JuJu was getting nervous.
Clearly, the start of the game had gone completely off track. Even though Trojans' head coach Helton had repeatedly warned them not to underestimate the reigning champions, the Crimson Tide had already shown dominance on both offense and defense, not just gaining the upper hand but completely controlling the game.
A sense of crisis gripped his heart.
However, there was still hope. Amid the chaotic mess, the one small piece of good news was that everything had happened so quickly, leaving plenty of time on the clock. This meant that if the Trojans could quickly find their footing, there was still a chance to turn things around.
Taking a deep breath, JuJu steadied himself, jogging back to the sideline while anxiously cheering on the defense. He clenched his fists, giving them as much support as he could.
"We're all Trojans, and we'll fight together. Now it's your turn to shine."
"Come on! You can do this!"
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!"
Next to him, Darnold seemed bewildered.
It was his first time starting as a quarterback, and he hadn't even had a chance to catch his breath before throwing an interception. So, this was the Crimson Tide?
The game continued.
Because the Crimson Tide had just intercepted the ball and regained possession at the same spot, there was no need for the special teams. The offense immediately took over, starting their drive from their own 35-yard line.
Running back Jacobs was subbed in.
Since it was the season opener, Saban wanted to make sure all the running backs got a chance to feel the game's atmosphere. He couldn't put all the pressure on Lance alone.
In fact, even Saban was surprised by the first ground attack. What was supposed to be a routine play turned into a 75-yard sprint for a touchdown thanks to Lance's incredible ability to break tackles.
It wasn't that it was a bad thing—just that the other running backs hadn't gotten a chance to get into the game.
No worries. Saban was experienced and immediately adjusted the strategy for the second drive.
Saban focused on a more stable, tactical running game to set up the passing attack. The goal was to give Hurts opportunities to open up the passing game, with Jacobs and Lance rotating in, methodically moving the ball down the field.
At the same time, the Trojans' "5-2" defense began to show its strength. Both Jacobs and Lance found themselves caught in defensive traps as the Trojans used their numbers advantage to clog up the running lanes.
This was more like normal football—big yardage plays on the ground were rare.
In this back-and-forth struggle, the Crimson Tide managed to eat up five minutes and thirty-three seconds on the clock, moving all the way to the edge of the red zone, just 13 yards from the end zone.
Saban turned and called, "Clark."
Clark, who had been dutifully cheering on his team, was caught off guard. He sprang to his feet so quickly that the helmets of the defensive players resting on the bench were knocked to the ground.
But Clark didn't care. He stood stiffly, staring at Saban with wide eyes.
Saban smiled, "You're in."
Clark nodded repeatedly, taking two steps before hearing Lance shout from behind, "Helmet! Master, your helmet!"
Master—that was the nickname Lance jokingly gave Clark. Not because Clark was some kind of football genius, but because Lance had learned most of what he knew about running backs and football from Clark. Clark never hesitated to help.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that without Clark's guidance, Lance wouldn't have adapted to the team so quickly.
It had been almost half a year now, but Clark still hadn't gotten used to the nickname. He never considered himself a "master," and each time Lance called him that, he felt shy and embarrassed.
This time was no exception.
Hearing Lance's call, Clark stumbled, nearly tripping and becoming the next Cinderella in a famous fall. Amid the Crimson Tide's laughter and applause, Clark turned back, grabbed his helmet from Lance, and rushed onto the field, exchanging a quick handshake with Jacobs.
Terry Clark was the first to notice—
"Ronnie!"
"That's Ronnie! Hey, everyone, that's my son out there!"
"Clark! Ronnie Clark!"
"Go, kid, go! Ah! Ahhh!"
Terry couldn't contain his excitement, jumping and cheering wildly, his eyes brimming with tears of joy as happiness lit up his face.
To others, Terry might have seemed like a crazy person—it was just one appearance, nothing to make such a fuss about.
But Terry didn't care. He knew how much his son had sacrificed for this moment—countless hours of training, injuries big and small, and the endless waiting fueled by fading hope. All to pursue a dream.
Many had told Terry that it wasn't worth the struggle, reminding him that just making the Crimson Tide roster—even as a backup—was already an honor. Even if Ronnie never got to play, they should be content, they said. They should learn to let go.
Even Terry, in his quiet moments late at night, had wondered whether it would be better to quit. Was his son's persistence really about his own dream, or was he carrying Terry's dream on his back?
In the end, Terry stayed quiet, continuing to support his son in his own way. No matter the outcome, he was proud of him.
And now.
Terry knew he looked like a madman, eyes blurry with tears, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Because he knew he wasn't alone.
On the sidelines, Lance waved a towel, cheering for Clark. The other offensive players quickly joined in.
"Roar, Master!"
"Roar!"
Clark was stunned but managed to take a deep breath, focusing on Hurts as he relayed the play. Clark lined up behind him, ready to go.
Saban called for a play-action fake.
Clark was the decoy, and Hurts made a convincing handoff to fake out the Trojans' defense before turning and throwing to Calvin Ridley, the wide receiver on the left.
Immediately, Clark moved up, blocking any defensive leaks in the pocket. He stood ready to protect Hurts from any rushers.
Even though the Trojans didn't blitz this time, Clark remained fully focused and diligent, staying alert until he saw the ball arcing through the air. His heart leaped as he followed its flight.
Touchdown?
Could the Crimson Tide score again?
In his peripheral vision, Clark saw bodies clashing and forces colliding.
Ridley had successfully caught the ball, turning upfield and gaining ground. He found a small opening in the short-passing zone and made a determined push forward.
However.
The Trojans' defense tightened in the red zone, locking down every inch of space. Three defenders surrounded Ridley, stopping him at the one-yard line.
No touchdown.
And then.
Before Clark knew it, he was back on the sidelines.
Wait—was that it?
Was it over already?
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