The Art of War

Straightforward, sincere, and genuine. 

No whining, no excuses. Allen displayed the heart and attitude of a true professional player, welcoming Lance to the team with open arms.

Lance was a bit surprised. He looked at Allen's straightforward expression and then smiled, raising his fist to meet Allen's in a firm bump.

"Sorry for making you dance ballet this time. How about we try tango next?"

That confident smile sent shivers down the spines of Humphrey, Foster, and the others. Why did Lance's smile give off such a devilish vibe? 

Jackson quietly looked up at the sky, secretly relieved that his position was in the backfield, meaning he wouldn't have to face Lance head-on very often.

Allen's competitive spirit was immediately ignited. He turned his fist into a handshake, grabbed Lance's right hand, and pulled him in for a solid shoulder bump. Then, he laughed heartily. "Bring it on, anytime. I'm ready."

With that, Allen turned to his three teammates.

"Jackson, stop looking at the sky. It won't save you from embarrassment with everyone watching."

"Now that the rookie has thrown down the gauntlet, we have no excuses. Our defense was terrible just now. We're going to need some extra practice today."

"Coach said to run laps, so let's run laps. How about we start with thirty?"

Ugh! 

No! 

Help!

Amidst the groans, Allen didn't give them a chance to protest. He spun around and took the lead, with the other three trailing behind like a string of tails, sulking but starting their laps.

And that wasn't all.

As Allen led the three "tails" past the field, he shouted with full force, "All defensive players, join in!"

Suddenly, a whole group of players fell in line behind Allen, one by one, obediently joining the lap-running brigade.

Lance watched the scene with wide-eyed wonder, standing by as the players passed him, shouting and joking, "Thanks, rookie!" or "Nice job, newbie!"

Lance waved back with a big smile, as if he were a royal family member greeting the crowds from the balcony of Buckingham Palace.

Ha! 

Laughter erupted from the group.

Then, Lance turned and walked toward the sidelines, where Burns, beaming with pride, was already heading his way. Burns patted Lance's shoulder with satisfaction.

"Good job, really good job."

"You performed exceptionally well. Not knowing anything about football is actually a blessing. It means you're not constrained by preconceived notions or fixed patterns, so you can think outside the box."

As he spoke, they reached the sideline. Standing before Saban, Burns folded his arms and stood beside Lance like a bodyguard, looking at Saban.

Without saying a word, Burns' stance was clear—he wasn't standing beside Saban but had chosen to align himself with Lance.

Saban knew his old colleague well. Burns was easygoing most of the time, but when it came to football, he was stubborn and meticulous.

Saban looked at Burns. "No need for the posturing. Even if I don't trust my own judgment, I trust yours. I'll call the president, and we'll get Lance on the roster before the deadline. But what matters now is how the person involved feels."

"Lance, right?"

"Do you want to join the Crimson Tide?"

Lance could sense Saban's seriousness, and he stood tall, meeting Saban's gaze directly. "I'm ready to accept the challenge."

Despite his impressive performance, Lance remained humble and composed. Saban liked his choice of words—"accept the challenge." It showed Lance's intelligence.

Saban couldn't help but let his expectations rise even higher. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to set the bar a little higher. "Welcome to the Crimson Tide."

Burns smiled contentedly. "Come on, Lance, let's go get you signed up. The deadline's approaching."

Lance followed Burns off the field, while Saban stayed behind to continue the team's training. The new season was just around the corner, and though they were still a strong team, complacency wasn't an option. The spring training camp was the last chance to prepare before summer break.

The NCAA differs from the NFL, even though both leagues start their new seasons in September. The NFL is a professional league with two off-season training camps—one in May and another in July—followed by preseason games in August, all leading up to the regular season. The NCAA, however, operates differently.

The NCAA, which includes college sports like basketball, football, tennis, and gymnastics, has a complete league system that serves as a stepping stone for many athletes aiming for professional careers. Colleges are so invested in these leagues that they offer special scholarships to help students train.

The key difference between the NCAA and professional leagues is that not all college athletes will go pro. The NCAA ensures that student-athletes have a future—

They are students first, then athletes.

This distinction is crucial because, even if they don't make it to the pros after graduation, they'll still have a degree to fall back on.

So, the NCAA enforces minimum credit requirements for all players—fail to meet them, and you're benched. The league also strictly regulates training hours.

Summer is vacation time, and universities can't organize training. Spring training camp is the last opportunity for these student-athletes to improve their skills before summer break.

In Burns' eyes— 

This is perfect timing.

With a few months until the season starts in September, Lance can focus on building his fundamentals and learning the basics. Most importantly, he can study the playbook.

"…You're probably more familiar with *The Art of War* than I am, right?"

"Well, football is like war. We use *The Art of War* to strategize and outmaneuver our opponents. In the NFL, there are over 20,000 offensive and defensive plays. Of course, in college, we're not that extreme. It's not that we can't be; it's just that our training time is limited, and players don't have the time to learn so many plays. We keep things relatively simple."

"Even so, you still need to study the playbook. Learning the offensive plays helps you understand your role, and you also need to learn the defensive plays so you can anticipate your opponent's strategies."

"We need time—a lot of time—but I believe you can do it. You might even have an advantage since you're so smart."

As Burns spoke, he realized he might have said too much again.

He looked at Lance with an awkward and anxious expression. "How about we finish the paperwork first? We can discuss the rest later."

Lance couldn't help but laugh, easily reading Burns' mix of embarrassment and concern. "Sounds good."

Burns let out a long breath of relief. He was genuinely worried about scaring Lance off. If that happened, the upcoming season could be a disaster.

Burns clamped his mouth shut and watched anxiously as Lance filled out the registration form. Only when the paperwork was complete, with Lance's name signed in black and white, did Burns finally relax, allowing a smile to spread across his face.

"Oh, by the way, you'll need to choose a jersey number. Pick any number you like. The team will do its best to accommodate your preference. Do you have a number in mind?"

"Number 99." Lance had never chosen a jersey number of his own before, so he wanted something unique.

Burns' smile turned awkward. "Uh, that won't work."