The crowd: Huh?
Confusion and chatter spread through the stadium, a storm of disbelief and curiosity with no clear answer in sight.
In the middle of all the noise and countless watchful eyes, Clarke stepped onto the field.
No one could have expected this move—Saban substituting a wide receiver for a dual-running back formation at this critical moment. Was this a diversion or the real game-winning strategy?
Throughout the season, the Alabama Crimson Tide had employed the dual-running back formation multiple times, mostly to confuse the opponent and support Hurts and Lance's running plays, often with success.
But now?
At this very moment?
A dual-running back setup—was Saban serious?
Neither Sweeney nor the Clemson defense had time to ponder the move.
Sweeney shouted repeatedly, "Stay focused! Don't get distracted, stick to the plan!"
Sweeney was convinced that Saban's strategy was merely a ploy to unsettle the defensive mindset. All the talk of surprise tactics and unconventional plays was nonsense; Saban simply wanted to shift all attention to Clarke and create chaos.
Actually, Clarke felt a bit lost.
He was confused, unsure of how this situation had come about. In a game like this, at such a crucial moment, he was called up to play?
Could he handle it?
As he jogged onto the field, the roaring cheers of the crowd threatened to burst his eardrums, and his heart felt like it was about to explode.
Fourth and two, with the clock ticking: 21 seconds, 20 seconds...
Time was slipping away, the sense of crisis sharper than ever. Every pore on Clarke's body felt the searing pressure. What was the Crimson Tide planning?
Truthfully, Clarke himself had no clue.
This season had already been a dream come true for him; he had played multiple times for the Crimson Tide. But it was also during this season that Clarke truly realized his ceiling—
He wasn't cut out for this sport.
Even at the NCAA level, he saw his limitations. The NFL? That was another universe.
Once, becoming a professional player was his relentless pursuit and dream. But now, it was time to wake up and face reality with both feet on the ground.
After much internal struggle and reflection, Clarke had decided not to enter the draft after this season.
He planned to stay with the team for his senior year, but that would be his farewell to football. After graduation, he would put his college degree to use and find a regular job, returning to an ordinary life.
Regrets?
None.
This season had been a gift, realizing his wildest and boldest dreams. There was no reason to feel regret.
At least he had experienced this once-in-a-lifetime season. He would treasure these memories forever.
But no one could have predicted that this rollercoaster of a game would bring him here, onto the field for this play.
His heartbeat thundered, his mind blank as he jogged out, barely aware of his own legs.
"Clarke…"
"Clarke!"
He heard someone calling and turned to see Lance's eyes, barely visible under his helmet. Clarke swallowed hard.
"Lance, the coach said, um, he said I'm running this play."
Clarke's head buzzed. He couldn't fathom why the coach would trust him with what could be the play that defined their season.
Him? Ronnie Clarke? How?
But then—
Lance said, "Okay."
Just like that, without hesitation, which stunned Clarke.
"Lance…"
Clarke felt embarrassed and guilty.
Lance instantly understood. Clarke was too kind-hearted.
Lance grasped Saban's tactical intent.
First, Lance and Hurts served as bait—Clemson would never expect Clarke to carry such responsibility. Second, Lance was exhausted, visibly depleted in both stamina and energy, reducing his running efficiency.
Lance needed support.
Even if Josh hadn't been injured, Saban might have chosen Clarke anyway, given that Josh was also heavily marked and fatigued. Clarke's entry could be the unanticipated twist they needed.
Choosing Clarke was strategic. It showed they were teammates standing together in adversity, needing each other to overcome the challenge.
There was no time to explain this all to Clarke. Time was ticking.
Lance turned to Clarke.
"Clarke, we need you."
Lance's eyes were steady, full of conviction.
Clarke stared at Lance. The look spoke of trust—complete, unconditional trust. The kind of trust that meant handing someone your back on the battlefield. He straightened unconsciously, feeling a surge of resolve from within.
Clarke had always yearned for this: to step onto the field, to fight shoulder to shoulder with his teammates, to contribute to victory.
Now, his chance had arrived.
Clarke said nothing, exchanging only a glance with Lance.
Then, they lined up—
The Alabama Crimson Tide formed a classic, old-school football formation.
The dual-running back set.
Lance, Clarke, Hurts, and the center stood in a straight line, evenly spaced. Lance, acting as the fullback, stood about seven yards behind Hurts; Clarke, the halfback, was in the middle, three yards from Hurts.
Before the 1980s, this was how most football teams lined up, with fullbacks and halfbacks specializing in different running styles.
In the 21st century, the fullback, the tank-like runner, had mostly vanished, and formations like this had become rare.
But here they were, reviving it.
The wind whipped through the field.
Clemson and the Alabama Crimson Tide were set, the clock still ticking: 19 seconds, 18 seconds...
Then—
"Attack!"
Hurts' command cut through the air, and players on both sides burst into motion.
If you looked closely, you'd notice the Clemson defensive line held their ground, while the secondary stayed tight on the wide receivers and quickly moved back.
Clearly, their focus was on Hurts, wary of a pass or run. With fourth and two on the three-yard line, the quarterback had multiple ways to clinch victory.
Hurts stepped back, passing by Clarke, and made a handoff gesture.
At that moment, Lance cut to the right.
The entire play exploded into chaos.
Clemson's defense was suddenly split, with part of their attention on Hurts and another part tracking Lance's movement.
Thud, thud, thud.
The collisions at the line, the matchups in the secondary, and the quick shifts in the short-pass area all unfolded at once, creating a whirlwind of activity.
Where was the ball?
Whose hands held it?
Lance?
No, Hurts!
But was it really? Were your eyes playing tricks on you? Don't blink—not even for a second, or the magic might happen right before your eyes.
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Powerstones?
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