Date: September 30, 1989 (Saturday Morning).
Location: The Cooper Household / The Diner.
Event: The Morning After the Big Win.
Winning a football game feels great for the soul. It feels terrible for the body.
I woke up on Saturday morning feeling like I had been dropped out of a moving car. My left knee (the landing knee from the hurdle) was swollen to the size of a grapefruit. My ribs—courtesy of the Highland Park linebacker—were a kaleidoscope of purple and yellow bruises.
I lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling fan.
Durability 60.
In my past life, as Michael, a hit like that would have put me in physical therapy for six months. In this body, it was just "soreness." But it was a reminder: I wasn't Superman. I was a 14-year-old boy playing a man's game, and the check had just come due.
I rolled out of bed, grunting as my hip popped. I hobbled into the kitchen. The house was quiet. George Sr. was still asleep (probably dreaming of job security and un-slashed tires).
Meemaw was at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and counting a stack of cash. She looked like a mob boss in a floral bathrobe.
"Morning, Sunshine," she grinned, flicking a twenty-dollar bill. "You limp like an old man."
"I feel like an old man," I groaned, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and pressing it to my knee. "Did you rob a bank?"
"Better," Meemaw said, stuffing the cash into her purse. "I robbed Mr. Henderson from the hardware store. He gave me 2-to-1 odds on Highland Park covering the spread. Idiot thought because they had shiny helmets they were invincible."
She stood up and grabbed her car keys.
"Get dressed. I'm buying you steak and eggs. Winners eat steak. And I need a bodyguard in case Henderson tries to get his money back."
***
The Victory Lap
Walking into the diner on a Saturday morning after beating Highland Park was an experience.
In Medford, football wasn't just entertainment; it was the town's mood regulator. When the Wolves lost, the coffee tasted burnt and the tips were low. When the Wolves won—especially against rich snobs like Highland Park—the town felt like it was high on helium.
As soon as the door chimed, heads turned.
"There he is!" Old Man Gil shouted from the counter, waving a fork. "The Hurdler!"
People clapped. Actual applause. It was surreal. A waitress I didn't even know poured me a coffee before I sat down.
"On the house, sugar," she winked. "My husband won fifty bucks on the game. He's actually taking me to the movies tonight."
"See?" Meemaw said, sliding into the booth opposite me. "You're a local economy stimulator. You're basically keeping this town's marriages together."
I ordered the steak and eggs. I needed the protein. My body was screaming for calories.
As I ate, I looked out the window. A silver Mercedes drove past—probably a Highland Park parent heading back to civilization. They were gone. The circus had left town. But they had left a mark.
"So," Meemaw said, stealing a piece of my toast and eyeing me suspiciously. "What's the deal with the blonde girl?"
I choked on my eggs. "What blonde girl?"
"The one in the VIP box," Meemaw said, eyes twinkling dangerously. "I saw you salute her. And don't lie to me, Georgie. I have eyes like a hawk when money or gossip is involved. Who is she? A scout?"
I wiped my mouth. I had to be careful here.
"She's the stepdaughter of the Highland Park booster," I said. "We met at the dinner. She hates her stepdad. We bonded over... mutual annoyance."
"Uh-huh," Meemaw smirked. "A Romeo and Juliet situation. Very dramatic."
She leaned in, her voice dropping.
"Just be careful, Moonpie Number Two. Rich girls are like high-interest loans. They look good at first, but the hidden fees will kill you. And their mothers are usually sharks."
I groaned. "Don't call me that."
"Win State, and I'll consider retiring the nickname," she winked. "But until then, you're just the backup favorite."
***
Monday Morning: The Status Shift
If Saturday was the Victory Lap, Monday was the Coronation.
I walked into school wearing my letterman jacket. The hallway parted. The same kids who used to ignore Georgie Cooper were now nodding at me. Even the teachers seemed to smile more.
Kyle Stevens walked up to me. He wasn't sulking anymore. The tension from the "Audible Incident" was gone.
"My dad is still talking about the game," Kyle laughed, shaking his head. "He thinks you're a genius. He actually asked me if I'm taking notes from you in practice. It's annoying, but... better than him yelling."
"Just tell him we're a team, Kyle," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "He's happy, the team's happy. Let's keep it that way."
I got to my locker.
Veronica was leaning against it. She was wearing her leather jacket, looking unimpressed by the hero worship happening around us.
"Nice limp," she noted.
"Battle scars," I said, opening my locker. "You catch the game?"
"I heard about it," she shrugged. "Apparently you jumped over a guy. People are calling you 'Air Cooper.' It's incredibly stupid."
"It won the game," I defended.
"You could have broken your neck," she pointed out, popping her gum. "Then who would buy me burgers? Dead quarterbacks don't have disposable income."
She handed me a piece of paper.
"Spanish homework," she said. "I corrected your participles. You still confuse ser and estar. Ser is permanent. Estar is temporary. You are a boy (Ser). You are an idiot (Estar... hopefully)."
I took the paper. In the midst of everyone telling me I was a god, Veronica was the only one reminding me I was still a student who sucked at Spanish.
It was grounding. I liked it.
"Thanks, Coach," I said.
***
The Cliffhanger: The Geller Problem
I got home that afternoon, ready to ice my knee and watch tape on next week's opponent (Lufkin High—big, fast, mean).
But the atmosphere in the house was... frantic.
Mary was cleaning. And not just normal cleaning. This was Panic Cleaning. She was scrubbing the baseboards with a toothbrush.
"Mom?" I asked. "What's happening? Is the Pope coming?"
"Worse," Mary gasped, looking wild-eyed. "My cousin Judy is coming."
I paused. Judy?
My brain accessed the Friends database. Judy Geller. Mary's cousin. Mother of Ross and Monica. Critical, high-strung, and obsessed with perfection.
"Why?" I asked. "I've never met a Cousin Judy."
Meemaw walked in from the living room, holding a beer. She looked annoyed.
"Because I banned her from the state of Texas in 1978," Meemaw announced. "Two years before you were born."
"You banned her?" I asked.
"Damn straight," Meemaw grumbled. "That woman came to visit, sat at my table, and told me my brisket was 'dry.' Nobody insults my brisket and sleeps under my roof. We haven't spoken since."
"Then why is she coming now?" I looked at Mary.
Mary stopped scrubbing. She looked guilty.
"I... I invited them," Mary admitted.
"You what?!" Meemaw yelled.
"I couldn't help it!" Mary cried. "I got a letter from her yesterday. The 'Geller Family Update.' It was three pages of her bragging about her life in Long Island! And I... well, I called her."
Sheldon walked into the room, holding a cream-colored piece of stationery.
"It is a statistically improbable amount of bragging," Sheldon noted, reading the letter. "According to this missive, her son Ross is a collegiate student of Paleontology."
"A dinosaur nerd," George Sr. grunted from the recliner.
"And apparently," Sheldon continued, "he has published a paper on the Cretaceous period. I look forward to meeting him. I have several questions regarding his methodology. And by questions, I mean corrections."
"And the daughter, Monica," Mary continued, scrubbing faster. "She's a senior in high school. Judy says she's 'Top of her Home Economics class' and keeps a cleaner house than I do."
Mary slumped onto the floor.
"I snapped, George! She made me feel like a hillbilly! So I told her about Georgie winning the big game, and how we're 'Local Royalty' now. And I told her to come see for herself."
She looked up with wide, terrified eyes.
"And she said yes."
Meemaw took a sip of her beer.
"Well, Mary, you dug this grave," Meemaw said. "Now we all have to lie in it. But if Judy mentions my brisket again, I'm putting a cigarette out in her potato salad."
I leaned back against the counter.
Highland Park was a physical war. But this?
The Gellers coming to Medford because Mary wanted to flex her new social status? Sheldon armed with a letter full of data he wanted to disprove?
This was going to be a Sitcom War.
[Quest Complete: Recovery]
* Health: 85% (Knee Soreness).
* Social Status: King of Medford.
[New Quest: Survive Thanksgiving]
* The Enemy: The Geller Family (Long Island Division).
* Intel Source: The "Geller Family Update" Letter.
* Objective: Keep Mary from having a nervous breakdown.
* Secondary Objective: Prevent Sheldon from making Ross cry.