“ Efficiently worse. There’s a difference.” Late that night, as Sheldon ran his first test—recording a rerun of Coach —the screen flickered. But instead of Craig T. Nelson, a grainy, low-bitrate face appeared. A man in a lab coat, speaking in reverse.

Here is your story: East Texas, 1992. The Cooper household’s air conditioner wheezed like a dying lawnmower. Sheldon, age ten, sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, surrounded by three VCRs, a soldering iron, and a bootlegged copy of Star Trek: The Next Generation that his brother Georgie had traded for a pack of cigarettes.

“It’s Star Trek , Mother. And the visual fidelity is closer to cave paintings than broadcast standard.” He plugged a fourth VCR into a daisy chain. “What if I told you I could invent a new way to compress video? A codec so efficient that an entire movie could fit onto a laserdisc without generational loss?”

The man on screen held up a sign: “STOP. H264 PROTOCOL VIOLATION.”

That’s when the trouble began. Sheldon’s nemesis—and reluctant older brother—Georgie walked in, smelling of cologne and regret. “What’s the little nerd doing now?”

“Yes,” Sheldon said, already sketching notes. “But I’m also going to be rich. Eventually. In about eleven years.” The family gathered for dinner. Mary said grace, asking God to “please keep our Sheldon from inventing anything that talks back.” Meemaw winked at him. Missy stole his cornbread.