"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Oh, God!"
"That play—on the brink of an interception, Lance caught the ball just before it hit the ground. Then, he dodged one tackle, broke free from another—flattening Watkins in the process—and evaded a second tackle, sprinting into the end zone like a dancer wielding a blade."
"Touchdown!"
"A forty-three-yard rushing touchdown!"
"Incredible! Absolutely incredible!"
"The game isn't over. Oh my God, the Alabama Crimson Tide has pulled off a stunning revival, putting the outcome of the game back in question."
"Saban's Crimson Tide once again showcased their championship spirit, proving they're still the team to beat in this NCAA season. The Clemson Tigers came so close, but now Saban has thrown Sweeney another curveball."
"What's next for Clemson's offense? Do they play it safe and run down the clock, or take the risk to maintain control?"
The stadium had gone wild.
Richmond-James Stadium was engulfed in a sea of red, the deafening chant of "Roll" reverberating like thunder. The entire arena seemed to tremble, as if it were a lone canoe caught in crashing waves.
However, Lance didn't celebrate. He merely glanced in the direction of the clustered Clemson players—just a brief look, and his gaze settled on Watson.
The game wasn't over yet.
Lance's eyes were firm, radiating a fierce resolve.
"Damn it," Watson muttered.
He was so close to losing control and slamming his helmet, but Watson held back, focusing all his energy inward.
The advantage was still in Clemson's hands, and they wouldn't allow a repeat of what happened in spring training camp.
No way.
Watson clenched his teeth, nearly biting through them.
Meanwhile, Lance turned and headed back to his team's side, placing the ball he had just scored with into Alan's arms—the defensive captain.
They were a team.
Victory couldn't be achieved by offense alone or defense alone. They needed to be united. The offense had done its job; now it was the defense's turn.
Alan understood.
He took the ball from Lance, straightened up, and his eyes gleamed with determination.
"It's our turn."
A simple sentence, but it carried immense weight.
Today, the Crimson Tide's defense hadn't performed well. Watson's outstanding play had dominated and led to this predicament.
If the defense didn't step up now, there wouldn't be another chance.
They had to be strong, and they had to be quick—
In football, there are only three timeouts per game, with a two-minute warning at the end of each half.
Aside from these, the only ways to stop the clock are stepping out of bounds or intentionally throwing the ball into the ground to waste a down.
Right now—
Following Lance's rushing touchdown, there were two minutes and twenty-nine seconds left in the game. Alabama had already used one timeout, leaving them with two remaining.
The safest approach for the Clemson Tigers would be to run the ball and drain the clock. But was Sweeney bold enough to take a more aggressive approach? No one knew.
"51-44."
With Alabama's special teams securing the extra point, the gap closed to a single touchdown. Meanwhile, five more seconds ticked away.
Once the special teams kicked off, the clock read two minutes and eighteen seconds.
Finally, Clemson's offense and Alabama's defense took the field.
Just as expected—
Sweeney chose to play it safe, relying on the running game to drain the clock. His goal wasn't to gain yards, but to protect possession.
But Alabama's defense showed their grit, bringing down the running back immediately to minimize time loss.
First and ten, losing a yard in the process. Between pre-snap adjustments, plays, and tackles, twenty-two seconds ticked away.
Official two-minute warning, with one minute and fifty-six seconds remaining.
Second and eleven, the Crimson Tide defense stopped the running back at the line of scrimmage, but the back intentionally stayed up to drain the clock, wasting twenty-one seconds before going down.
Saban used his second timeout without hesitation, with one minute and thirty-five seconds left.
Third and eleven—do-or-die time.
If Clemson converted on third down, they could secure a fresh set of downs and force Saban to use his last timeout, effectively sealing the game.
But taking a risk on third down also introduced uncertainty, so what would they choose?
Sweeney was calculating, and so was Saban. This was a chess match at its peak.
"Attack!"
Watson's cadence broke the air.
Alan was already on the move, his eyes locked onto one figure—
Watson.
Blitz!
At this critical moment, Saban's defense chose to break free of convention, launching an all-out blitz.
Tap, tap, tap.
Alan charged forward, brushing aside his assigned blocker as if they were made of paper. He surged forward and locked eyes on Watson, who was holding the ball, scanning the field—
Spot on.
Saban had guessed that Sweeney would take the risk, trusting in Watson's ability. Watson had indeed put on a show all day, and Sweeney banked on him converting through a pass or a run.
Clemson still had a fallback, didn't they?
So, the Crimson Tide chose to blitz.
Alan gritted his teeth. The entire game had been tense, frustrating, and suffocating, but he hadn't lost faith or focus.
He stepped in, extended his arms, and lunged.
Alan remained laser-focused, using the tactical advantage to close the distance during Watson's brief defensive read.
Wait, Watson tried to escape, shifting his feet.
They had let Watson slip away too many times today, but not this time.
Alan reacted quickly, mirroring Watson's movement, and when Watson looked ready to cut again, Alan denied him the chance.
Tackle!
Sack!
Boom—
The world became a long, drawn-out roar.
"Ah! Ahhhhh!"
Alan unleashed every ounce of energy from his core, slamming Watson down. Watson crumpled like a delicate flower.
In the next moment—
A fumble!
The ball popped out like a mischievous sprite, and before the chaos could close in, a figure darted forward, scooped it up, curled into a ball, and shielded the football from the storm of bodies around him.
Humphrey's mind had just one thought—
Possession. Josh. Possession!
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Powerstones?
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