Blocking task: completed. Advancement task: ready!
Amidst the chaos, Lance calmly finished his blocking duty, using the force of the collision to turn around and prepare for his next mission.
A quick glance—
As expected!
Lance saw the panic in Hurts' eyes, eyes filled with the desperation of being cornered. In that brief moment of eye contact, Hurts clung to his last lifeline, instinctively tossing the hot potato— the football— to Lance. Just as the ball left his fingers, the tackle closed in.
A crashing wave!
Hurts was engulfed by two defenders with no chance to escape, taken down hard. His world dissolved into confusion, and only one thought echoed in his mind:
Lance!
The Trojans' defensive surge came in like a tidal wave, swallowing the Crimson Tide whole, leaving everything on the verge of collapse.
And what about Lance?
Focus. Concentrate. Stay calm.
There was no time for fear, nor excitement. Lance's attention was razor-sharp, his mind and body pushed to their limits.
Pushing off the ground, he spun.
Though his balance wavered and his steps were unsteady, this was undoubtedly the most dangerous and challenging situation Lance had faced in his short football career. Initially, he thought the Trojans' defense was weak, but now he truly understood the power of coordinated tactics. Yet, his resolve did not falter.
He continued his spin, completing a full 360-degree turn until he once again faced the chaos unfolding ahead.
Move forward? Break through? No.
Lance did the opposite— he took two small steps back.
First, to regain his balance and center himself.
Second, to calmly observe.
It was clear the Trojans had broken through, completely disrupting the Crimson Tide's offensive game plan. With Hurts panicking, the wide receivers and tight ends followed suit, turning the battlefield into a chaotic mess, with no rhyme or reason to the positioning.
So, how to win in such chaos?
In the blink of an eye, Lance's gaze scanned the field, trying to locate the white-clad defenders and the red jerseys of his teammates, all amidst the chaos. It was hard to grasp everyone's movements or strategy in this disaster, but then again, no one could predict Lance's next move either.
Adapt to whatever comes.
Everything happened within the fleeting milliseconds of that moment. Then, Lance made his move.
His feet felt the turf beneath them, his heels lifted as he pushed off with the balls of his feet. The muscles in his calves exploded with power.
He was off, accelerating.
But just as Lance adjusted and scanned the field, the Trojans' defense launched their second wave, closing in like hungry wolves.
Moreover, with the Crimson Tide nearing the red zone, the space was compressed, leaving little room to maneuver. Every corner of his vision was filled with bodies.
From the right side, a white blur shot out like a tiger pouncing on its prey.
Here.
Lance held his breath, every muscle in his body tightened, his nerves firing like a finely tuned machine.
A stop, then a spin—
Whoosh!
Lance planted his left foot and spun clockwise on his right foot, narrowly avoiding the oncoming defender. They passed each other by inches.
The wind and rain lashed around him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw the defender's face contorted with effort, his body leaning into the tackle, trying to disrupt Lance's balance with sheer force, using his own body as a weapon.
A powerful shove struck Lance from behind like a rolling log. It pressed, pushed, and tried to topple him.
Lance didn't fight it. Instead, he used the force from behind to shift directions, veering to the left. But as soon as he took that step, another white-clad Trojan crashed toward him from the opposite side.
Stop. Spin—
This time, Lance's movements were more controlled. He spun counterclockwise, like a waltz amidst the chaos, gracefully evading yet another tackle.
With a turn, the storm was now behind him.
His zigzagging feet never stopped moving, weaving through the crowd in an "S" pattern. Just as he burst forward, another white jersey appeared—this time directly ahead of him.
One wave after another.
There was no time to catch his breath.
Within the tight confines of just five yards, the field was packed with bodies, shoulder to shoulder, making it difficult to move horizontally or vertically.
Then, in a bold and almost reckless move, Lance braked hard, his feet halting in place. The defender in front of him froze, visibly confused, question marks practically forming above his head. Before he could blink, Lance had already darted past him.
To the right.
The sideline.
A sliver of daylight opened up, a small escape route. The defender, tricked by Lance's stop-and-go, wobbled on his feet, thrown off balance by the sudden change in direction. Now, he was left standing there like a post, completely out of the play.
"Here."
In the commentary booth, there was an audible gasp. The announcers widened their eyes, afraid to blink, not wanting to miss a single second of the action.
Amidst the chaos and mounting pressure, Lance displayed remarkable courage, calm, and talent. The entire AT&T stadium fell silent:
Even the Crimson Tide fans were speechless.
"...Lance, number twenty-three, was handed the ball in desperation by Hurts, just avoiding a sack."
"But now Lance finds himself in danger. He had just helped block for the offensive line and took a heavy hit. His feet are barely stable, and now he's spinning like a top. Hurts' decision, made in a panic, was far from wise. But at least he avoided the sack…"
"Wait."
"Was that a… Marseille Turn?"
"Heck!"
"A second Marseille Turn!"
"A third!"
"My God!"
"Lance dodged three tackles with consecutive Marseille Turns, showcasing elite-level agility, stopping and turning in tight spaces, breaking free from a seemingly inescapable defensive matrix. Jesus Christ, what are we witnessing?"
"The sideline!"
"Lance is making a break along the sideline! Oh, a diving tackle! Trojan safety McCoy is trying to recover. He was left like a statue by Lance's sudden stop, but his reaction time was sharp. He's trying to push Lance out of bounds, but!"
"Lance!"
"A brilliant burst of speed, a powerful sprint, and a sidestep—Lance narrowly avoids McCoy's tackle."
"Unbelievable!"
"Lance, Lance, Lance—he's still pushing forward!"
"25-yard line!"
"Dangerous! Lance's balance is faltering. After those sharp Marseille Turns, followed by an acceleration, he's struggling to maintain control; and he's walking a tightrope now, sprinting along the sideline, teetering on the edge, inches from going out of bounds."
"20-yard line!"
"But Lance isn't giving up. He's still sprinting, still moving forward!"
"Lance!"
"Wow, his body is leaning dangerously, a perfect imitation of Michael Jackson's gravity-defying 45-degree lean. Yet Lance, using his speed, manages to keep himself upright, still sprinting along that tightrope, still pushing forward on the razor's edge."
"15-yard line!"
"10-yard line! Oh, oh no, the Trojans have finally caught up, a diving tackle!"
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