Date: October 31, 1987.
Middle School Record: 6-0.
The month of October dissolved into a blur of bus rides, ice packs, and tape.
After the Lufkin game (Week 4), the Middle School schedule had softened up. We played Tyler (Week 5) and Marshall (Week 6). Neither of them was Odessa. Neither of them had a linebacker who could hit like a truck.
We won both games by double digits.
To the outside world, the "Medford Middle School Mustangs" were a juggernaut. We were 6-0. The "King Slayer" hype was at an all-time high.
But inside the house, the reality was different.
I walked through the front door at 5:15 PM on Halloween night, dropping my gym bag with a heavy thud.
"I'm home," I groaned.
The house was tense. It smelled of cigarette smoke and stress.
George Sr. was sitting at the kitchen table. He wasn't watching TV. He was buried under a mountain of reel-to-reel film canisters and scouting reports stamped HIGHLAND PARK HIGH SCHOOL.
"Hey," he grunted, not looking up. "Keep it down, Georgie. I'm trying to figure out this blitz package."
I walked over. He looked terrible. His eyes were red.
"Tough week?" I asked.
"Highland Park," George Sr. muttered, tapping a diagram. "They're undefeated. Best Varsity team in the state. If my boys can't stop their run game on Friday, the boosters are gonna have my head on a pike."
He looked at me, realizing he was venting to a twelve-year-old.
"How was your practice?" he asked, rubbing his neck. "Coach Wilkins working you hard?"
"Gassers," I said. "And we installed the screen pass for next week."
"Good," George nodded absently, his eyes drifting back to the Varsity scouting report. "Listen, your mom is... she's having a time. I promised I'd take the twins out tonight, but I can't. I gotta crack this defense."
I looked at the living room.
It was chaos.
"I will not be a cowboy!" Sheldon screamed, standing on the coffee table. "Cowboys are historically inaccurate representations of law enforcement! I want to be Carl Sagan!"
"Nobody knows who Carl Sagan is, Sheldon!" Mary shouted back, looking frantic. She was holding a plastic cowboy hat in one hand and a spatula in the other. "Just put on the chaps!"
"I refuse! It is undignified!"
Missy was spinning in circles in the hallway, dressed as Cyndi Lauper. "Georgie! Look! Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!"
She tripped over my gym bag, recovered, and kept spinning.
I looked at Mary. She had bags under her eyes. She was trying to cook dinner, manage Sheldon's meltdown, and get them ready for Trick-or-Treating, all while George Sr. was fighting for his career in the kitchen.
*The Family Mission,* the System whispered.
In the old timeline, this is where the cracks started. George buried himself in work to escape the stress. Mary felt abandoned. The kids ran wild.
I looked at my dad. He looked guilty. He wanted to be a good dad, but the job was crushing him.
I grabbed the cowboy hat from Mary's hand.
"I'll take 'em," I said.
The room went quiet.
George looked up from his Varsity papers. "Son, you don't have to. You're tired. You played a game two days ago."
"I'm fine," I said, my voice firm. "Active recovery. Walking is good for the soreness. You focus on Highland Park. Beat 'em for us."
Mary looked at me, her shoulders dropping about three inches in relief. "You... you sure? You're limping a little."
I turned to Sheldon. I knelt down so I was eye-level with him.
"Shelly," I said. "Put on the blazer. Be Carl Sagan. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're a famous scientist."
Sheldon's eyes widened. "You will validate my choice?"
"Yeah. Just don't lecture people if they give you candy corn. Just say thank you."
"Acceptable," Sheldon nodded, hopping off the table. "I shall retrieve my specimen bag."
***
King Slayer on Patrol
Thirty minutes later, we were walking down the street.
The air was crisp. The smell of burning leaves and sugar filled the neighborhood.
I walked in the middle. To my left, Cyndi Lauper (Missy) was skipping. To my right, Carl Sagan (Sheldon) was walking with his hands clasped behind his back.
My knee hurt with every step, but I pushed the pain to the back of my mind.
"Georgie?" Missy asked, grabbing my hand.
"Yeah, Miss?"
"Why aren't you wearing a costume?"
I looked down at my Medford Football letterman jacket. I had earned it two weeks ago.
"I am wearing a costume," I grinned. "I'm a tired football player."
Missy giggled. "That's not a costume. That's just you."
We hit the rich neighborhood—the one near the park where they gave out full-size Snickers.
"Hey! Look at the nerd!"
I stiffened.
Three older kids—freshmen from the High School—were sitting on a park bench. They weren't wearing costumes. They were just looking for trouble. One of them, a kid with a rat-tail haircut, stood up and blocked Sheldon's path.
"Nice blazer, dork," the kid sneered. "Who are you? A tiny tax collector?"
Sheldon froze, clutching his pillowcase. "I am Carl Sagan. A renowned astro—"
"Gimme the bag," the kid said, reaching out.
Missy stepped forward, fierce as a badger. "Leave him alone!"
"Shut up, pipsqueak," the kid shoved Missy back.
That was it.
I stepped out of the shadows of the oak tree.
I wasn't huge—I was still 5'6"—but six weeks in the Dungeon with George Sr. had changed me. My neck was thicker. My shoulders filled out the jacket. And I had the look.
The look of a guy who had been hit by linebackers for six weeks straight.
"You touch her again," I said, my voice low, "and you're gonna be eating through a straw."
The bully spun around, fists raised. "Who do you think—"
He stopped.
The streetlight hit the "M" on my jacket. He saw the face that had been on the front page of the local paper every Sunday for a month.
"Wait," his friend whispered. "That's Cooper."
"The Middle School QB?" the rat-tail kid laughed. "He's twelve."
"He's the one who knocked out that kid from Odessa," the friend hissed. "The King Slayer. And his dad is the Varsity Coach."
The bully hesitated. Messing with the Varsity Coach's son in a football town was a bad career move if you ever wanted to play sports.
"We were just joking," the kid mumbled, backing away.
"Walk," I said.
They walked. Fast.
I turned back to the twins. Sheldon was staring at me, calculating the odds of what just happened. Missy looked like she wanted to high-five me.
"Are you okay?" I asked, checking Missy.
"That was awesome!" Missy squealed. "You used the 'Dad Voice'!"
"Let's get the candy," I said, ruffling Sheldon's hair. "Come on, Carl."
***
The Film Room
We got home at 8:30 PM. The twins were sugar-drunk and happy. Mary was asleep in the recliner.
I carried the candy bags into the kitchen.
George Sr. was still at the table. The beer was empty. The ashtray was full. He was staring at the Highland Park defensive diagram, rubbing his eyes. He looked defeated.
"They have a good time?" George asked, his voice rough.
"Yeah. Sheldon got a lot of Milky Ways."
George nodded. He looked at me. "Thanks, son. I owe you one."
I looked at the diagram on the table. It was the Varsity scouting report. It was way more complex than anything we saw in Middle School.
"Is that the 'Fire Zone' blitz?" I asked, pointing at a looping line on the paper.
George Sr. looked at me, surprised. "You know what a Fire Zone is?"
"I read about it," I said. (In my past life, I watched NFL Sundays religiously). "Linebacker shows A-gap, then loops outside to confuse the tackle."
George Sr. sat up straighter. He looked at the paper, then at me.
"Yeah," he said softly. "That's exactly what it is. And my Varsity tackles are biting on the fake every time."
I pulled out a chair. "Slide protection right? Keep the running back in to block the loop?"
George looked at me for a long second. He wasn't looking at me like a Middle School kid anymore. He was looking at me like another coach.
"Grab a chair," George said, sliding the Varsity scouting report toward me. "Let me show you how Highland Park disguises it. You won't see this in Middle School, but if you want to play for me next year, you need to know it."
We sat there for another hour.
He wasn't coaching my team. He was teaching me his game. He was showing me the level I needed to reach.
The house was quiet. The twins were safe. Mary was resting.
I was tired. I was sore. But as I sat there, breaking down Varsity film with my dad, I knew I was where I belonged.
[Quest Complete: The Balancing Act]
* Football IQ: +1 (Varsity Level Knowledge).
* Family Stability: +5.
* Relationship: George Sr. sees you as a peer.
"One more play," George said.
"One more," I agreed.