"This Saturday we're going to Missouri," Cam announced, circling the university's name. "To visit the Missouri Tigers."
No one liked hearing that name, but it was already decided.
"Missouri Tigers," Jay repeated, chewing on the words as if he didn't like them at all.
"Where your family lives," Claire said, looking at Cam with her brow slightly furrowed.
Cam looked at her immediately. "Hey, don't say it like it's some kind of crime."
"That's not what I mean," Claire replied, raising her hands. "I was just clarifying. I like them, I swear."
"Yeah, yeah… we all like them," Jay chimed in, though his tone didn't sound convincing at all.
He stood up and walked over to the whiteboard. Turning to face everyone, he pointed to a specific section.
"Do you know what this means?" he asked. "It means we're at a disadvantage. The Missouri Tigers are playing in the SEC next year, the most attractive conference for any football player."
Where Jay was pointing, there was a list that had been written earlier: a ranking of conferences, ordered from top to bottom.
In college football, the highest level was the FBS. Eleven conferences competed at that level in total, all in the top division. However, not all of them carried the same weight.
Of those eleven, only six really mattered: the Pac-12, Big Ten, Big 12, SEC, ACC, and Big East.
Each of those conferences had universities that competed throughout the season for the conference title. And if they had a good year, they earned a Bowl appearance.
A Bowl wasn't just a regular game. It was an official reward, a national event, and another trophy for the team. Special games played at the end of the season between the best teams in the country. Some were smaller, others, the big ones, brought prestige, exposure, and legacy.
Obviously, the better the conference, the more attention a player received and the better Bowls they could reach.
However, in the family's conference ranking, only five were listed. The Big East had been left out.
Its visibility and competitiveness at that time were poor, it had been accumulating criticism for years, and many analysts were already predicting that it would soon stop being part of that elite group. For most of the college football world, people no longer talked about six elite conferences, but five, the ones that were beginning to be known as the Power Five.
In addition to them, there were independent teams: programs that didn't belong to any conference but still competed at the highest level of college football. The most important of all was Notre Dame Fighting Irish.
Notre Dame had a unique status. It didn't depend on a conference because it negotiated its own schedule, signing agreements with the Big Ten, the Pac-12, and other leagues, and it had an exclusive television contract with NBC. Even so, it remained eligible for the BCS, as long as it appeared high enough in the national rankings.
The BCS, the Bowl Championship Series, was the system that, based on rankings and prestige, determined which teams advanced to the most important end-of-season games and, ultimately, to the national title. It wasn't perfect, but it was the hard currency of college football at the time.
Historically, Notre Dame had been an absolute powerhouse, a massive name in the history of college sports. Although its level was still high in the present, it no longer dominated the way it had in the eighties and nineties, and its performance was seen as inconsistent.
"Damn SEC teams… they want to steal my cousin," Haley muttered to herself, almost without realizing it.
"The scale is tilted in their favor," Mitch said, frowning.
The others nodded silently.
Andrew had five official visits in total. And so far, he had chosen two SEC universities and only one from the Pac-12.
That meant that, statistically, it was now more likely that Andrew would end up choosing the Georgia Bulldogs or the Missouri Tigers over the UCLA Bruins.
"Not tilted," Manny corrected, crossing his arms. "Heavily tilted."
"What do you mean, mi amor?" Gloria asked, turning toward him.
Everyone looked at him. Manny took a second before speaking, as if arranging his thoughts.
"I don't want to sound pessimistic," he began, "but our chip is UCLA."
He nodded toward the whiteboard with his chin.
"And compared to the other two, it's clearly at a disadvantage."
No one interrupted him.
"UCLA is coming off inconsistent seasons," Manny continued. "We already looked into that. Constant changes, uneven results, and a coaching staff on shaky ground."
Mitch pressed his lips together. Claire lowered her gaze.
"Georgia, on the other hand, is pure stability," Manny went on. "A solid program, a clear identity, and a real chance to be the one who takes that last step and turns the program into a winner. And Missouri is even more dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Phil repeated, looking startled.
"Yes," Manny nodded. "Like Jay said, they're joining the SEC the following year. For someone like Andrew, the idea of being the face of Missouri's first year in the SEC, leading that leap, is a very powerful narrative."
"That's true," Cam said, nodding. "And there's more. Their playbook is offensive, pass-heavy, and up-tempo. Very appealing for a quarterback. I know my son, I know what kind of football he likes. Even if it's not his absolute favorite style, it fits the way he plays."
"Exactly," Manny agreed seriously. "That's what I was thinking. I watched some footage, and they adapt pretty well to Andrew's game."
He said it naturally, but as soon as he finished the sentence, he fell silent, recalculating.
'Since when do I care so much about football?' Manny thought, a strange expression on his face.
The surprise was genuine. It wasn't that he'd turned into a fan overnight; he simply cared more than he was willing to admit about Andrew moving so far away. Manny hadn't known him as long as Haley or Alex had.
He and his mother had joined the family about four years earlier, but Andrew had been the first to make them feel like part of it from day one. And despite the four- or five-year age gap, they had always gotten along well.
"I'm sorry to tell you that that's not the only thing that makes the Tigers attractive," Alex said, adjusting her glasses.
"There's more?" Gloria asked, looking at her closely. The tone made it clear the scales seemed to be tipping even further against them.
"Yes…" Alex paused briefly before continuing. "The Missouri Tigers have never won a national championship. They were never a dynasty. They have fifteen conference titles, but most of them are old, from between 1900 and 1970. None in the Big 12. They were competitive, yes, but never champions."
Alex spoke like an unstoppable encyclopedia, but no one interrupted her. Grimaces formed one by one as the information piled up.
"They played in two Big 12 Championship Games," she continued, "in 2007 and 2008, both against Oklahoma, and they lost both. In those years they were top five nationally, but they always fell just short of the title. On top of that, they've appeared in thirty-one bowl games, with a record of thirteen wins and eighteen losses."
Anyone hearing that, knowing that Andrew had offers from virtually every top colleges in the country and from the strongest conferences, would ask the same question: why on earth would he choose that option for an official visit?
But the family already knew the answer.
Andrew didn't want to go to a dynasty. He didn't want to inherit something easy, already built, or at least not a program that was already winning everything. If he was going to do it, he preferred a sleeping giant: one with ups and downs, with history, but that could make that leap with him at the helm.
"And these guys want to go to the SEC?" Haley said incredulously. "How the hell do they plan to win the toughest conference of all if they couldn't even win their own?"
"A lot of people think that way," Alex replied, "but I'd guess the move was more about long-term stability, money, and national visibility."
"Not about winning?" Gloria said, frowning. "Then that mindset doesn't fit Andresito."
"That's true," Claire cut in, "but I don't think they don't want to win. It's more that they have a compete-and-grow mentality. They don't expect to dominate right away."
"But," Phil added, joining the conversation, "with Andrew they could speed that whole process up."
"But fast enough for it to useful to Andrew?" Manny asked, bringing a hand to his chin.
"What do you mean?" Haley asked.
"Andrew is going to play three or four years at most in college. His time is limited. It's a disadvantage to go to a team that still needs to grow, especially in an environment as hostile as the SEC."
"That's it!" Phil exclaimed, snapping his fingers and pointing at Manny. "A clear disadvantage for Missouri."
Jay nodded, satisfied with the analysis, and wrote it on the board. It was the first real drawback that appeared next to Missouri's name.
"But it's not that big a deal," Haley said, shrugging. "Andrew can win in three years."
She said it with the natural ease of someone stating something obvious, almost inevitable. And it wasn't strange: for her, as for many others, Andrew was already considered the best high school prospect in history, and he hadn't even finished his senior year yet.
Why couldn't he dominate the SEC?
He had more than enough talent and time, at least three years, which was no small thing.
Jay looked at her with a frown. It wasn't anger, it was that classic, unmistakable expression of his. "Don't oversimplify things, Haley. Winning the SEC isn't easy," he said, leaning forward slightly.
"And look, I agree with you on one thing: Andrew can win the SEC. The problem isn't him. The problem is where he chooses to do it," he added, lightly tapping the board with the marker, right next to Missouri's name, before continuing:
"If he decides to try it with a team like Missouri, that's a real disadvantage. Not because they lack foundations, or because they can't grow. But they're new to the conference. They're a mid-table program that still has to adapt. Everything will cost more, and it will be much riskier if he wants to win major titles."
He fell silent for a moment.
"Honestly…" he added, "I don't know if he could pull it off there. Maybe in his final year. And I'm not saying that because I doubt his talent. I'm saying it because the SEC waits for no one."
Gloria looked at him closely. "And what if he goes to one of the big programs?" she asked.
Jay nodded, as if the answer were obvious. "If Andrew went to one of the SEC titans, he would win the conference. No doubt about it. The path is already laid out there. The team, the culture, everything is ready."
The sentence hung in the air. No one needed to say the obvious. Andrew wasn't going to go there, not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to go to an already established dynasty.
"We shouldn't put Andrew on a pedestal and assume that wherever he goes, he'll automatically win everything," Jay concluded firmly. "This is football. He's a different kind of player, yes, but he can't win by himself."
Haley nodded immediately. "That's true," she said. "Well, that confirms that Missouri does have a real disadvantage."
She smiled, because that was good news for them.
Phil, however, frowned. There was something unusual in his tone when he spoke, not his usual enthusiasm, but genuine doubt. "But by that logic…" he said, "wouldn't it be the same with UCLA? How long has it been since they competed for anything? When was the last time they won a conference title?"
Alex didn't hesitate for a second. "1998. That was their last conference title. And their last major bowl was the 1999 Rose Bowl, which they won."
She adjusted her glasses and continued. "Historically, UCLA has a much stronger résumé than Missouri: more conference titles, more appearances in major bowls, and more significant achievements in relatively more recent eras. Now…" she paused, "their present is worse. They're coming off several very weak years, unable to take off, with a lot of instability. Missouri, on the other hand, has stayed competitive and grown over the last ten years."
"But," Mitch interjected, raising a finger, "UCLA isn't in the SEC."
Everyone looked at him.
"That wouldn't be a disadvantage at the start. There aren't as many dominant teams. The transition and the transformation could be much more gradual and orderly."
Jay nodded slowly. "That's true. In the Pac-12 there aren't that many giants. There are very good teams right now, like Oregon, Stanford, and USC, of course, but none of them are currently at the monster level of Alabama or LSU. It's not the same war."
The silence that followed was thoughtful.
It made sense that Andrew would take all of that into account. And if he wasn't considering it with the necessary cold logic, then it was up to them to tell him.
Not because they doubted, but because it would be bad for him to believe too much in himself and let that lead him to the wrong decisions, though, given his character, they doubted his ego would cloud his judgment.
Ideally, he would choose a program where he could build a winning era without burning out in the process, without confusing conviction with recklessness. Going to the SEC with a program like Missouri could end up being exactly that: a premature gamble.
Not due to a lack of foundations or potential, but because the context might demand more time than Andrew was willing, or able, to give.
Of course, nothing was decided yet.
In two days, they would travel to Missouri. There, they would hear the full plan, see how the staff envisioned the program's future, and what role Andrew would have within that project. Maybe that vision would change things. Maybe it would prove that, with him, timelines could be shortened and goals raised.
But there was also another possibility: that Missouri's objectives weren't truly aligned with Andrew's, that their ambition was more cautious, more gradual, and geared toward the long term.
And if that mismatch became evident, everyone gathered there knew that Andrew would rule out Missouri without hesitation.
"That's great! UCLA isn't left so far behind," Phil said with a smile.
And it wasn't an exaggerated reaction. Until just a moment earlier, with the previous arguments, Missouri seemed to fit Andrew almost perfectly. But with this new logic on the table, the scales no longer tipped so heavily toward Missouri and no longer left UCLA behind.
In terms of projection, Missouri had something very tempting: the possibility of Andrew being the face of a new era, the visible symbol of the program as it entered the SEC. A powerful narrative. But UCLA was by no means far behind.
They were in Los Angeles, the second-largest media market in America. National television, sponsors, and constant press exposure. The Pac-12, moreover, was relatively new: a conference still building its identity, without the absolute dominators imposed by the SEC. And above all, there was the Rose Bowl Game, the most prestigious and iconic bowl in college football, second only to the national championship.
It was true that the program had been dormant for years. It had been a long time since they'd won a conference title or a major bowl. But they had resources, enough history to carry weight, and a massive market that amplified any success. And unlike Missouri, UCLA wasn't entering a ruthless conference as a mid-tier program trying to survive from day one.
It wasn't, by any stretch, the easiest path. The challenge was still enormous. The coaching staff was on shaky ground, institutional stability was fragile, and the margin for error was minimal.
But even with all that, the scenario seemed more conducive to an immediate, or at least near-immediate, impact. The Pac-12 offered less hostile ground.
It wasn't a safe bet. But compared to Missouri, it did seem like a bet more aligned with Andrew's timeline and ambitions.
"Yes," Claire said more calmly, arms crossed, "but there's one advantage for Missouri we haven't written down."
"Which one?" Gloria asked.
"The Tuckers."
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