MD - Chapter 277: U.S. Army All-American BowlApril 1
San Antonio, Texas – Alamodome
12:00 p.m.
The sky was completely clear, not a single cloud in sight, but the January air still carried that mild chill you could feel on your skin.
Inside the stadium, there was constant noise and movement in every section, endless lines of people coming in with food, drinks, and that unmistakable sense that this was not just another game.
NBC's cameras swept across the stadium in wide shots, showing stands already nearly full, the field in perfect condition, and people still searching for their seats.
[Just one hour until kickoff, Mike!] Patrick said, his tone filled with contained excitement.
[We're getting closer and closer, and you can already feel the energy in the air,] Mike replied. [The stadium is over eighty percent full and people are still pouring in. This is, without a doubt, a sellout. Today we're going to have sixty-five thousand people in this stadium.]
The images backed up his words, fans kept streaming in, settling into their seats.
[A huge improvement compared to last year, when around forty thousand tickets were sold, which is already a big number for high school,] Patrick added.
Historically, the U.S. Army All-American Bowl usually drew between thirty-five and fifty thousand spectators. So what was happening this year was unusual. And not just in the stadium, on television as well.
[Games like this usually draw between two and a half and three million viewers on NBC,] Mike continued, pausing briefly. [But today, we all know that number is going to rise.]
There was a second of silence.
[You know it, I know it, and everyone watching at home knows exactly why.]
The screen changed, and a name appeared in bold:
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.
Next to it, an image of him in his Mater Dei uniform, helmet in hand, and below, the stats from his last season:
75 touchdowns
5,420 passing yards
990 rushing yards
6,410 total yards
2 interceptions
Patrick let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he looked at the numbers.
[Those numbers are real. And they're not inflated, folks,] he said. [Deep passes, intermediate throws, scrambles, reads, he's got it all. A lot of people came here today specifically to see him.]
[Exactly,] Mike replied, nodding. [This isn't just an all-star game. It's not just the best talent in the country gathered on one field.]
He paused briefly, letting Andrew's image linger on screen for a moment longer.
[This is Andrew Pritchett-Tucker's final high school game.]
[So…] Patrick said, leaning slightly forward, a smile forming as he anticipated the answer, [who do you think wins: Team East or Team West?]
In the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, the teams are divided geographically:
West Team: California, Texas, Arizona, etc.
East Team: Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas, etc.
[Team East has a lot of talent,] Mike began, his tone analytical. [Two five-star quarterbacks: Jameis Winston, an explosive dual-threat, one of the top prospects in his class, and Gunner Kiel, the number two pro-style QB. Different profiles, which gives the coaches flexibility to attack in different ways.]
Patrick nodded, then raised a finger, cutting in.
[Fun fact,] he said with a half-smile. [Back at Palisades, Pritchett was ranked as a dual-threat and was number one, above Winston. Then he stopped relying on running as the foundation of his game, turned it into a secondary weapon, and got reclassified as a pro-style quarterback. The result? Still number one, above Kiel. That had never happened before.]
Mike shook his head, letting out a short breath of amusement. He knew the stat. Everyone in recruiting knew it.
[Sounds like a fan stat,] he replied with a faint smile, not because it wasn't true, quite the opposite, but because of the moment Patrick chose to bring it up, almost as if it needed emphasizing.
Saying it in the middle of the analysis felt more like underlining a difference that didn't really need explaining anymore.
[Just facts,] Patrick shrugged, clearly amused.
Mike picked the analysis back up without missing a beat.
[On the West side, besides Pritchett as the undisputed number one prospect, they also have Mathew, Maty, Mauk, a four-star, though some outlets even drop him to three, but keep an eye on this…]
He pointed to the screen, where statistical comparisons now appeared.
[Pritchett and Mauk are the two most productive quarterbacks we've seen at the high school level. Between them, they hold virtually every major national record: total yards, passing yards, touchdowns…]
He paused briefly.
One of those stats was the record for most high school touchdowns.
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker: 279.
Mathew Mauk: 219.
[The difference is that Pritchett ranks first in virtually all of those categories, and he did it playing at Mater Dei High School, against the highest level of competition in the country and in a pure passing system. That's where the difference in status comes from,] Mike added.
He let his words hang in the air for a few seconds as the comparisons continued to appear on screen before resuming naturally.
[Also on Team West is quarterback Zeke Pike, a four-star out of Kentucky.]
The stats changed.
Zeke Pike – Senior Year
35 touchdowns
2,040 passing yards
1,150 rushing yards
3,190 total yards
11 interceptions
[Very solid numbers,] Patrick said, more out of habit than anything else. Compared to Andrew's, they fell well short.
Mike nodded. [His father is Mark Pike, a former player. Zeke stands at 6-foot-6, an imposing physical presence for the position.]
He paused briefly.
[And in one of this week's interviews, he said something interesting: that he's going to win MVP.]
During the week leading up to the game, the event hadn't just been about practices and playbooks. There were media days, one-on-one interviews, and cameras following prospects at every moment.
Because the U.S. Army All-American Bowl wasn't just a game, it was a national showcase. And MVP, in that context, meant more than just a simple award.
It was the headline the next day.
The name opening SportsCenter.
The player who, for one night, became the face of an entire class.
Although for the first time, there was almost unanimous agreement on who would win it, as if it were inevitable.
The image changed.
Zeke Pike appeared on screen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with confidence.
"I'm going to win MVP. That's what I came here for."
He didn't say it with excessive arrogance. He said it like someone who genuinely believed it.
The shot lingered on his face for a moment before returning to the live broadcast.
Patrick let out a small laugh, shaking his head.
[Confidence isn't something he's lacking, that's for sure,] he said. [But saying you're going to be MVP when Andrew Pritchett-Tucker is on your team…]
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
[Ambition is what you want to see in these situations,] Mike replied, [but this year isn't a typical one…]
Mike continued his analysis as names, positions, and star ratings appeared on screen.
As expected for this kind of game, the field was loaded with pure talent. Five-stars spread across both teams, and behind them, a second wave of elite four-stars. There were no weak spots. No easy matchups.
On Team West, beyond Andrew, several names stood out clearly:
Nelson Agholor – WR 5⭐
Andrus Peat – OL 5⭐
Steve Rice – WR 4⭐
DeForest Buckner – DL 4⭐
Aziz Shittu – DL 4⭐
Among others.
On the Team East side, beyond the quarterbacks already mentioned, the level didn't drop:
Stefon Diggs – WR 5⭐
T. J. Yeldon – RB 5⭐
Landon Collins – S 5⭐
Tracy Howard – CB 4⭐
And several more.
Last year, the game had ended 13–10, a win for Team East. A tight, physical contest, more defensive than spectacular.
In recent years, the game had been dominated by the ground attack. Quarterbacks hadn't really been able to shine.
Except for one anomaly, the 2009 All-Star Game, where Matt Barkley completely dominated, scoring four touchdowns in just six drives, resulting in a clear victory for the West.
And Mike believed that this year, the West had the advantage, obviously because of Andrew. They had a much more balanced offensive line, led by the best quarterback in high school history.
That was something to keep in mind. The format.
It wasn't just one quarterback playing. Andrew's team had three, including him. All of them would get snaps, no exceptions.
Drives were split regardless of status. There was constant rotation at every position.
In games like this, the rhythm is fragmented. Each team usually gets between 10 and 13 total drives.
With three quarterbacks, the distribution typically goes like this: two QBs get around 4–5 drives each, and the third gets 3–4.
But even within that rotation, there are differences you won't see on the stat sheet.
Not all drives carry the same weight.
Not all of them start from the same field position or are played under the same circumstances.
That's where the coach decides, assigning the quarterback he trusts most for those moments. And everyone knew that out of Andrew's 3, 4, 5, or 6 drives today, his would be the most important. The opening drive, the key possessions…
[That's why, for me—] Mike was saying, but he didn't finish the sentence.
Because at that moment, something shifted in the stadium.
It wasn't a shout or an instant eruption.
It was a murmur.
One that began in different parts of the stadium at the same time, like a wave spreading through the stands. People rising from their seats, others pointing toward one of the tunnels, cameras turning almost instinctively.
Players from both teams began to come out for warmups.
From one of the tunnels came Team West. First some linemen. Then receivers.
The murmur was still there, building, waiting.
Until he appeared.
White Team West jersey. Number 19. U.S. Army All-American Bowl stitched across the chest. A steady stride, barely reacting to the noise, as if it had nothing to do with him.
The stadium reacted.
Not all at once, but in a steady rise, applause growing, multiplying, until it wrapped around the entire Alamodome.
And a name echoed through the stadium:
"Andrew…! Andrew…! Andrew…!"
Andrew, walking out alongside Steve, glanced at different sections of the crowd and raised his arm in greeting as they chanted his name.
Then he waved toward the premium seating section, where his entire family was sitting.
Patrick smiled. [There he is. And this year, I'm sure more than fifty percent of this stadium is going to be rooting for Team West.]
The cameras began focusing more closely on the crowd. Mater Dei High School jerseys everywhere. Not confined to a single section, not just one group, spread across the entire stadium. Teenagers, kids, parents… all wearing number 19.
In one of the upper sections, far from the field where players looked like little more than moving figures, a girl with black hair with fair skin and striking blue eyes suddenly stood up.
"There he is!" she said, her excitement impossible to contain.
She was wearing a red Mater Dei jersey, number 19.
Monica Geller.
Beside her sat her parents, Jack Geller and Judy Geller. A bit further back, her brother Ross Geller with Carol Willick. And closing the group, Chandler Bing, Ross's friend, and Rachel Green, her best friend.
It had been a while since that trip to California, when she attended Andrew's second subscriber meetup.
Monica could still remember it with perfect clarity. Much more vividly than the first, because that time, she'd managed to get to know Andrew a little more personally. Not just as a fan who gets a few minutes, a photo, and that's it.
Partly thanks to Rachel, who, frustrated that the meetup had collapsed under the sheer number of people, pushed Monica to call Andrew and ask to meet separately so she could give him the gifts she had prepared.
Monica had his number thanks to the boldness she'd shown at the first meetup when she asked for it, though she never used it, except for that one time.
After those two meetups, nothing.
Andrew stopped doing those kinds of events.
And when it came to major games like the state final at the Rose Bowl, it was impossible for her to travel to California in the middle of the school year. It literally meant crossing the country.
It wasn't cheap, and the logistics were no joke.
Luckily, this game she could see live.
She wasn't going to miss it.
Her parents had agreed without much resistance. Even they had been watching his games on TV.
Ross and Chandler were into it too.
Carol, on the other hand, was there for Ross. Football didn't interest her in the slightest.
Rachel did like football, and she followed Andrew's games as well, but more because of Monica. She didn't consider herself a fan.
"I can't see anything…" Rachel muttered, squinting as she tried to make out more than just silhouettes.
She turned toward Chandler. "Couldn't you get better seats?"
Chandler raised his eyebrows, offended. "Hey! It was an odyssey just to get seven tickets," he replied. "All resale. And each one cost a hundred eighty dollars, four times the regular price."
"And look on the bright side, you've got a panoramic view," he added.
At an event like the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, resale tickets practically didn't exist. There was no need. Prices were affordable, family-friendly, and the stadium never filled to one hundred percent.
But this time, it was different.
Demand had exploded.
Tickets sold out days in advance. People traveling in from other states. And for the first time in a long while, a real secondary market.
Rachel scoffed. "You should've found resale seats in a better section."
Chandler let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Do you know how much those would've cost? Minimum three hundred dollars."
Rachel crossed her arms without hesitation. "I would've paid it."
Chandler raised a finger, as if correcting a technical detail. "Correction. Your father would've paid it, princess."
Rachel frowned. "Shut up. I have money. I'm working, in case you didn't know."
Chandler nodded slowly. He knew that was true. Monica had mentioned it, something about a clothing store, part-time…
But still, he narrowed his eyes, tilting his head with that signature look of refined skepticism.
"Uh-huh…" he said slowly. "Isn't that the store whose owner just so happens to be a friend of your father?"
"Yes, and?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, nothing… I'm just saying, it sounds less like a job and more like: 'Rachel, come in whenever you want and try on pretty clothes while I deal with the customers.'"
Rachel stared at him for a second in silence, then gave him a sharp hit on the arm.
"Hey!" Chandler leaned away slightly, rubbing his arm. "I'm raising a reasonable concern, considering I've never seen you do a single household chore the entire time we've known each other."
Let alone being helpful to a random person.
Rachel shook her head, annoyed, though she couldn't suppress a faint smile. "I work. For real. I help customers, organize, and handle the register, everything."
Chandler studied her, assessing. "You handle the register?"
"Yes."
"With actual numbers?"
Another hit, lighter this time. "Yes, with actual numbers!" Rachel snapped.
Chandler raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright… I believe you."
"Wow!" Monica suddenly shouted, half-rising from her seat as she clapped enthusiastically.
Rachel turned, confused. "Why are you yelling?"
"For Andrew's pass to Steve!" Monica replied without even looking at her, still focused on the field, clapping as if she'd just witnessed a touchdown.
Rachel blinked, incredulous.
It was just a warmup throw. There wasn't even a defense.
And it wasn't just Monica. Most of the stadium reacted the same way. Every time Andrew released the ball, every clean spiral cutting through the air, every reception on the move, it all sparked applause, murmurs, and little bursts of excitement.
But Monica stood out a bit for her intensity. Though she wasn't the only one. Right next to them, there was another girl their age, also wearing a red Mater Dei High School jersey with number 19, reacting exactly the same way, if not more.
Rachel glanced at them from the corner of her eye, sitting elegantly with her legs crossed, and gave a small shake of her head.
'Two crazy fans…' she thought.
She turned her gaze back to the field.
From that distance, Andrew was nothing more than a moving silhouette. She couldn't make out his face, just his figure, the motion of his arm as he threw, and the rhythm of his steps.
Nothing like the time she'd seen him play at the Dana Hills summer tournament. That day, she'd seen him up close. Smaller field, lower stands, everything more intimate. You could follow every movement, every gesture.
And then the beach.
Rachel lowered her gaze, almost unconsciously. She gently rested her left hand over the back of her right, her fingers tracing that memory.
Two years ago.
Andrew teaching her how to throw a football.
'I didn't improve much after that…' Rachel thought, a small smile slipping onto her face.
But it had helped. At a family gathering not long after, she'd picked up a football almost on impulse and thrown it with a precision that surprised everyone.
Nothing spectacular. But enough to catch them off guard for a moment.
While Rachel was lost in that memory, Monica noticed the girl who seemed just as much of a fan as she was.
She looked at her, and the girl looked back.
And without a single word, they both understood.
From that moment on, every one of Andrew's passes turned into a kind of unspoken duel. Louder applause. Faster reactions. More energy in every movement.
"Let's go!" Monica shouted, rising slightly from her seat as another pass came out perfectly.
"That's it!" the other girl answered almost at the same time, her voice just a bit louder.
The competition was on.
"Hey, Missy, relax," a boy next to her cut in, his Texan accent unmistakable. "The game hasn't even started yet. You're gonna lose your voice once Andrew's touchdowns start coming."
It was Georgie Cooper.
The Coopers had traveled for the game too, though they hadn't been as lucky with their seats.
Missy clicked her tongue, annoyed. "Tch…"
She crossed her arms for a second, forcing herself to tone it down. Her brother was right. Besides, the girl with black hair had a powerful voice, and a lot of energy.
Monica noticed and gave a small, sideways smile.
George stood up from his seat, stretching slightly before looking around. "I'm gonna grab drinks and something to eat, anyone want anything?" he asked, looking at his wife, his kids, his daughter-in-law, and his granddaughter.
The response was immediate.
One asked for soda.
Another for nachos.
A list that grew in seconds.
"I'll help," said Cole Dawson, getting up as well.
Cole had come with the Coopers that day. His son, Caleb, had been a fan of Andrew for years, and when the chance to see him live, in Texas, in their own state, came up, there was no debate. They had to be there.
George nodded, and the two of them began making their way down the steps, slowly disappearing into the crowd.
The noise of the stadium was still there, but more distant down below, among the corridors and food stands.
Once they were far enough from their families, George spoke.
"How are you feeling?"
Cole didn't answer right away. "About what?" he asked, though he knew exactly what he meant.
George didn't dodge it. "Your son, not Caleb. You know which one I mean," he said, lowering his voice. "The kid everyone's here to see today. You're about to watch him play live."
"How do you feel about that?" he added.
Cole kept his eyes forward as they walked.
He was Andrew Pritchett-Tucker's biological father. He had given him up for adoption years ago.
"I don't know," he admitted at last, exhaling slowly. "I came because Caleb wanted to come. He asked for it as a birthday gift. The ticket wasn't cheap, and the trip wasn't exactly short."
Watching him on TV was one thing. On YouTube, in interviews, on social media, another.
But seeing him there, in the same stadium that was something completely different.
Like the time he'd seen him at the airport.
George glanced at him. "You could tell him here."
Cole stopped abruptly, turning his head toward him. "Are you crazy?" he said, not raising his voice, but with real disbelief. "Like that? Without planning anything?"
George shrugged, as if just throwing the idea out there. "Then when?"
They had reached the line at one of the food stands. The smell of fast food, the hum of voices, everything wrapped around the moment.
Cole took a second before answering.
"Not now," he said finally. "I think the best thing is to wait."
George looked at him, attentive.
"Let him go through his first year of college," Cole continued. "He's already going to have enough on his plate. Classes, a new team, a new environment, and pressure. If I show up now, I'd just be noise in his head."
George nodded slowly. It made sense. "You're already sounding like a father," he said with a faint smile.
Cole let out a short laugh and gave him a light shove. "Shut up."
Around 12:40, the players began to leave the field.
"Finally!" Steve said, walking beside Andrew as they headed back toward the tunnel.
It showed. He was excited, not just for the game itself, but for what it meant. Playing with Andrew again. Returning to that feeling they had back at Palisades, when everything had seemed much simpler.
"Patriotic moment coming up," Andrew murmured.
Steve smiled. "Yeah… America moment. Planes, military speech, and a solemn anthem."
For a reason, the event began with: U.S. Army.
From the tunnel, both of them could see how the field completely shifted in tone.
The ceremony began with the entrance of the honor guard. Soldiers in uniform, flawless formation, moving with precision. Then came the unfurling of a massive flag that covered a large portion of the field.
The entire stadium stood.
The noise disappeared.
An older man, dressed in military uniform with a chest full of medals, took the microphone. His voice was firm, but slow. He spoke about service, sacrifice, what it meant to wear that uniform…
It lasted only a couple of minutes.
But to Steve, it felt eternal.
Andrew, from the corner of his eye, noticed the expression on his face, that contained impatience. He gave him a small bump with his shoulder, just enough to keep him in check.
This wasn't the moment for one of his comments. Even a whisper would carry. The entire stadium was silent.
Then came the anthem.
The singer's voice filled the stadium while the flag remained stretched across the field.
And right at the end, military jets roared across the sky above the Alamodome, tearing through the air with a thunder that made everything vibrate.
That did it.
The stadium erupted in applause.
Introductions began shortly after.
Team East.
Team West.
Names, positions, camera flashes.
Two reactions stood out above the rest.
When Steve's name was called, the crowd responded strongly. He was known for appearing in Andrew's videos, and for playing in that historic section final.
And when Andrew's name came up, even more so, if that was even possible.
The teams took their positions.
The field was ready.
Patrick spoke from the booth:
[Kickoff is about to begin!]