Date: December 30, 1989 (Saturday).
Location: 4400 Armstrong Parkway, Highland Park.
Event: "Cooper Christmas Observed."
We had spent December 25th surrounded by cardboard boxes in Medford, eating cold ham sandwiches. Mary Cooper wasn't having that.
She declared December 30th to be "The Official Cooper Christmas."
The tree in the new living room was twelve feet tall. Mary had spent three hours trying to hang an angel on the top using a pool skimmer while George held the ladder. Meemaw was drinking eggnog and complaining that "Fake Christmas" felt un-Christian.
But the biggest stress wasn't the date. It was the chimney.
***
Sheldon's Santa Protocol
I walked into the library to find Sheldon pacing back and forth with a tape measure.
"We have a problem, Georgie," Sheldon said.
"Is it that Christmas was five days ago?" I asked.
"No. Mother assured me that Santa received our Change of Address form and scheduled a special delivery for tonight," Sheldon said seriously. "My concern is the infrastructure."
He pointed to the massive marble hearth.
"I have calculated the volume of this flue. It is significantly larger than our chimney in Medford. If Santa enters at his standard velocity, the reduced friction means he will hit the hearth at approximately 45 miles per hour."
"He has magic boots, Sheldon," I said. "Shock absorbers."
"That is a hypothesis," Sheldon noted. "I am also concerned about the temporal mechanics. Does Santa's sleigh operate on a localized time dilation field to accommodate 'makeup dates'? The physics are dizzying."
***
The Gossip Girl Mom
The doorbell rang. It sounded like the Westminster Chimes.
"I'll get it!" Mary yelled.
I opened the massive double doors.
Standing there was a woman I recognized instantly from my **past life**.
It was **Lily van der Woodsen**.
I didn't need a cheat code. I remembered her from the TV shows I watched in 2024. This was the future matriarch of the Upper East Side—the woman who prioritized social standing over... well, everything.
She was wearing a white fur coat and holding a bottle of champagne.
"Hello!" Lily beamed. "We're the neighbors! I'm Lily."
"I'm Mary Cooper," my mom said, wiping flour off her apron. "And this is Georgie."
"Charmed," Lily said, stepping inside. "Welcome to Armstrong Parkway! I just wanted to drop this off before I dash to the airport."
"You're leaving?" Mary asked. "On... Fake Christmas?"
"New Year's Eve is tomorrow!" Lily beamed. "The Bass family is hosting a gala in Aspen. It's dreadfully boring, but one must make an appearance. You know how Dallas society is."
"And... the children?" Mary asked, her voice dropping. "Serena and Eric?"
"Oh, they're fine!" Lily waved a hand. "The housekeeper is stocking the fridge, and Eric has his little video games. They prefer it, really. No boring adult parties."
She turned to me.
"Serena tells me you're the new quarterback. Try not to break any windows, darling."
"I'll do my best, ma'am," I said.
"Ta-ta!" Lily air-kissed the air and swept out the door.
Mary locked the door. She looked horrified.
"That woman," Mary hissed, "is leaving her babies alone for New Year's to go drink with strangers in the snow."
"She's rich, Mom," I said.
"Not on my watch," Mary declared. "I am making a ham. Go get Serena and Eric. They are celebrating Cooper Christmas with us."
***
The Black Book
While Mary went into "Super Mom" mode—dragging the van der Woodsen kids into our living room—Dad and I retreated to the Home Office.
George Sr. sat behind the massive mahogany desk. He looked like a CEO, except he was drinking a Dr Pepper.
"Remington left something for us," George said.
He slid a black leather binder across the desk.
"He said, 'If you need a player, I can get the parents a job and a house by Monday.'"
George looked nervous. "Georgie, I don't know any players in Dallas. I don't know who is good. How do we fill these spots without getting scammed?"
I smiled.
I didn't need a scouting network. I had my memory. I knew exactly which NFL Hall of Famers were currently suffering in high school obscurity in 1989.
But I had to sell it carefully.
"I've been doing some reading, Dad," I said. "You know I subscribe to all those recruiting newsletters? *Dave Campbell's Texas Football*?"
"So?"
"So, I've tracked a few guys," I said. "Guys who are putting up monster numbers but playing on teams that don't fit them. Guys who are hungry."
I grabbed a piece of paper.
"**Target Number 1: Zach Thomas.**"
"The linebacker from Pampa?" George asked. "I saw his tape. He's short. 5'11. Scouts say he won't translate to 5A."
"The scouts are looking at rulers, Dad. Look at his eyes," I said. "He reads the play before the snap. We need a brain in the middle of the defense."
George nodded. "Okay. Who else?"
"**Target Number 2: Jimmy Smith.**"
"Never heard of him," George said.
"Receiver. Runs a 4.4," I said. "But his coach runs the Wishbone. He blocks 90% of the time. He's frustrated. We run Pro Style. We tell him he gets the ball, he comes running."
"Speed kills," George agreed. "And the third?"
"**Target Number 3: Larry Allen.**"
"The kid from California?" George frowned. "Georgie, how do you know about a sophomore in California?"
"Pen pal," I lied smoothly. "And *SuperPrep Magazine*. Dad, he's 6'3, 325 pounds. He benches a Buick. But he's raw. He needs coaching."
George looked at the list.
1. **Zach Thomas (LB)** - The Brain (Undersized).
2. **Jimmy Smith (WR)** - The Speed (Underused).
3. **Larry Allen (OL)** - The Size (Raw).
"Small, unhappy, and raw," George muttered. "Not exactly a Dream Team."
"They're hungry, Dad," I said. "The rich kids here are full. These guys? They want to eat."
George picked up the phone. "I'm calling Silas."
***
The Cooper Christmas Feast
Two hours later, the table was set.
Mary sat at the head of the antique dining table, beaming. Meemaw was nursing a glass of Lily's champagne. Serena and Eric were squeezed in between Missy and Sheldon.
"Alright, hands together," Mary commanded.
Serena looked confused. "We're holding hands?"
"It's the Cooper way, Blondie," Missy whispered, grabbing Serena's hand. "Just go with it."
Eric took Sheldon's hand. Sheldon immediately pulled out a bottle of Purell. "Sanitation is key."
Mary bowed her head. "Lord, we thank You for this belated Christmas. We thank You for this... very large roof. And we thank You for our new friends, Serena and Eric. Please watch over their mother in Aspen, even if she is currently engaging in vanity. Amen."
"Amen!"
"Pass the potatoes," George said.
The table erupted.
"This is amazing," Eric said, eating ham like he hadn't eaten in a week. "Usually, we just order sushi on New Year's."
Mary piled more ham on his plate. "You eat. You eat until you hurt."
"So," Meemaw said to Serena. "Your mama really went to Aspen? Left you in a mansion with a credit card?"
"Pretty much," Serena shrugged. "But this is better. Nobody is yelling about stocks."
"We yell about toilets!" Missy noted.
I looked around the table.
George was laughing.
Mary was mothering.
The van der Woodsens were smiling.
We weren't just a team. We were a family.
"Hey," Eric asked George. "Is it true you're building a Super Team?"
George stopped chewing. He looked at me. I winked.
"Pass the gravy, son," George grinned. "And maybe you'll find out on Monday."
[Quest Update: The Roster]
* Targets: Zach Thomas, Jimmy Smith, Larry Allen.
* Logic: Corrected (Hunger vs. Comfort).
* Date: Dec 30 (Corrected).
**[Quest Complete: The Holiday Season]**