September 1, Saturday, 2012

[Pritchett House]

3:35 p.m.

Today was the big day. The debut. And Jay knew it.

He had woken up early with that thought lodged in his head, as if someone had placed it there before he even opened his eyes. And it wasn’t even his debut. It was Andrew’s, in college.

Still, he hadn’t been able to shake it all morning.

Everything he did, having breakfast, walking around the house, watching TV without really paying attention, kept bringing him back to the same point. The game. The debut. Andrew.

Over and over again.

The game kicked off at six in the evening. He had spent hours in that restless state, unable to really find anything to focus on.

Now, finally, he was getting ready to head out to the stadium. The gates would open at four.

The anticipation was enormous.

A snowball that had started months ago and hadn’t stopped growing since. Ever since that moment in December 2011 when Andrew announced, live and with record numbers, that he would play for UCLA.

From that point on, everything had accelerated.

The Army Bowl with attendance and ratings records.

Andrew arriving in January as an early enrollee, adapting ahead of everyone else.

Signing Day in February, with UCLA finishing as a top-2 class in the country.

The spring game, with over forty thousand people at the Rose Bowl just to watch a simple scrimmage, covered by ESPN.

And, more recently, the official depth chart in August, Andrew at quarterback, along with four other freshmen.

Then UCLA ranked No. 17 in the AP Poll, back in the Top 25 after years. Everything had been building.

Now, the game would be broadcast on ESPN. That wasn’t a minor detail.

Top 25 teams usually got visibility, sure, but not all games were treated the same. If a ranked team faced an unranked opponent without much strength, the game would air on a decent channel, but not the main one, and in a less prominent slot.

The "channel hierarchy" in 2012 was fairly clear:

1. ABC:

The biggest of them all. Broadcast television, no cable required, reaching practically the entire country.

This was where the most important games went, major rivalries when both teams were strong, matchups with clear national impact, or decisive stages like championships. It wasn’t enough to be a historic rivalry; there also had to be parity and current relevance.

2. ESPN:

The dominant sports channel. Cable, but with massive viewership and constant presence.

It aired major Top 25 games, especially those involving nationally relevant teams, high hype, or names that drew attention.

Even so, the opponent mattered. It wasn’t automatic: being Top 5 didn’t guarantee a spot here if the opponent wasn’t up to level... unless there was an extra factor that made it compelling.

3. Fox College Football:

An important channel, though behind ESPN in reach and weight. More focused on conferences like the Big Ten or Pac-12, with solid presence but less national impact.

4. ESPN2:

ESPN’s secondary channel. Smaller audience, lower priority.

Lower-ranked Top 25 teams and secondary time slots often ended up here.

5. CBS Sports Network:

A cable channel with limited reach.

Games with lower national relevance. In normal circumstances, a UCLA vs. Rice (or a similar unranked opponent) would have ended up here.

And at that same level, there was a new addition that year:

Pac-12 Network (P12N):

The conference’s own channel, launched in 2012. Similar to the Big Ten Network.

It mainly aired games involving mid- or lower-tier teams within the conference, with little national appeal.

In theory, UCLA’s game would have gone to one of those smaller channels.

But this was no longer a normal game.

Not with Andrew’s debut.

A recent example made it clear. USC’s game had ended less than an hour ago. It had kicked off at noon, at the Coliseum, with an attendance of over 93,000 people. The hype around the Trojans was massive as well.

And even so, it was broadcast on Fox College Football.

Not on ESPN.

USC Trojans football, the No. 1 team in the country. No sanctions anymore, loaded roster, with Matt Barkley in his senior year, the leading Heisman candidate and projected as a top pick in the Draft. A team aiming directly for the national title.

Their opponent, Hawaii Warriors football, played its role. Not elite, a lower-tier FBS team. The result was expected: 49–10. Barkley opened the season in commanding fashion, 372 passing yards and four touchdowns. Exactly what was expected of him.

And yet, it wasn’t considered a top-priority television game.

Something similar could be said about UCLA’s opponent. Rice was slightly better than Hawaii. Under normal circumstances, that kind of matchup wouldn’t justify a major slot or a primary network.

And yet, UCLA’s game would be broadcast on ESPN in prime time. For weeks, ESPN had been building the narrative, selling it as the most anticipated quarterback debut in college football history.

A phenomenon that went beyond the game itself.

That’s why, even above a No. 1 team like USC making its season debut, the spotlight was on the Bruins.

At least for now, the media attention revolved more around Andrew than any other name.

After that, the season would put everything in its place. If USC lived up to expectations, its narrative would only grow stronger.

"Shit," Jay muttered in front of the mirror, frowning as he nicked himself slightly while shaving.

From the hallway, Gloria heard the curse and peeked through the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

"Oh, please... you’ve been like this all day. Calm down. The one playing is Andrew, not you."

"I’m not nervous," Jay grumbled, not taking his eyes off the mirror.

"Oh, yeah," Gloria replied, not believing him in the slightest, "This morning you put salt in your coffee instead of sugar. What was that?"

Jay scoffed. "That wasn’t my fault. I grabbed the wrong jar. How am I supposed to know which is which if you buy two identical containers?"

"Now it’s my fault!?" Gloria shot back, pointing at herself in disbelief.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She stepped closer and raised her hand, palm open. "Let me see your hand. I want to check your pulse."

Jay looked at her, offended. "You really think my hand’s going to shake? I went to Vietnam. This is nothing."

"Then do it," Gloria said with a shrug. "Come on, raise your hand, Jay."

Jay held her gaze for a few seconds, weighing it. Then he clicked his tongue and turned back to the mirror. "I’m not doing it."

Gloria let out a short laugh and turned around. "Ha. Just as I thought."

She walked off down the hallway, adding, without losing that tone between teasing and truth, "I’m driving to the stadium! I don’t want to die this young."

Jay finished getting ready, got dressed, and walked out to the living room.

Ready.

Which meant, as always, now he had to wait for Gloria and Manny.

’Same as always,’ he thought, letting out a quiet huff as he dropped onto the couch. He rested his arms at his sides and sat in silence, staring ahead without really thinking about anything in particular.

After a few minutes, Manny came down the stairs with two hangers in his hands. He stopped in front of Jay and held up both shirts so he could see them clearly.

"Which one?" he asked.

First he held one against his chest, then the other, turning slightly so Jay could imagine how each would look.

Jay looked at him for a second without changing expression. He crossed his arms. "It’s a football game, Manny. Why are you making such a big deal out of a shirt?"

Manny sighed, as if he had expected exactly that response. It didn’t affect him in the slightest.

"So much power in your hands..." he said, scanning him up and down, "and you dress like that."

Jay was a millionaire. He could dress however he wanted. And still, he dressed in the simplest, sloppiest way possible.

And Manny wasn’t talking about expensive, flashy brands. He meant something more basic to him: intention, presence, knowing how to dress with purpose.

Jay frowned at the criticism, ready to respond.

But Manny had already turned away. He was heading back up the stairs, as if the conversation were already over.

Jay watched him and sighed, shaking his head.

...

[Dunphy House]

At the Dunphy house, the atmosphere was more rushed.

Claire moved back and forth across the house, hurrying everyone along while checking the clock every few seconds.

"We need to leave now!"

She went up the stairs almost without slowing down and opened Luke’s bedroom door without knocking.

"Come on, Luke!" she said, walking in. "Turn that PlayStation off and get dressed!"

Luke was sprawled on the bed, still in his pajamas, his hair completely messy even though it was already almost four in the afternoon. He finally had a day off and was making the most of it after weeks of brutal training.

He looked up, offended. "It’s not a PlayStation! It’s a Nintendo 3DS XL!"

It had come out in July of that same year. They had bought it on launch day, standing in line alongside Andrew, Leonard, Howard, Steve, and Phil.

Claire waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever! I want you downstairs, ready, in five minutes."

Then her gaze stopped on the nearby desk, where she spotted several empty cans.

She frowned.

"You can’t drink these energy drinks," she said reproachfully. "Where did you get them?"

Luke shrugged. "Dad bought a pack."

Claire closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. "There’s no time for this..." she muttered.

She looked back at him. "Hurry up!"

And she left the room without waiting for an answer, already heading toward the next one.

She grabbed the doorknob and tried to open it, but it was locked. She had expected that. She knocked several times, insistently.

"Open up, Alex!"

Footsteps were heard, and a few seconds later the door opened. Alex appeared with her usual displeased expression, her brow slightly furrowed.

"I’m studying," she said, annoyed. "Why all the noise?"

Claire wasn’t surprised at all. It was Saturday, classes hadn’t even started yet, and Alex had still spent the entire summer studying. Senior year was crucial if she wanted to get into California Institute of Technology, or so she said.

"Because it’s the most important game of your cousin’s life," Claire replied. "I want you downstairs in five minutes, or we’re leaving without you."

Alex let out a sigh. "You’re exaggerating," she shot back. "If we look at it that way, every one of Andrew’s games is the most important of his life."

And, in a way, it wasn’t wrong. Every game came with a new narrative, more expectations, and more attention. The debut, then the next challenge, then the next... a constant climb that never really stopped.

For Alex, if she didn’t want to get caught in that cycle of nerves every week, she had to approach it differently. Keep some distance, she wasn’t even the one playing.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Her cousin was playing, and he mattered to her. But she preferred to keep it in perspective. Not let every game feel like a final, because she knew that at that pace, there would always be an even bigger one right after.

Claire looked at her for a second, weighing whether to argue or not. "Five minutes," she repeated at last.

Alex nodded, resigned, and closed the door to get changed.

A few minutes later, Alex came downstairs ready and headed to the living room. There, she found her father and her brother.

Luke was wearing a UCLA jersey, number 19, still staring at his Nintendo, his fingers moving quickly.

Phil, on the other hand, was sitting in the armchair in an almost perfect posture: back straight, knees aligned, hands resting on them, staring ahead as if he were waiting for something.

Alex raised an eyebrow at the sight. His eyes were slightly red. "Hey... you okay, Dad?" she asked, sitting down on the other couch.

Phil turned his head too quickly.

"Hey, sweetie! Yeah, everything’s perfect!" he replied, stumbling a bit over his words.

Alex looked at him, confused. "You look like you haven’t slept."

Phil nodded several times, more than necessary. "Exactly! I haven’t slept at all!"

Before she could ask how he still had so much energy, he continued:

"That’s why I’ve had several cups of coffee and a few Red Bulls!"

’That’s not a good combination,’ Alex thought.

"Are we all ready?" Claire asked, walking into the room.

"Yes!" Phil and Luke answered at the same time, with similar enthusiasm.

Claire looked at them for a second, slightly puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

"Good," she nodded, checking the time. "Wow... we’re actually doing great on time."

"For not having to wait for Haley getting ready," Alex commented, adjusting her glasses with a small smile.

Ever since Haley had left, Alex had the room to herself. No more arguments, no interruptions, no constant chaos. She could study in silence, close the door, and focus.

It had been a convenient change.

Though she wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that, in a way, it also felt strange. A little sad. Lately, things with Haley had been different. They had grown closer, more like friends.

Thinking about it too much wasn’t something she liked.

Claire, for her part, couldn’t help but nod.

Haley always delayed them. Between makeup and choosing clothes, leaving on time was almost a miracle.

"Alright, let’s go!" she said, heading toward the door.

"Go Bruins!" Phil said, jumping up to his feet.

"Save that energy for kickoff," Alex muttered.

"I’ll drive..." Claire murmured, closing the door behind her.

...

[Pritchett-Tucker House]

At Andrew’s parents’ house, the nerves were on another level.

Mitchell had already gone through several cups of coffee throughout the day, more than he would normally allow himself. And Cam was in his own world.

Sitting on the couch, already dressed in a Bruins jersey with Andrew’s number, his body was stiff, his hands clasped together, and his expression full of concern. He kept repeating the same story.

A dream he had the night before. According to him, a premonition in which UCLA lost and Andrew got injured in the third quarter. It had felt far too real.

"It was so vivid, Mitchell..." he insisted, his eyes glossy and his voice thick with emotion.

Mitchell closed his eyes for a moment, holding himself back. ’I know, you’ve said it five times already,’ he thought.

He was nervous too. Much more than he wanted to admit.

Still, he took a deep breath and kept his composure.

"Andrew is fine," he said firmly, trying to ground him. "He’s going to be fine. Like always. He’s not getting hurt."

Cam looked at him.

"We had breakfast with him this morning," Mitchell continued, "and we just had a video call not long ago."

It was true.

They had gone early, around seven-thirty in the morning, to Andrew and Steve’s apartment. They had breakfast together, in a surprisingly calm, almost lighthearted atmosphere for what the day represented.

Steve and Andrew talked and joked as if it were nothing.

Then they walked them to UCLA. By nine, Andrew and Steve were already entering the facilities to meet with the team, cutting themselves off from the outside world, slipping into that pre-game mode.

"I’m ready!" a child’s voice announced from the hallway.

Lily appeared in the living room.

She was wearing a Bruins jersey her size, number nineteen, and had done her own face paint. On the right cheek, a 19, on the left, "Go Bruins," written in slightly messy but perfectly readable strokes.

Mitchell couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. "Hey, sweetie... you look beautiful."

Lily smiled, pleased with the compliment. Then she turned her head toward her other dad, the dramatic, and frowned instantly. She already recognized that expression.

"What’s wrong now?" Lily asked.

"Daddy’s just having a moment," Mitchell replied, hands on his hips, glancing sideways at Cam, who was still caught between his own internal drama and trying to calm himself down.

Lily rolled her eyes, exasperated. "She’s always having a moment," she said, throwing her arms out before turning around and walking out of the living room.

’She?’ Mitchell thought, letting out a quiet sigh.

Cam, hearing her, let his shoulders drop even further and released a long, dramatic sigh, as if he were about to burst into tears.

Finally, they left and arrived at the stadium with minutes to spare before the gates opened.

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