Clark was a bit bewildered.
The moment he had dreamed of for so long had arrived in a blur, and then just as quickly, it was over, like a dream. He hadn't even had time to savor it before it was gone.
Yet, a wide smile spread across Clark's face. As he saw Lance running onto the field, he jumped up and down, cheering.
"Ah! Ahhh!"
No words, just a relentless scream machine, but that was enough—because this was it. Ronnie Clark, after two long years, had finally made his official debut for the Crimson Tide. It wasn't a scrimmage or a warm-up game. This was the real thing.
The season opener, at AT&T Stadium.
Clark didn't know what the future held, but at that moment, he was the happiest he'd ever been.
Terry Clark felt the same, thrusting his fists into the air, shouting with all his might amidst the roaring crowd.
"Ronnie! Great job!"
"Ronnie! Well done!"
This was football—
There were players who stood in the spotlight, basking in cheers, some who single-handedly changed the course of the game, and then there were those who worked in the shadows, doing the dirty work to make sure the plays went smoothly.
They should applaud the superstars, but they should also cheer for the unsung heroes, because football is a team sport—everyone matters.
Like his son, Terry bounced up and down with joy.
Then, with a grin spreading across his face, he switched gears.
"Go, Lance! Go!"
Lance and Clark exchanged a high-five as they crossed paths. There was no time for words—Lance quickly joined the team, lining up for the next play.
In football, trench warfare was the norm, and the red zone was where battles were won and lost. A one-yard line standoff could often decide the outcome of a game, and more often than not, the defense held the advantage.
Now, the offense was on the one-yard line, right in front of the end zone. This meant the entire defense was packed tightly into the end zone, guarding the narrow space, leaving the offense with little room to maneuver.
Just like the penalty box in soccer, the closer you got, the more intense and difficult it became.
First down, one yard to go.
Saban tried to change the tempo. Hurts opted for a quick pass to the starting tight end, O.J. Howard, hoping Howard's athleticism could break through, but the Trojans' defensive line stood tall.
One of their defensive ends, even while being blocked, raised a hand and batted down Hurts' pass. Since it was a short throw from just five yards out, Hurts couldn't put any loft on it, and the low pass was deflected.
The pass failed.
The crowd gasped—
It was close—just a little more and it could have been an interception.
But it also meant the Crimson Tide's offensive strategy had been sniffed out. Even if it wasn't intercepted, a batted-down pass was still bad news, showing the defense was reading their plays.
Saban needed a clearer, sharper strategy. Otherwise, failing to score at the one-yard line was not unheard of in football—it happened more often than anyone cared to admit.
Second down, one yard to go.
In the red zone, this was how it went. Just one or two yards, and the end zone was within reach, but it always seemed impossible to cross that line.
This was when a tank-like running back, like Derrick Henry, would be perfect for breaking through; but if the defense had already predicted a ground attack, even Henry wouldn't succeed, especially with five defensive linemen stacked up against him. This was a tactical battle.
Now, Saban and Helton were dueling on the one-yard line.
Tick, tick.
Time kept ticking. The Crimson Tide finally lined up, ready to attack.
Once again, they used the pistol formation!
The air was charged with tension as the Trojans' defense braced for impact, eyes burning with determination. They knew they had to stop this third-down play. Even if they gave up a field goal, they couldn't allow another touchdown. It would be a blow to their morale.
But if they could stop the Crimson Tide at the one-yard line, even if they allowed a field goal, it would give them a boost.
You could feel the heat radiating off the players' skin, the faint smell of sweat and intensity in the air. Hearts were pounding, ready to explode.
"Attack!"
Hurts' voice cut through the tension, igniting the moment.
He took the snap.
Backpedaled.
Scanning.
It was clear he was searching for a receiver in the back of the end zone, and he and Lance executed a fake handoff. Lance moved up.
This was a classic pass protection play, where the running back acts as an extra blocker to buy the quarterback more time and space to throw.
In an instant, the atmosphere shifted.
The Trojans' defenders stepped back, focusing tightly on covering the Crimson Tide's receiving targets.
And in that split second—just a flash—Hurts, still looking left, discreetly extended the ball to his right.
Lance took the ball into his arms and charged forward without hesitation.
One step—pushing off the ground, sprinting, lowering his center of gravity, entering "bulldozer" mode.
Two steps—near the line of scrimmage, he could feel the clash of muscles and strength, the heat of blood and sweat filling the tight space, closing in on him.
Three steps—
BAM!
The hit came. Like a bulldozer, the defense closed in, sandwiching him with little room for adjustment.
But then—
Just as the defenders were about to collapse around him, Lance twisted his body and leaped sideways, gracefully slipping through the gap. His feet wobbled as he tried to regain balance, only to feel more defenders crashing into him from every direction.
He held his breath.
Planted his feet. Twisted. Dodged.
His movements were smooth, fluid, cutting through the chaos. His upper body broke free into the open air, while his lower body remained tangled in the mass of players.
He leaned forward and fell.
Without hesitation, Lance let gravity pull him down, using his own weight to drive through the collision and crash to the ground.
And then, release—
Ahh!
The cold air hit him like a tidal wave, crashing in his ears as the wall of defenders parted, revealing a new world before his eyes.
Boom. Buzz.
The roar that followed was deafening.
"Touchdown!"
"Touchdown!"
"Tooooooooouchdown!"
The elongated sound echoed through the air, and AT&T Stadium erupted in chaos.
Terry could hear his own voice echoing in his ears. This touchdown was different from any other Crimson Tide touchdown—
Because his son Clark had been a part of it.
"Roar, Crimson Tide!"
"Roar, Crimson Tide!"
AT&T Stadium became a boiling sea of crimson.
Of course, the Crimson Tide were the defending champions, expected to dominate, while the Trojans were the underdogs, having performed poorly last season.
But in the first quarter, the Crimson Tide had completely overpowered the Trojans on both offense and defense, leaving no room to breathe. It was a massacre, a total domination, and the one-yard line showdown was just a small example of that.
The Crimson Tide roared.
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