Saturday, October 27, 2012
One hour before kickoff, ABC's broadcast showed a spectacular aerial shot of Arizona Stadium.
The stadium glowed beneath the floodlights in the middle of the Sonoran Desert darkness. Around it, the parking lots were still full of life.
Thousands of lights, grills, cars, red and blue shirts, groups of students and families making the most of the final minutes of tailgating before walking toward the gates.
Inside the stadium, the stands were beginning to fill.
At seven o'clock that evening, one of the most anticipated games of the day would begin.
Arizona Wildcats against UCLA Bruins. Prime time on ABC.
Two Pac-12 South Division rivals, both ranked nationally.
And, above all, a buildup that had stopped being normal since Tuesday.
Statements from both sides had turned the game into something more personal. Arizona head coach Rich Rodriguez had been subtle. Defender Jake Fischer, considerably less so. But Andrew Pritchett-Tucker's words had been the ones that truly set the week on fire.
Not only because they had been more forceful. But because he had been the one to say them.
Andrew was not just any freshman. He had millions of subscribers on YouTube, carried the weight of having been considered by many the greatest high school prospect in history and, in barely half a college season, had become one of the most closely followed players in the entire NCAA.
That was why every sentence he spoke was examined under a microscope, and that particular statement had been impossible to ignore.
Because it was not common for him to make declarations like that. Promising that the game would be over in three quarters and that afterward he would be seen sitting on the sideline, a towel draped over his shoulders, enjoying the visitors, was far too juicy to pass up.
Fans of rival teams did not take long to react.
On forums, radio shows, blogs, and social media, fans of USC, Oregon, and other programs from different conferences labeled the response as immature boasting.
Saying that Andrew was a kid who had been overhyped by the media since high school. A product of hype. A talented true freshman, yes, but also one whose confidence was dangerously close to arrogance.
Many wanted to see him fall.
But Andrew also had plenty of defenders.
Not only his millions of YouTube followers or UCLA fans. There were also a large number of analysts who, after seeing the numbers he had put up in only seven games, already considered him the Heisman favorite. To them, what Andrew was doing was not simply a good season.
It was a historic season for a true freshman.
Of course, even among those defending him, the third-quarter promise was difficult to justify.
It was one thing to say UCLA could win.
It was something entirely different to promise that the game would be decided before the fourth quarter, on the road, against a ranked team and inside a hostile stadium.
Even so, Andrew's main argument made sense.
Arizona had suggested that UCLA had not faced anyone.
That was false.
The Bruins had defeated Oregon State, a team that was now ranked inside the national top 10.
And that same Oregon State team had beaten Arizona.
Because of that, many believed Andrew had not invented a provocation out of nowhere. He had responded to an earlier display of disrespect.
Although that did not stop his words from creating a sharp divide among the analysts.
The more measured image of Andrew, the quarterback who always talked about the team, the next game, and staying focused, had cracked for the first time. It was not that he had ever seemed shy or insecure. He never had. But he had always known how to control his ambition in front of the cameras.
Not this time.
There were analysts who criticized those comments even while praising his talent and his great season. They believed he had handed free motivation to a dangerous opponent before playing in its stadium. A reckless attitude.
It was unusual to see a true freshman speak that way before an important game, especially when he still had half a season ahead of him and plenty of opportunities to be exposed.
But even then, the criticism was not devastating.
The Bruins' offense had been producing at an extremely high level, with Andrew accumulating thirty total touchdowns, closing in on a historic record, and completing more than seventy percent of his passes, a level few quarterbacks in the country could match.
Besides, statistically, the Wildcats' defense was far from an impenetrable wall.
They were allowing more than thirty points per game. There were weaknesses that an offense like UCLA's could exploit, and exploit badly.
If he failed, everyone would remember his words.
If he delivered, the legend would grow even larger.
The television shot changed.
The aerial image of Arizona Stadium gave way to the broadcast booth, where Brent Musburger appeared, looking directly into the camera with a smile.
He was one of the most recognizable voices in prime-time college football, a regular presence on the biggest nights on ABC and ESPN.
Sitting beside him was Kirk Herbstreit.
Younger, serious, and polished, with his light-colored hair perfectly arranged and his suit immaculate, Herbstreit was the analytical voice of the broadcast.
"Good evening to all the college football fans across the country!" Brent exclaimed energetically. "Welcome to Tucson, Arizona. What an atmosphere we have here in the desert! A cool night, perfect for football, only about seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. But the tension inside this stadium and all around it is reaching the boiling point, isn't it, Kirk?"
Kirk nodded seriously. "Without a doubt, Brent. What's interesting is that the stadium isn't even full yet. Maybe twenty percent of the seats are occupied right now. But when the UCLA players came out to warm up, the boos sounded as though the entire stadium was already here. And we all know why."
The broadcast then showed images from the field.
The Bruins were warming up at one end, dressed in white, while several Arizona players jogged near midfield. From the lower stands, the fans who had already entered shouted, whistled, and waved their arms every time Andrew made a pass.
It was normal for the stadium to still be far from full capacity before kickoff. Even for important games, many fans preferred to squeeze every last second out of the tailgating in the parking lots.
Those who were already inside were usually players' relatives, students searching for the best spots in the unnumbered general-admission sections, and fans too intense to miss even the warm-up routines.
But that night, even that smaller group seemed to have a clear mission.
To let UCLA know that Tucson had no intention of welcoming them politely.
"Neither I nor anyone else expected comments of that magnitude from Pritchett-Tucker this week, did we?" Brent said, glancing sideways at his partner.
"No one," Kirk replied. "Andrew has normally been very careful in front of the media. He talks about how well his team performs in every victory. He doesn't usually focus too much on his Heisman candidacy or on how historic his season has been. But this time, they struck his pride, and he responded."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Brent asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kirk shifted slightly in his seat. "They disrespected him and his entire team, Brent. Arizona suggested that UCLA hadn't faced anyone. But we're talking about the number-seven team in the country. So what are we saying? That they got there by accident? That the voters inflated their ranking for no reason?"
Brent remained silent, knowing Kirk was not finished.
"This guy is a true freshman. He arrived at a rebuilding program, won the starting job before the first game, overcame an early loss to Nebraska, and since then has led UCLA to a 6–1 record. He isn't just playing well. He is changing the nation's perception of the entire program. So I understand why he responded that way."
Kirk paused briefly as footage appeared on screen of Andrew throwing passes during warmups. "And honestly, I thought Fischer's comments were more reckless. He's a senior, a twenty-two-year-old defensive leader. Saying that a top-10 opponent hasn't faced anyone seems more immature to me than what Andrew said."
That had generated a great deal of criticism toward Arizona, especially toward Fischer.
Brent smiled faintly. "True, but promising that the game will be decided in three quarters is also pretty risky. Especially when you say it in front of the press, knowing that quote is going to reach the entire country."
That was the problem.
If Andrew had limited himself to responding that Oregon State was not "nobody," almost everyone probably would have been on his side.
It would have been a firm response.
But by promising that he would win easily, he had crossed a different line.
It was no longer just competitive pride. It was contempt for the other team, viewing them as easy.
Kirk did not deny it. Andrew no longer just had to win.
He had to win the way he had promised.
A close victory, a game similar to Oregon State or Nebraska, would not be enough to silence everyone. If UCLA won while struggling, many would say Arizona had exposed him. And that he needed to learn how to measure his words.
Brent looked at his colleague with a sideways smile. "You're one of Andrew's defenders, aren't you?"
Kirk did not flinch. "I defend great players. His season has been historic. He could become the first freshman to win the Heisman. That already says it all," he said without hesitation.
He had heard too much nonsense throughout the week. People saying Andrew was overhyped because he played in Los Angeles. That the media needed a new story and had chosen him. Or that the hype had followed him since high school and he still had not proven enough.
But all anyone had to do was look at the numbers and what he was accomplishing at UCLA, turning them into a serious contender for the Pac-12 and a major bowl game.
It was not empty hype. Andrew had not only met expectations. He had exceeded them by several levels.
"Speaking of Pritchett's season up to this point, here are his statistics," Brent said.
The ABC graphic appeared on screen.
[Andrew Pritchett-Tucker — Bruins QB]
Completions / Attempts: 154/209 — 73.6%
Passing yards: 2,201
Rushing yards: 316
Total yards: 2,517
Total touchdowns: 30 (26 passing, 4 rushing)
Interceptions: 2
"Incredible," Kirk said, pure praise in his voice.
"I think so too," Brent replied, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Do you think he deserves to be the Heisman favorite right now? Ahead of Collin Klein?"
"Yes," Kirk answered without hesitation. "I know you don't like it, but the statistics don't lie."
As he spoke, the graphic changed and Collin Klein's numbers appeared, the other major favorite in the Heisman race.
The Kansas State quarterback had accumulated 1,313 passing yards, 10 passing touchdowns, and only 2 interceptions. His impact on the ground was also enormous: 548 rushing yards and 14 rushing touchdowns.
"Statistics aren't everything, Kirk," Brent remarked.
That was precisely the debate.
After Geno Smith's fall over the previous two weeks, the Heisman race seemed to have narrowed, at least for the moment, to two main names: Andrew Pritchett-Tucker and Collin Klein.
Most people had Andrew as the favorite. His numbers were simply too big to ignore. More touchdowns, the same number of interceptions, nearly seven hundred more total yards, and a higher completion percentage as well.
But there was still a group of more traditional analysts, a minority, who placed an asterisk beside his case.
Brent was among them.
For that group, Klein still held a slight edge because of the weight of his team's record. Kansas State was undefeated at 7–0, ranked third in the nation, and had just beaten consecutive top-15 opponents, including West Virginia the previous week.
UCLA, by contrast, had one loss.
Kirk viewed the race differently.
He was a more modern analyst, more willing to look at individual production, efficiency, context, and a player's true value within his team. And from that perspective, Andrew's numbers erased almost any traditional bias.
"I know," Kirk said. "But a Heisman winner doesn't need a perfect record. Pritchett only has one loss with UCLA. His team is ranked in the top seven, in the middle of a rebuild, with a new staff, young players, and they're still competing at this level."
He paused briefly before continuing. "When you add that to statistics that are clearly superior to Klein's and the extra dimension he brings to the offense, Pritchett is ahead for me. Klein is a great player, I'm not saying otherwise, but Pritchett has the better arm."
Kirk liked statistics, yes, but he did not rely on them alone. Context mattered too.
What he refused to accept was reducing the entire discussion to a single loss.
A player's season could not be diminished simply because his team was not undefeated, especially when he was producing at a higher level and carrying a rebuilding process that, only months earlier, no one had expected to move this quickly.
Brent did not answer immediately.
In a way, he knew Kirk was right.
Klein was efficient, tough, and tremendously important to Kansas State, but he depended too heavily on the running game. As a passer, he was considerably more limited.
"Tonight could change my mind," Brent said with a smile. "Mine and that of several old fossils."
Kirk let out a small laugh.
"Or it could strengthen my position on Klein," Brent added.
If Andrew won, it would convince Brent even more, since this was another competitive team. Not Colorado, Houston, or Utah.
Up to that point, Andrew had faced two ranked opponents, lost one, won the other, and played well in both. Brent was very eager to see how he performed against another top-ranked opponent after these weeks of adjustment and learning.
The minutes passed.
At around 6:30 p.m., both teams left the field, bringing warmups to an end. And between then and 6:45 came the true peak of arrivals.
Fifteen minutes before kickoff, Arizona Stadium was packed.
57,803 spectators.
More than ninety percent wore the Wildcats' colors. Red, navy blue, and white covered the stands beneath the intense glow of the floodlights.
But one area stood out above the rest.
In the lower stands on the east side, Arizona's student section roared without pause. More than ten thousand college students packed tightly together, jumping, shouting, and waving their arms as though the game had already begun.
ZonaZoo.
That was the name of the Wildcats' student section. An organized, loud, and proud mass, considered one of the most intense in the Pac-12.
That night, fueled by the buildup, the comments, and the desire to see the player of the moment fall, it seemed even wilder than usual.
UCLA fans, meanwhile, occupied a visiting section in the upper corner of the end zone. There were between two and three thousand of them.
From a distance, they looked like small patches of light blue lost in a sea of red.
Andrew's family was there.
All of them wore UCLA jerseys with his number.
"We made the right call not going to the tailgate," Phil commented, swallowing as he observed the loud and hostile atmosphere surrounding them.
On other trips, they had walked through opposing tailgates almost like tourists. Even in Nebraska, with one of the most loyal and passionate fan bases in the country, they had been treated with surprising courtesy. People had offered them beer, food, and conversation as though the rivalry did not matter.
Against California, there had also been jokes and comments, of course. The rivalry between UCLA and the Bears existed, but it felt more like a fight between siblings. You could walk among tents and parking lots, receive the occasional taunt, and still never feel in real danger.
Normally, when UCLA played on the road, the university organized or coordinated a specific area for fans traveling with the team. A safer section designed to gather Bruins supporters away from possible trouble.
But Phil and the others liked to explore. To walk around and see the opposing atmosphere from the inside and how each university experienced football.
This time, however, it was different.
After what Andrew had said, it was obvious that many Arizona fans were not going to look kindly on anyone dressed in light blue. Even less so with alcohol in their systems, wounded pride, and a true freshman promising that he would beat them so easily that he would spend the fourth quarter sitting on the sideline.
It was potentially dangerous.
That was why UCLA fans had been advised not to wander too far from the assigned area. Avoid provocations. Stay away from Arizona's students. Do not respond to insults.
Any spark could turn into a fight.
"Yes," Claire said, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. "They're the loudest and most hostile fans we've visited."
She had not liked Andrew's statement. It was too risky and unnecessary.
When they had talked about it over dinner on Wednesday, Andrew had merely shrugged.
"It was to add some spice to the game," he had said with an almost offensively bored expression, as though he did not understand why everyone was taking it so seriously.
As if his words had not been repeated all week on television, social media, and sports shows.
"It'll be incredible when everyone shuts up because we're winning 60–0," Luke said, laughing as he looked around the stadium.
Alex glanced at him from the corner of her eye. 'You really have a lot of faith in him…' she thought.
It was not that she did not.
She trusted Andrew. If he had said he could tear apart Arizona's defense, it was probably because he had spotted a weakness he believed he could exploit.
But winning in a blowout did not depend on him alone.
For that to happen, UCLA's defense would have to play a very good game.
And the Bruins' defense was not Stanford's or Oregon's. Much less Alabama's.
It had improved, but it still had weaknesses. Besides, they were facing a team whose greatest strength was its offense.
That was why Alex believed there was a strong chance the game would turn into a constant exchange of touchdowns. If that happened, Andrew would not be able to sit out the fourth quarter. He would have to play the entire game, and then he would not fulfill his promise.
"Why did he have to say that? It just makes me even more anxious…" Haley muttered, looking toward the field while biting her nails.
She had already complained to Andrew. Several times, in fact. But her cousin had simply told her to stop bothering him, that he had only given a realistic analysis.
Beside her, Cam nodded several times, completely agreeing.
His son had gone a little too far this time.
It reminded him of that game against Bosco, but that had been high school. There had been tension, yes. A hostile atmosphere too. But they had still been teenagers in a much smaller setting.
This was different.
Andrew was now legally an adult, playing college football on national television, with more than fifty thousand people inside a stadium waiting to see him fail.
Mitch, holding Lily in his arms, said nothing.
The little girl wore headphones to soften the noise, looking around curiously and with the certainty that her brother would not lose.
Mitch did not comment, but he looked paler than usual.
"Oh, come on, don't be such chickens!" Gloria exclaimed in her loud voice.
Then she gave Luke a hard slap on the back. "Be like Luke!"
Luke laughed and raised his fist. "Crush them!"
Manny looked at his mother with a worried expression. Was that how someone carrying a baby should be acting? But Gloria did not seem tense or stressed, which was good.
Jay, standing with his arms crossed, nodded slowly. "Andrew doesn't talk just to hear himself speak. We all know that. We just have to sit back and enjoy the show."
Claire glanced at him from the corner of her eye. 'You don't look very relaxed for someone saying that…' she thought.
She knew her father.
Jay liked that competitive side of Andrew. That pride that refused to let a provocation slide and responded as though respect had to be defended first with words and then with hits on the field.
But she also knew that behind his firm posture, there was concern.
Because Andrew was not just UCLA's quarterback.
He was his grandson.
Probably his favorite grandson, although he would never admit it out loud.
And if things went badly, Jay knew how cruel the media and rival fans would be.
On the field, Arizona's marching band entered to the rhythm of the drums. More than two hundred members advanced in formation, bringing a surge of energy to the stands.
At the same time, the cheerleaders began performing stunts along the sidelines, rising into the air amid shouts and applause, while the Wildcats' official mascots ran across the field, waving their arms and provoking the crowd.
The energy in the stands rose even higher.
The ZonaZoo students answered with a collective roar.
"Ten minutes until kickoff, Kirk!" Brent said from the booth. "The players will be coming out of the tunnels at any moment!"
In the visiting tunnel, Andrew waited for the signal to go out. As the visiting team, the Bruins would be the first to take the field.
Andrew always felt something uncomfortable in visiting tunnels, regardless of the context of the game or the level of the opponent.
They seemed like places designed for passive waiting. Dark spaces of cold concrete where the noise of the stadium reached them distorted, like a threat breathing on the other side of the wall.
He stood at the front of all his teammates, his helmet held in one hand and his eyes fixed on the exit.
This time, he would go out first. Not alongside Datone Jones, the defensive leader, or Shaq.
He had asked the two seniors before they lined up. Jones and Shaq had looked at him with some surprise at first, as though trying to figure out what he was thinking. Then, almost at the same time, they nodded.
They did not need to say anything.
They understood why.
The moment Arizona Stadium saw Andrew emerge first, the boos would come down on him with even greater force. He would not walk out hidden among the group. He would not let the noise be spread among everyone.
He would face it head-on.
Not because he wanted to act like the absolute leader. Nor because he felt the need to dramatically shoulder the responsibility for his words.
The reason was simpler.
He wanted to feel the adrenaline of having tens of thousands of people against him.
A smile formed on his face. 'This is going to be fun,' he thought, unable to help himself.
Pressure had always suited him. And that night, with all of Tucson waiting to see him fail, the pressure was not a burden.
It was fuel.
His comments, of course, had reached the coaches and his teammates.
Mora had looked at him with a certain resignation when the story exploded in the media, but he had not truly scolded him. Deep down, the head coach had liked that Andrew had defended the program's pride. They were not overrated. They were in the top seven because they had worked and earned it.
Even so, he gave him a clear warning.
Next time, he could leave out the part where he promised they would easily defeat their opponent.
Andrew understood.
He did not plan to say something like that before every game, even when he knew they were facing an inferior team. There were proper ways to speak, and there was respect. But this time was different.
It was an exception, and he had chosen to respond.
Norm Chow did not treat it as anything serious either. In fact, he did something worse.
He used it.
Throughout the entire week, every time Andrew missed a read or released the ball even slightly late, Chow reminded him with poisonous calm. If he was going to promise a nationally televised blowout, then the execution had to be perfect.
That drew more than one grimace from Andrew.
The damned old man knew how to use anything to push him a little harder.
Although, deep down, Andrew could not complain too much. Chow was obsessed with perfection.
Just like him.
The team, for its part, had reacted quite well.
The offensive line seemed even more motivated than usual. Andrus, Vadal, and the others had taken Fischer's words almost as a personal insult.
If Arizona wanted to touch their quarterback, they would have to get through them first.
Because, in a way, the Wildcats defender's comments made it sound as though the men in front of Andrew were a weakness Arizona could break through whenever it wanted.
That was false.
Andrew was one of the least-sacked quarterbacks in the entire conference. Part of that was his own doing, of course. His mobility, his pre-snap reads, and his ability to get the ball out quickly helped a great deal.
But without a good line in front of him, he would not be in that position.
Steve, Amari, Shaq, Johnathan, and Fauria were fired up as well.
But what surprised Andrew most was the defense.
It was the unit he had the least direct relationship with. He did not share as many meetings with them, did not spend as much time around their drills, and in general, their bond was built more on respect than closeness.
Even so, that week he noticed support from Jones, the linebackers, and the rest of the unit.
Throughout the season, much of the criticism surrounding UCLA had been directed at the defense. That they allowed too many points in certain games and were not on the same level as the offense.
During press conferences or postgame interviews, whenever Andrew was asked about the defense or what they needed to improve, he never criticized them. He always spoke about shared responsibility.
And when the defense played well, even if he had delivered an enormous performance himself, he always found a way to mention them.
That had earned their respect.
Now they wanted to back him up and help him keep his word.
Andrew knew he needed them. But he was confident.
He had studied the Wildcats for nearly two weeks, thanks to the bye week. He had spotted tendencies and weaknesses.
Andrew turned around and looked behind him. Everyone was wearing the white road uniform.
Steve was talking to Amari, Jordan, and the others, moving his hands intensely.
Andrew could not hear everything, but he did catch one word: revenge.
'He always takes it so seriously,' Andrew thought.
Steve was always ready to turn any comment from an opponent into a personal insult. He had already done it against Oregon State, and it was more than obvious that he would do the same against Arizona.
"This won't end well," Andrew muttered to himself.
In games like this, Steve could become dangerously provocative. And if UCLA started humiliating Arizona, if Steve also began doing what he did best and Andrew followed through with what he had planned, the atmosphere could heat up to the point of nearly becoming a physical confrontation.
Then Mora's voice cut through the tunnel. Everyone turned toward him, including Andrew.
Mora stepped forward, his gaze firm and his voice charged with intensity. "We're going to show these people what it means to face a top-ten team! Don't let them underestimate us!"
The players began to shout.
Mora raised his voice even more. "We're going to beat them down, and the entire country will see that a team that just entered the rankings is still nowhere near our level!"
The shouting grew louder, hands struck helmets, and clapping echoed against the concrete walls.
"Let's go!" Mora roared.
The signal came.
Andrew tightened his grip on his helmet, looked toward the light at the end of the tunnel, and broke into a run.
Mora ran out beside him. Behind them, the rest of the team followed, charging toward the light and the noise.
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