"The previous tactical failure was entirely my error in judgment. I instruct you to disregard it and reboot your focus..."
During the timeout, Coach Cotton took full responsibility for the earlier debacle.
He was attempting a psychological reset for his team by absorbing the blame. The defensive error had been so rudimentary, so humiliating, that it had undoubtedly dealt a critical hit to the players' confidence and morale.
If handled poorly, this kind of catastrophic system failure could permanently damage the St. Mary's football program's reputation.
Objectively, Cotton's strategy was flawed, but the players who executed it so poorly shared the statistical burden of the failure.
Despite Cotton's best efforts to stabilize the situation, the players' expressions remained grim.
The mocking laughter from the crowd seemed to be crushing these young athletes. Their faces displayed a mix of confusion, self-blame, and anger—a complex emotional algorithm they couldn't quite process.
Seeing his team in this state, Coach Cotton felt a deep sense of fatigue.
He considered himself a competent coach, yet throughout this game, he felt as though he was being intellectually checkmated at every turn by the opposing coach.
For a veteran leader, this vague sense of inferiority was deeply uncomfortable.
"For the remainder of the game, we are reverting to the standard Birdcage defense. However, if the variables align, I still strongly suggest you allocate extra processing power to Number 23..."
As the one-minute timeout concluded, Coach Cotton suppressed his internal doubts and issued the new directives.
It was clear that he had retreated to a much more conservative algorithm.
"Big Mike! Do it! You are statistically the best player on the field!!"
As the St. Mary's team took the field again, little SJ, holding his DSLR camera on the sidelines, shouted at the top of his lungs.
Big Mike, who had been looking dejected, heard the little guy's cheer. He turned his head and flashed a goofy, simple smile.
When he turned back to face the field, his eyes were once again filled with determination.
---
For the remainder of the fourth quarter, the St. Mary's players—still stinging from becoming a laughingstock—played timidly on both offense and defense.
Consequently, the team suffered a cascade of minor errors.
On the other side, Medford, led by Mike, was operating at peak efficiency.
Anyone could see the momentum shift was polarizing the two teams.
As time ticked down, Medford's aggressive offense continued to widen the point differential.
Driven by this overwhelming trend, most of the St. Mary's players essentially ceased effective resistance.
However, amidst the sea of players who had given up, Big Mike was an outlier.
He continued to execute his instructions silently and diligently. Even though Mike knocked him down time and time again in the final minutes, Big Mike got back up every single time, resolutely sticking to the coach's parameters.
Clearly, the gentle giant had not terminated his efforts.
"St. Mary's isn't entirely composed of incompetent units..."
"Yeah, that big guy actually has decent specs..."
---
Infected by Big Mike's unwavering resilience, the audience's chatter shifted from mockery to respect. The jeering at St. Mary's noticeably decreased.
Similarly, Big Mike's performance was observed by his teammates.
First came confusion, then came admiration...
Finally, the St. Mary's players seemed to catch the virus of Big Mike's determination. One by one, they spontaneously re-engaged with the game.
Having ridden the emotional roller coaster and found their resolve, the St. Mary's team seemed to undergo a qualitative upgrade in spirit.
Unfortunately, they were up against Mike, who was currently executing the "Star Player" protocol.
Operating without constraints, Mike continued to effortlessly breach their end zone, regardless of their renewed morale.
---
Amidst the thunderous cheers of the crowd, Mike once again bulldozed through several defenders and crossed into the end zone.
TWEET—
The final whistle blew.
57 : 39
Medford had secured victory with a statistically significant margin.
The stadium instantly transformed into a sea of celebration.
People threw hats and cups into the air, punched the sky in triumph, or embraced their friends.
On the field, Mike, the architect of the victory, held the football and waved gently to the crowd screaming his name.
Being the center of attention... the sensation was within acceptable parameters. It was actually quite pleasant.
While basking in the adulation, Mike noticed out of his peripheral vision that the giant he had just flattened in the end zone hadn't gotten up yet.
"Excuse me, giant individual. Is your structural integrity intact?" Mike walked over to check on him.
Internally, he was calculating whether he had misjudged the force vector and caused actual damage.
"I'm okay..." Big Mike caught his breath and climbed to his feet. He looked at Mike and said earnestly, "You... are strong."
Big Mike seemed genuinely impressed by Mike's power, but being a man of few words, he couldn't formulate a more complex compliment.
"Your performance was also adequate. I project a positive trajectory for your future..." Mike smiled politely.
He had a favorable impression of this giant.
Before they could exchange more data, the Medford team arrived. Led by Little George and Captain Aaron, they excitedly hoisted Mike into the air.
They paraded him around the field, allowing him to receive a new wave of cheers from the audience.
---
After the celebration, as Mike was escorted to the sidelines by his teammates, Jack squeezed through the crowd with two TV cameramen in tow.
"Mike! Do you remember me?" Compared to his disheveled appearance last year, Jack was now wearing a tie and looked much more professional.
"Of course, Jack. Congratulations on your promotion to Team Leader," Mike greeted him familiarly.
Since their profitable cooperation last year, they had maintained contact via telephone.
"Oh, it's nothing, just a small team leader position..." Jack tried to be humble, but the smug smile on his face was impossible to hide.
Although he was only a leader in the sports reporting division, technically, he had entered the management tier.
"Anyway, enough about that." Jack stopped the humble-brag and got to business. "I want to take some photos of you."
"For a promotional poster?" Mike asked as he fixed his hair.
"No, we can discuss posters later," Jack explained. "I'm preparing a special feature segment on you. I need fresh visuals."
Last year, Jack had bet his career on Mike, and it had paid off, securing his status at the TV station.
As a return on investment, he planned to boost Mike's fame further.
Of course, as an adult operating in a capitalist system, Jack had his own motives. If he successfully turned Mike into a household name, his own position at the station would likely advance again.
Essentially, Jack was doubling down on his investment in Mike.
"I see. Proceed," Mike didn't dislike the concept of fame, so he cooperated and struck a dashing pose.
Jack directed his crew to set up the cameras and snapped several sets of photos.
"Tsk, tsk..." Jack marveled at the images on the viewfinder. "Trust me, you're going to be a Texas football star very soon..."
Actually, Jack left one thought unspoken. He believed Mike was better suited for Hollywood. With that face, he could easily capture the demographic of teenage girls without any effort.
"I accept your hypothesis," Mike said. Having finished the photoshoot, he turned to walk toward Lena and the others.
"Wait, Mike..." Jack lowered his voice. "Do you see those men in the baseball caps over there? They are scouts from various universities. If you intend to pursue a career in football, you need to maintain high performance in the upcoming invitational games..."
The Spring High School Invitational was essentially another "March Madness." University scouts used this opportunity to observe potential recruits.
By the time graduation season rolled around in June, these scouts would be offering scholarships to the players they had identified.
"Thank you for the data," Mike glanced at the scouts in the crowd but didn't assign them much importance.
For one, he was only in eleventh grade; graduation was not imminent.
And secondly, he had never calculated sports as his primary vector for entering university.