"Roll, Crimson Tide!"
"Roll, Crimson Tide!"
The entire Richmond-James Stadium was submerged, overwhelmed, and shaken to its core as the chant surged like a tidal wave, spreading across Tampa Bay.
Just when everyone thought the young and daring Sweeney had successfully outmaneuvered Saban, Saban once again demonstrated his seasoned wisdom.
The suspense was back. The question of victory was truly back in play.
Humphrey leaped and clutched the football tightly, protecting possession with his life—
A game filled with frustration and tension.
Humphrey was deeply dissatisfied with his own performance, from the matchup against Washington to this game against Clemson, never quite reaching the level of the regular season. Anxiety had mixed with guilt.
But now, standing on the edge of a cliff, he finally seized his moment for a small redemption.
"Ah! Ahhh!"
Yet, there was no grand celebration. As the crowd dispersed, Humphrey ran to the sideline with the ball in hand and handed it to Josh, a bright smile breaking across his face.
"Josh, the game isn't over."
They were still fighting side by side, including the efforts of Josh.
Josh stood there, holding the ball like a puppet in shock.
Humphrey turned to face Lance, giving him a big hug. "Man, it's up to you guys now."
His heart thudded wildly in his chest.
Finally!
The defense had stepped up when it mattered most, creating an opportunity for the offense. Humphrey looked at Lance, words failing him. Instead, he clenched his fist and pounded Lance's shoulder, "We fight together."
Defensive captain Alan came up from behind, lagging a bit, still feeling guilty. If the defense had found its footing earlier, would they have been in this dire situation?
Alan lifted his gaze and met Lance's.
Lance extended his right fist, waiting.
Alan looked into Lance's calm, confident eyes, and a smile crept onto his face. No words were needed—just an understanding look. He bumped his fist with Lance's, completing the exchange.
The defense's job was done. Now, it was the offense's turn.
Turning, Alan caught sight of Hurts, whose expression was tense. Alan smiled—still a kid at heart. He gave Hurts a fist bump on the shoulder, "We're all behind you."
Hurts followed Alan's gaze and saw that the entire Crimson Tide team was united, their eyes focused as one. The rush of adrenaline shot straight to his heart, and he clenched his fist, stepping onto the field with Lance.
Victory or defeat—everything hinged on this moment.
Across the field, Watson was restless, pacing angrily and muttering under his breath on the sideline.
From the sack to the fumble, the nightmare of spring training camp had returned. What once seemed like a sure victory was now subject to fate.
The burden now fell on the Clemson Tigers' defense, and Watson could only watch. He despised this helplessness.
"Damn it!"
Watson was on the verge of exploding.
Due to the fumble and change of possession, the Alabama Crimson Tide offense was now on Clemson's 21-yard line, already within the red zone, and suspense gripped everyone's throats.
The game clock showed one minute and nine seconds, and Saban had one timeout left.
Anything was possible.
First and ten.
Hurts connected with receiver Robinson on a five-yard short pass, but the Clemson defense reacted swiftly, tackling Robinson immediately and preventing him from going out of bounds to stop the clock, dragging him down inbounds.
At moments like these, quarterbacks often throw toward the sideline, allowing the receiver to go out of bounds to stop the clock. However, this tactic is risky, as defenses can anticipate it and position themselves for an interception.
This forced quarterbacks to be even more precise.
Hurts' throw, to avoid interception by the cornerback, had a higher arc, causing Robinson to lean back awkwardly to catch it, disrupting his balance and preventing him from stepping out to stop the clock.
Saban didn't hesitate and used his third timeout.
Second and five.
Hurts faked a pass and ran, handing off to Lance, who pushed through five yards, securing the first down.
With the red zone directly ahead, the defense's short-pass coverage became more congested. Lance saw the lanes filled with defenders and, not risking a bigger play, simply fell forward to secure the first down.
Hurts immediately spiked the ball to stop the clock, sacrificing a down to buy time for Saban to set up the next play.
Now, the Crimson Tide was at the 11-yard line, just outside the red zone, facing Clemson's unprecedentedly dense defense.
The difficulty spiked.
And the stakes had changed.
The game clock read fifty-three seconds, and with no timeouts left, this spike was their last opportunity to strategize. After this, they had to push all the way without breaks.
The tension in the air was palpable.
Second and ten.
Hurts aimed for tight end Howard, leveraging his size in the short pass zone, but the throw was too low. Howard caught it near his knees, unable to pivot for extra yards, and quickly fell to avoid wasting time.
This showcased Sweeney's tactical sharpness—
The defense could have disrupted the pass, but doing so would have stopped the clock, aiding Alabama. Instead, they allowed Howard to catch it and then surrounded him, letting precious seconds slip away.
There was no time to rest. Alabama immediately regrouped, lined up, and snapped the ball, operating at full speed.
Third and seven.
Hurts handed the ball to Lance, who tried to force his way through the packed defense. Clemson was prepared, stacking bodies to cut off any path.
Lance pushed forward five yards but found himself out of steam.
Fourth and two.
This was the true crucible.
Now, Alabama's options were clear—they couldn't attempt a field goal, as it would be meaningless. Going for it on fourth down was their only choice; success or failure hung in the balance.
But the clock ticked down relentlessly—twenty-five seconds, twenty-four…
Every moment of hesitation tightened the door of opportunity. Twenty-three seconds, twenty-two…
Both Sweeney and Saban signaled furiously, orchestrating their final plays. The entire season's outcome came down to this moment.
With all eyes on the field, Clarke stepped up.
Everyone: ???
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Powerstones?
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