"Who?"
The whole scene fell silent.
The reporters could hardly believe what they had just heard. Did Lance really say that? Was Lance trying to stir up the already deep-rooted rivalry between the Crimson Tide and the Tigers even more?
Some reporters thought perhaps the noise in the stadium was too loud, and Lance might not have heard the question clearly. One reporter kindly repeated the question, trying to give Lance an out.
"Fournette, Leonard Fournette."
Lance looked genuinely innocent, as if he had no ill intentions. He truly didn't know who that was. No matter how many times the reporters repeated it, his response would be the same.
Not far away, Hurts and Humphrey were doing their best to hold back their laughter. If they hadn't been worried about causing a misunderstanding, they might have burst out laughing right there. They knew Lance wasn't pulling a prank—
On the Crimson Tide team, Lance referred to people by their jersey numbers or nicknames.
At first, the players thought Lance was messing with them, but Lance had honestly explained that he wasn't good with names and never had been. Over time, everyone realized Lance was being serious, with no intention of singling anyone out.
To him, everyone was nameless.
At this moment, Hurts, feeling sorry for the soon-to-be-infuriated Tigers' star, glanced at Humphrey, who was watching the situation like a spectator at a show. Hurts finally couldn't bear it and called out, "The running back. That running back."
Lance caught the key detail. "Oh, that running back?"
The reporters: …
How did one of the top running backs in the NCAA suddenly become a "nameless running back" in Lance's eyes?
"That running back"? It sounded… incredibly dismissive.
Still looking completely earnest, Lance finally connected the name to the face. "I'm sure he gave it his best today."
As a fellow running back, Lance understood that injuries, along with the Crimson Tide's focused defense, could affect Fournette's performance. But from what Lance saw, Fournette had given his all—right up until the fourth quarter, even after repeatedly being stopped, he kept trying. His perseverance was commendable.
However…
To the reporters, Lance's seemingly encouraging words came off like an adult praising a child—more like a consolation than genuine praise.
Was this normal? "He gave it his best"—wasn't that just a subtle way of saying Fournette's ceiling wasn't very high?
So, was participation all that mattered?
The reporters began murmuring, buzzing with excitement as their imaginations ran wild.
It wasn't shock; it was excitement—
The thrill of having stumbled upon explosive news. They could already picture the headlines for tomorrow's sports pages: in a rivalry game, the drama never disappoints.
Just as the tension started to die down, another question was thrown at Lance, aimed at stoking the flames.
"Lance, what's your opinion of Jackson and Watson? Do you think they deserve the Heisman Trophy, or do you have other thoughts?"
A trap, plain and simple, was laid right in front of Lance, with the reporters sharpening their knives like wolves ready to pounce on Little Red Riding Hood.
But Lance remained completely unbothered. "Oh, I think my teammate deserves the Heisman more, number 26."
Number 26?
Crimson Tide's number 26 was none other than… Marlon Humphrey.
Whoosh.
All the reporters' heads turned to Humphrey, who promptly flexed his biceps like a bodybuilder showing off his muscles, striking a pose.
Lance, still looking entirely sincere, continued, "I've always thought it's wrong that the Heisman only looks at offensive players. We should recognize that football is a team sport. Offense, defense, and special teams all play crucial roles, and the NCAA's top players should include those on defense."
"If I'm not mistaken, the Super Bowl MVP earlier this year was a defensive player. So why can't the Heisman Trophy go to a defensive player?"
Mic drop!
The reporters: …
That was not how this was supposed to go.
They had tried to provoke tension between Lance and Jackson or Watson, hoping for a juicy confrontation. Instead, Lance had turned the tables on the reporters themselves—
The Heisman vote is divided into two main parts: professional journalists and former Heisman winners.
The journalists collectively hold 870 votes, and the 57 living former Heisman winners also cast votes every year.
In other words, many of the reporters standing in front of Lance would help decide the Heisman winner.
And now, Lance was accusing them of ignoring defense and doing a disservice to the game.
The reporters were left speechless.
They couldn't refute his point. They couldn't argue back. They couldn't even explain themselves. It was a fact that everyone focused on offense, but it was also a fact that defense was equally important. Anyone responding to this would have to tread carefully to avoid stepping on a landmine.
A moment earlier, the reporters had tried to dig a hole for Lance.
Now, Lance had dug a grave for them all.
The atmosphere grew awkward.
The reporters exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to face Lance's piercing gaze.
No one had expected Lance to flip the script and steer the conversation toward them. But then, just as tension thickened, Lance shifted the topic.
"As for the rest, were you asking me to evaluate their rushing ability or their passing ability?"
"If it's about passing, I have no clue."
"But if it's about rushing," Lance shrugged, "hey, I know a little something about running the ball."
The playful smirk and casual tone clearly held a touch of irony, teasing one of the current hot debates in the NCAA and NFL: when it comes to running quarterbacks, are they truly quarterbacks, or are they just running backs?
That debate had yet to find a conclusion, and with his clever wordplay, Lance had handed the dilemma right back to the reporters.
Without missing a beat, Lance turned to leave.
The reporters suddenly panicked—was the interview already over? Had Lance just dug them a grave and walked away? And they'd only asked a few questions!
Frantically, the reporters chased after Lance, crowding around him, before quickly firing off another major question.
"Lance, even though this is your first season in the NCAA, we can't help but notice you're already a junior. So, are you planning to declare for the draft next year?"
"Or are you thinking about staying for your senior year?"
The draft?
Indeed, this had been a blind spot for many.
When Lance had burst onto the scene, everyone naturally assumed he would enter the draft. But at the same time, there was talk of his inexperience—his time in football was so short that if he declared for the draft next year, his stock was uncertain, especially as a running back.
Now, with the season progressing and Lance's performances speaking for themselves, the question became more pressing.
If Lance announced his intention to enter the draft now, teams interested in him would surely come calling, regardless of where he might be projected to be picked.
So, how did Lance feel about it?
Without hesitation, Lance responded, as if the reporters had asked him what he wanted for dinner rather than about his career.
"Oh, that's not something I'm thinking about right now."
Wait, wha…what?
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Powerstones?
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