The Gentle Cut

Adams was laser-focused.

As a safety positioned slightly deeper on the field, he had a perfect view of everything. He immediately noticed the overly dramatic fake handoff between Lance and Hurts, followed by Hurts leaving the pocket.

Adams was startled!

Typically, a quarterback doesn't leave the pocket, as doing so exposes them to defensive players without the protection of the offensive line. However, dual-threat quarterbacks are an exception. When they leave the pocket, they can create a double-threat scenario, with both the option to run and pass.

But in this case, Hurts wasn't running a read-option. So why was he outside the pocket?

Adams scanned the field quickly.

Lance!

Both Hurts and Lance bent low into running positions, splitting off in opposite directions.

It was a dual running back play! The Crimson Tide was using Hurts as a second running back again.

This wasn't a pass play or a simple run.

The Tigers' defense hadn't forgotten how the Crimson Tide broke the deadlock earlier in the second half. It was Hurts who had faked the defense out with a run, fooling them with a clever dual-back strategy. And now, they were using the same play again.

Saban had thrown in a trick play, which wasn't typical for him. Why would that sly old fox take a risk at such a crucial moment?

There was no time to figure out Saban's thought process. The Tigers' defense was facing an immediate challenge.

Hurts moved left, while Lance moved right. The defense had to make a split-second decision.

Thoughts raced through Adams' mind, but in less than a second, the offense and defense had already started moving.

Adams saw it first: Riley followed Hurts to the left, while Beckwith kept his eyes glued to Lance.

The other two linebackers spread out, marking the receivers closely.

The previously crowded Tigers' defense now spread out, leaving gaps.

Clearly, the Crimson Tide's tricky play design had thrown the Tigers' defense off balance, forcing a split in their decision-making.

Adams didn't have time to curse. He needed to stay calm and react.

With a sudden stop, Adams didn't rush forward. After all, it was second-and-ten. If it were a run, the defense had room to recover. If it were a pass, rushing forward too quickly could leave the secondary exposed. He needed to assess the situation.

Hurts?

No, it was Lance.

As Adams calmed down, he noticed in the chaos that Hurts was running without the ball. The ball was with Lance.

Danger! Danger!

The alarms in Adams' head went off.

Then, he saw Lance. Amidst the purple jerseys and swirling heat, Lance's white jersey seemed to dance on top of the purple storm.

Lance cut right, moving towards the left side of the Tigers' defense. Cornerback White came charging in like a knife. But Lance was unfazed. He stopped abruptly and spun smoothly, performing a full 360-degree clockwise spin, slipping past White's attempted tackle, cutting back inside.

The next moment, Beckwith closed in, but Lance stayed calm. With another sharp stop, he executed the same 360-degree spin to escape Beckwith, cutting back inside once again.

Light, agile, precise.

Within just a few yards of space, and surrounded by layers of defenders, Lance moved effortlessly, like he was dancing. That white wave danced atop the golden sunlight, cresting over the purple tide. For a brief, breathtaking moment, Tiger Stadium stood stunned, awe-struck by the display.

It wasn't just graceful, but also effortless. Lance seemed to be gliding through a sea of defenders as if he were untouchable.

Just when it seemed like nothing could stop him, Beckwith, in a desperate attempt as he lost his balance, reached out and managed to trip Lance's ankle. Lance's smooth stride faltered, his knees buckled, and he stumbled forward.

Then, Adams appeared.

For a brief moment, in that instant, Lance and Adams locked eyes. It was like a classic western showdown—two lone heroes facing each other on a narrow bridge, with everyone else fading into the background. It was just the two of them, and the moment of reckoning had come.

Step.

Adams took the first step, striking first.

Pull.

Lance, already leaning forward from his stumble, cut to the right, shifting back outside after having cut inside moments before. He needed space to recover his balance, otherwise, he'd have no chance in a head-on clash with Adams.

Shadowing him closely, Adams sprinted diagonally, aiming to cut Lance off before he could fully regain his footing.

The two were on a collision course, closing in on each other fast. Adams read the play perfectly, cutting off Lance's path.

Closer.

Closer.

Just as they were about to collide, Lance hit the brakes again. It was as if he had pulled tight on the reins while standing on the edge of a cliff. He wobbled, precariously close to losing control, as he barely slipped past Adams.

However!

Adams had anticipated it this time. He overshot his mark by just a little but quickly corrected course, turning on a dime and lunging at Lance. He reached out and grabbed hold of Lance.

Adams had learned from earlier mistakes. He wasn't going to let Lance slip through his fingers again after watching him evade White and Beckwith with ease.

He grabbed, he held on.

Tackle, secured!

Adams grinned.

But Lance, having regained his balance and footing, continued to push forward. He dug his feet in and powered through, running into Adams head-on. The two collided, but Lance kept charging ahead, with Adams unable to bring him down.

Wobbling and swaying, Lance seemed to be shaking off Adams' grip. In a moment of desperation, Adams resorted to…

Pulling.

The yellow flag flew. The referee hadn't missed the infraction.

But the play wasn't over.

Lance felt the tug and the hit but refused to go down. He kept his legs churning, finding more power and speed as he pushed forward again.

Step, step.

They jostled, they crashed, they tangled, but Lance kept going. Adams, still clinging on, struggled to keep up with Lance's relentless pace, but his grip was slipping.

Stride for stride, they kept running.

Ten yards.

Fifteen yards.

Twenty yards.

In no time, they had raced ahead, covering significant ground, with Lance having secured the first down.

Tiger safety Corey Thompson looked on, his face grim—not because Adams had failed to stop Lance, but because Adams had lost his focus entirely, forgetting the bigger picture.

Time. The clock! That was the real priority now.

Damn it!

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Powerstones?

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