Date: December 16, 1989 (Saturday).
Location: Texas Stadium, Irving, Texas.
Event: 3A State Championship. Medford Wolves vs. Vernon Lions.
They say God watches football on Sundays. That's why there's a hole in the roof of Texas Stadium.
But walking out of the tunnel on a Saturday afternoon, looking up at that blinding rectangle of blue sky framed by gray concrete, I figured He might be watching us, too.
The noise was different here. In the Astrodome, the sound swirled. In Texas Stadium, it crashed down on you like a landslide. 40,000 people. Half of them wearing Medford Gold, the other half wearing Vernon Maroon.
I looked at the Jumbotron. It was the biggest TV I had ever seen.
MEDFORD vs. VERNON
I looked at my teammates. They looked small. The stadium was swallowing them. Even Tiny looked regular-sized against the backdrop of the Cowboys' Ring of Honor.
George Sr. grabbed my shoulder pad. He didn't give a speech. He didn't need to.
"Don't blink," he said.
***
The Support Section
High in the stands, near the 50-yard line, the "Cooper Box" was full.
It wasn't a luxury suite; it was just a block of bleachers Meemaw had ruthlessly defended with her purse since the gates opened.
Mary sat in the center, clutching her cross necklace. Meemaw sat next to her, holding a flask disguised as a pair of binoculars. Missy was wearing a giant foam finger.
And right next to them—firmly inside the circle—were the van der Woodsens.
Serena was wearing a Medford Gold scarf over her designer coat. She wasn't sitting awkwardly on the edge; she was holding Mary's hand.
"He looks so small down there," Mary whispered, her voice trembling.
"He's fast, Mrs. Cooper," Serena said, squeezing Mary's hand. "He's the fastest thing on that field. You'll see."
On the other side, Eric van der Woodsen sat next to Sheldon. Eric had brought his own binoculars (expensive ones).
"The Vernon Lions are statistically favored by 14 points," Eric noted, adjusting the focus.
"Statistics do not account for the Chaos Variable," Sheldon replied, checking his stopwatch. "We are attempting a strategy known as 'The Pencil.' It is highly experimental."
"Is that why Georgie is wearing defensive gloves?" Eric asked.
Sheldon looked down. "Yes. It appears the experiment is beginning immediately."
***
The Machine Starts
Vernon got the ball first.
We watched from the sideline. It was exactly like the tape.
They lined up in the Wing-T. No swagger. No trash talk. Just eleven guys who looked like they were punched out of a factory mold.
Snap. Fake. Handoff. 6 yards.
The crowd roared, but the Vernon players just stood up, handed the ball to the ref, and huddled.
Snap. Counter. 8 yards.
They moved down the field like a glacier. Slow. Heavy. Inevitable. Our defensive line was getting pushed back three yards on every play. Bullard was screaming, trying to rally the guys, but you can't rally against math.
Twelve plays. Six minutes.
Touchdown Vernon.
Score: Vernon 7, Medford 0.
They kicked the extra point. They jogged to the sideline. They sat down on their bench in perfect rows.
"It's like playing against the Terminator," Tiny whispered.
"Get your helmet," I said, buckling my chin strap. "Our turn."
***
The Struggle
I ran onto the field. The turf was harder here. Fast.
We tried to run our spread offense. I looked left. Vernon's cornerback didn't bite. I looked right. Their safety stayed deep.
They weren't taking the bait.
I took the snap. I dropped back.
The pocket collapsed instantly. Their defensive line wasn't doing anything fancy—just a straight bull rush.
I scrambled right. I threw a dart to Higgins.
Incomplete. The Vernon defender swatted it away perfectly.
Second down: Run up the middle. Stuffed.
Third down: Screen pass. Sniffed out.
We went three-and-out.
I jogged to the sideline. George Sr. met me at the numbers.
"They're too sound," I said, gasping for air. "I can't trick them, Dad. They stay in their lanes."
George looked at the scoreboard. 7-0. The clock was ticking. Tick. Tock.
If we let them have the ball for another six minutes, the game was over. They would strangle us.
George looked at the defense getting ready to go back out. He looked at me.
"Keep your helmet on," George said.
"Now?" I asked.
"Now," George said. "Go break the machine."
***
The Pencil
I didn't run to the bench. I ran to the defensive huddle.
Bullard looked at me like I was lost. "Georgie? Wrong way, man. Offense is sitting down."
"I'm playing Safety," I said.
The huddle went silent.
"Coach's orders," I said. "Bullard, you take the tight end. I got the QB."
"You're gonna get killed," Bullard said. "We can't lose our QB."
"Just snap the ball," I said.
I lined up eight yards deep. I looked at the Vernon quarterback. He was calm. He was checking the clock. He had no idea a pencil was about to get stuck in his gears.
Snap count.
I watched his heel.
Down. Set.
I didn't wait.
I launched myself.
I hit the line of scrimmage just as the ball was snapped. It was a timing risk—if I was half a second early, it was a penalty. If I was half a second late, I was blocked.
I was perfect.
The Vernon QB turned his back to fake the handoff to the fullback. It was a beautiful fake. He hid the ball against his stomach, turning 180 degrees.
He turned right into my facemask.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly loud.
I hit him so hard the ball popped straight up into the air.
The "Machine" broke. The fullback ran into the guard. The pulling tackle tripped over the quarterback.
Bullard dove on the loose ball.
TURNOVER.
The crowd went quiet for a second, processing what just happened. Then the Medford side exploded.
In the stands, I saw Serena jump up, pulling Mary with her. Mary was screaming, pointing at the field. Meemaw was shaking her flask at the Vernon fans.
I stood up. My neck stung. My shoulder throbbed.
But the Vernon quarterback was still on the ground, looking up at me, confused. The cymbals had stopped clapping.
***
The Dogfight
That hit changed everything.
It didn't make the game easy. It made it a war.
For the next two quarters, I didn't leave the field.
I played Quarterback.
Scramble. Throw. Hit. Touchdown Medford. 7-7.
I stayed on for Defense.
Blitz. Disrupt. Tackle.
Vernon adjusted. They started chipping me with a tight end. They started running quick pitches to the outside to avoid my blitz.
But the rhythm was gone. They were nervous. They were looking for Number 14 before every snap.
Second Quarter. 2:00 left.
I was exhausted. My lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. Playing "Iron Man" football at Texas Stadium was a different level of cardio.
Vernon had the ball at our 40.
They ran a sweep. I chased the runner down from behind, dragging him out of bounds.
Whack.
He kicked me in the shin on the way down. Accident? Maybe.
I limped back to the huddle.
"You okay?" Bullard asked. He was bleeding from a cut on his nose.
"Tired," I wheezed.
"One more stop," Bullard said. "One more."
Third and eight.
Vernon dropped back to pass—something they rarely did.
I showed blitz, then bailed out into coverage.
The quarterback panicked. He threw it high.
I jumped. It wasn't an interception—I just tipped it away.
Fourth down. Punt.
***
Halftime
I walked into the locker room and collapsed on a bench.
I didn't have the energy to take my helmet off.
Tiny sat next to me. He poured water over his head. Steam actually rose off his shoulders.
"We got 'em," Tiny grunted. "They're scared, Georgie. I saw their guard arguing with their tackle."
George Sr. stood in the center of the room. He looked at us. We were battered. Bruised. I was gasping for air.
Score: Medford 14, Vernon 10.
We were winning. But the cost was visible. I was the only thing holding the defense together, and I was the only thing moving the offense.
"Listen to me!" George yelled. "They are gonna come out angry. They are gonna try to run you over. You gotta hold the line!"
He looked at me.
"Georgie," he said softly. "Can you go another twenty-four minutes?"
I looked at my hands. They were shaking from adrenaline and fatigue.
I thought about the family in the stands. Mary, terrified. Serena, believing. Sheldon, calculating.
I looked at my dad.
"I can go forever," I lied.
George nodded.
"Then let's finish it."
[Quest Update: The State Path]
* Status: Halftime.
* Score: Medford 14, Vernon 10.
* Georgie's Condition: Exhausted (Stamina Critical).
* Family Support: Serena & Eric present and integrated.
* The Strategy: The Pencil works, but Vernon is adjusting.