring at the massive scoreboard even though there were no players left on the field.
The turf was already beginning to transform for the halftime show, with staff members moving in and out, crews setting up structures, and the band getting organized.
But no one in the group seemed to be paying much attention to any of that.
Ross was silent beside him.
Leonard too.
Haley, Paige, Sam, and the rest of the younger group were still staring at the scoreboard.
Even Jay remained quiet, not celebrating too much, with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed straight ahead.
34-10.
Little by little, almost without anyone coordinating it, several pairs of eyes began drifting toward Chandler.
Ross first.
Then Leonard, Monica, Rachel, Jay, basically everyone.
Chandler noticed. He looked back at them and immediately raised both hands, "Hold on! Nobody say anything. We don't want to jinx it."
"This makes no sense," Monica muttered, giving the scoreboard another quick glance.
She had celebrated every first down they gained. Now she was calmer thanks to the comfortable score and thinking about Chandler's stupid prediction, which had suddenly become very possible.
Ross shook his head, "Let's go get something to eat."
That finally broke the moment.
The group started moving through the rows, taking advantage of halftime to get some food and stretch their legs before returning to their seats.
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