Thursday, October 16, 2010
Andrew came home after practice at Mater Dei. It hadn't been just any practice: the staff had set up an intense session of film study, tactical review, and corrections, along with the usual physical field work.
Tomorrow, Friday, everything would be decided. Mater Dei vs. Servite. Both with a 4–0 record in league. The Trinity League title would come down to that game.
The stage was Santa Ana Stadium, Mater Dei's home turf. Capacity: nine thousand. Since September, there hadn't been a single game that wasn't at full capacity. The difference now was monumental: not only would it be a packed stadium, but once again ESPN would broadcast it live nationwide.
It was an anomaly. A league game, nationally televised two weeks in a row. That just didn't happen. Not even for historic programs. But after Mater Dei vs. Bosco, there was no argument: 1.3 million viewers, the most-watched high school football game in TV history.
Andrew was still processing it. He knew he had a strong YouTube fandom, sure, but he never imagined he'd break through that kind of ceiling. Neither he nor anyone else. They had outdrawn historic interstate matchups.
The days after the win over Bosco had been a whirlwind. Front pages in sports papers, mentions on TV shows, debates about the record-breaking audience. People openly said the ratings matched a mid-tier college game. For high school? Madness.
It wasn't just his online community. That was an important factor, of course, but there were other key elements too:
His "promise" of delivering a beatdown, though more than a promise, it had been him speaking out loud.
That statement created massive hype.
His season so far was historic: 23 TDs in 5 games, with just 1 interception, not even against Trinity League rivals.
Then the 7 touchdowns that fulfilled those words in spades.
On top of that, the gesture toward John, the mute subscriber, which erased any aura of arrogance and suddenly turned him into a "saint" for many.
On Twitter, he had been trending for days. The most repeated nickname: "Jesus Christ of high school football." Andrew didn't know whether to laugh or to track down the guy who invented it and punch him.
Monday had been torture. It was already tough enough to move through Mater Dei's halls without constant greetings, handshakes, or stares. But after that game, it was triple. He got greeted in class, in the hall, even in the bathroom. Everything was expectation, everything was hype for Friday's clash with Servite.
'Damn ESPN, they see me like a cow to milk,' Andrew thought irritably as he dropped into the chair at his desk. But he couldn't deny it wasn't exactly bad for him either.
He powered on his PC and opened YouTube. Straight to his channel. The latest video, edited with Howard and Leonard, glowed on the screen:
📺 HISTORIC GAME vs BOSCO: 7 TD — PROMISE FULFILLED (Trinity League Wk4)
👤 Andrew Pritchett-Tucker
📌 3,050,331 subscribers
👁️ 4,000,019 views | ⏳ Published 6 days ago
💬 79,489 comments
Andrew leaned back, stunned. "Four million views… and three million subs," he murmured.
On October 4th, before the ESPNU interview, he had barely 2.3 million. In just twelve days, he had gained more than 750,000 new subs. Insane.
It all spun out of control on Tuesday the 7th, when the interview aired. That same day, the national Bosco broadcast was announced, and from there it was dominoes falling: media hype, clips spreading on social networks, forums full of debates, newspapers hyping the narrative. And after delivering with a 7 TD game, the machine fed itself.
His channel was growing at a record pace. Nobody on YouTube had seen anything like it. Not nigahiga, not Fred, not Smosh had ever seen such a surge in so little time. Andrew had climbed back into the world's top 2 YouTube channels, sitting just behind nigahiga (3.15M). He was inches away from becoming the most-subscribed channel on the planet.
As for ESPN wanting to milk his image, he didn't mind so much. After all, he was profiting too. It wasn't like the NCAA, which cashed in on players while sanctioning them if they earned even a single cent.
Here, thanks to YouTube, he could make money off his videos legally, with his parents' permission, since he was still underage.
As part of the YouTube Partner Program, Andrew knew the numbers well. With 4 million views, that single video alone would generate between $5,000 and $6,500.
Running the math more precisely:
Average global CPM in 2010 → $0.50–$1.50
CPM in the U.S. and sports → $2.00–$3.00
If he took a midpoint of $2.50:
4,000,000 ÷ 1,000 = 4,000 × $2.5 = $10,000.
From that, YouTube kept 45%. Andrew took home 55%. Net: $5,500 in less than a week. And the video had only been up for six days.
He had edited it Friday night after the game, together with Howard and Leonard. They stayed up late, fueled by Red Bulls and junk food (their monthly "cheat"), processing hours of footage: highlights, crowd reactions, fan interviews from both sides, even behind-the-scenes clips.
On top of that, Andrew had logged his diet, workouts, and thoughts throughout the week leading up to the game. All of it wrapped in that cinematic style that was already his channel's trademark.
And this was only part of his earnings. Andrew uploaded two to three videos a week. By then he was already making more money than his father, Mitchell, a lawyer.
The game videos, which lasted more than ten minutes and included pre-game footage, training, prep, atmosphere, then the game itself, were his biggest hits, pulling in between 1.5M and 2.5M views.
Then came the training, diet, and fitness videos: 800k to 1.2M.
And then lighter vlogs, easier to shoot: 400k to 800k.
Finally, if he uploaded a special video, a fun challenge, something with friends, it could go viral, reaching numbers similar to the game videos or more. But lately, he hadn't had the time; those took more work.
Before the Bosco phenomenon, his weekly average was 4 to 4.5M views, which translated into about $6,200 per week, close to $25,000 a month. An astronomical figure for a guy his age, and even for an adult. Mitchell, with years of experience as a lawyer, might earn around $10k a month.
And that didn't even include sponsorships, which he landed once a month for another $5k–$10k. In total: $35k a month.
His prized Camaro had cost him $22,000. Now he was making more than that in a single month.
But the Bosco video had shattered all the records. That week alone was going to double his average. With the hype leading into Servite and the thousands of new subscribers pouring in daily, he was on the verge of entering another dimension of audience and earnings.
Andrew was seizing the moment. He knew that once he got to college, the door would slam shut: he wouldn't be allowed to monetize his image. No YouTube, no sponsorships, nothing. That was how NCAA rules worked.
That's why he had to make the most of these two years. Of course, without compromising his training or his level on the field. Football came first. And one thing he was sure of: he would never sacrifice quality for quantity. No half-baked edits, no empty uploads just to rack up views.
His formula would remain the same: epic, polished, cinematic videos, and in between, workouts, diet routines, motivation, and analysis for his community. That was more than enough.
'If I keep this up, by the time I enter college I'll have… over half a million dollars?' he thought, swallowing hard.
The figure seemed unreal. More money than he could possibly spend, especially since he wasn't the wasteful type. And that didn't even count his untouched Bitcoin investment.
He had tried to revive his gaming channel on the side, as a backup plan for the years when the NCAA would block him from monetizing. But it turned out impossible: school, practices, games, and social life left no space. In his scarce free time, he preferred hanging out with friends or playing in peace, without the obligation to record and edit.
Besides, in college he wouldn't have financial worries. A scholarship would cover all essentials. And with the money he was piling up now, he'd have a more than comfortable cushion.
The only thing that truly bothered him was the hypocrisy of the system: the NCAA stuffing its pockets while players were left with nothing. That sense of injustice was what, at the start, had motivated him to "squeeze" high school for everything it was worth.
But now that didn't matter as much anymore. What mattered was continuing to create quality content, something entertaining that could also support his community.
Tomorrow would be the Trinity League final, the game that would crown the champion. Mater Dei or Servite. The whole country would be watching, waiting for the outcome and the coronation. If he managed to win and lift the trophy, beyond the sporting glory, it was very likely his channel would finally surpass nigahiga and take the long-coveted number one spot.
Andrew shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He had to focus on the present. He glanced at the time on his computer: 5:35 p.m. Practice had ended a little earlier, courtesy of Bruce, who had decided to give them a breather before the big day.
'In about fifteen minutes, Willa will be here…' Andrew thought as he got to his feet.
He still had time for a quick shower and to prepare the protein shake he had left pending.
Willa was coming over with the mission of giving him acting lessons. Halloween was right around the corner, and Andrew, locked in his eternal prank rivalry with Claire, was already preparing.
This year, he wanted to outdo her with something so unexpected that, if it worked, it might scare her half to death. In fact, it was the same prank he had wanted to pull the previous year. But he hadn't managed it then: he ran out of prep time and, to be honest, his acting was terrible.
Last Halloween, Willa had been meant to play the victim of a fake heart attack. But Claire, with her elaborate Dunphy Haunted House, didn't pull any heavy prank on Andrew. The year had ended in a technical draw.
Now Andrew hadn't forgotten about faking a heart attack as payback for Claire's antics. He had been preparing since of October.
He headed toward the bathroom, going over the advice Willa had been giving him since their lessons resumed.
When he finished, he dressed in something comfortable and went down to the kitchen. He made the shake in the blender, and just as he was about to take the first sip, the doorbell rang.
'It's time,' Andrew thought, walking to the door. Time to face Willa's judgment, to be corrected, criticized, and probably torn apart by her perfectionism.
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