The entire stadium was awash in red as the Crimson Tide fans celebrated a triumphant conclusion to their spring training. Even though the new season hadn't started, this victory rekindled hope for the team, making the possibility of defending their championship seem real again.
The players were no different—they needed this moment.
After Derrick Henry moved to the professional leagues, the team had been uneasy. Injuries plagued the running back position during spring training, forcing a high school player to take the starting role. Uncertainty had loomed over the team, but now, they had their answer.
The players rushed the field, surging towards Lance.
Clark was the first to arrive. Even though he was a fellow running back and a competitor for the starting spot, he knew better than anyone how much work Lance had put in. Lance had started from zero, humbly learning and training every day. Not only did he improve, but he also helped Clark improve alongside him.
As a running back, Lance upheld the proud Crimson Tide tradition. Clark was happier than anyone else.
Clark charged at Lance, but before he could reach him, he saw Lance take off his helmet and flash a big smile. In that instant, Lance spun around and ran off.
Clark: ????
Not just Clark, but the rest of the Crimson Tide players followed, calling after Lance as he kept running.
Lance sprinted from one end zone to the other, stopping near the gathered Tigers players. He stood there, locking eyes with them for a brief moment, then raised his right hand to his ear, cupping it as if to listen closely—
"Any more trash talk?" "Come on, I'm all ears."
Watson's face flushed bright red. Any curses or insults he had ready got stuck in his throat. Gone was the cocky swagger he had during the first half. His mind raced, trying to come up with a retort—after all, he barely played in the second half, and this was just a scrimmage. But looking at Lance, the number 23 who had humiliated them, Watson realized he didn't even know this player's name. There hadn't been any mention of him in Swinney's pre-game scouting reports. Yet, here he was, thoroughly dominating.
Watson seethed in frustration, picking up his helmet and slamming it to the ground.
However—
Lance didn't seem bothered at all. He lowered his right hand and stood up straight, smiling at Watson with the amused look of an adult watching a child throw a tantrum. Lance raised his index finger and gently wagged it in the air.
The expression on his face seemed to say: "That's not very mature."
And that was it.
The stadium fell silent.
It was unbelievable. Moments ago, Bryant-Denny Stadium had been roaring with noise, but with that single gesture, the crowd fell quiet. Someone—maybe Clark?—was the first to raise their right hand, smiling quietly as they waggled their index finger.
Then the entire stadium followed suit, as tens of thousands of fans raised their hands in unison, silently shaking their fingers.
A wave of taunting that was somehow more cutting than flipping the bird.
The Tigers couldn't handle it. Staring at the sea of fingers, they bowed their heads, unable to meet the crowd's gaze. They were trapped with no escape, left to stare at the ground, counting blades of grass in humiliation.
Lawrence sat on the bench, dumbfounded, his expression confused. He glanced over at Wilkins and Watkins, hoping for some explanation. But both had already turned their heads down, their faces hidden behind their helmets, the faint glint of confusion visible in their eyes. Lawrence slumped his shoulders in defeat.
With that, Lance turned away from the Tigers, smiling broadly as he approached Clark, raising his hand for a high-five.
One by one, more players joined in, surrounding Lance in celebration. Though Lance had only been with the team for three weeks, he was now, undeniably, part of the Crimson Tide.
Gradually, the celebrations wrapped up, leaving one person—
Jacobs.
Jacobs approached Lance with a slightly serious expression, removing his helmet. His hair was drenched with sweat, clinging to his head.
Lance knew they were competitors, both vying for the starting running back position. Jacobs was quiet during practices, rarely speaking, always focused on training. However, whenever Lance had questions, Jacobs never held back, sharing knowledge openly. They were competitors, but they were also teammates. Their relationship was more complex than most.
After today, their competition for the starting spot would likely intensify.
As these thoughts raced through Lance's mind, Jacobs extended his hand confidently.
"That was an incredible game. You earned this."
Jacobs glanced around at the still-ecstatic Crimson Tide crowd, acknowledging the celebration even though the game was over.
Lance took Jacobs' hand, ready to exchange a few words, but before he could speak, Jacobs tightened his grip. Lance instinctively did the same, and the two stared each other down.
"But this doesn't mean I'm backing down," Jacobs said firmly. "I'll keep working hard, and I'll compete with you for that starting spot, fair and square. The competition doesn't end until the season is over."
His determination was clear, shining brightly in his eyes.
Lance squeezed Jacobs' hand firmly in return, responding with equal seriousness.
"I'm ready. It's not over until the final whistle, right?"
In football, starting positions aren't always as important as they seem. Players can be substituted at any time, as many times as necessary—unlike in soccer or basketball.
Moreover, with the physical nature of football, positions often rotate. Running back is a prime example, where it's common for teams to use three or four backs throughout a game. The starter isn't as critical as in other sports.
Yet, for Lance, Jacobs, Clark, and Emmons, the competition for the lead role was real. At Alabama, a school with a rich tradition of producing top-tier running backs, being the primary runner could define their professional prospects.
Their rivalry had only just begun.
Under the sun, Lance and Jacobs shook hands, cementing their shared resolve.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, a fuming Watson stood, his face black with anger. He shot Lance and Jacobs a venomous glare, his mind flashing back to the bitter memories of January's championship loss.
The Crimson Tide had better pray they didn't face the Tigers again in this year's National Championship, Watson thought. He vowed that when the time came, he wouldn't go easy on them. He would make sure they paid for today's humiliation.