Casual Stroll

This was a game of strategy—

Ferrell was calculating Lance, and Lance was also calculating Ferrell.

In a flash, both players shifted their centers of gravity multiple times, faking movements to dodge or tackle. In just a few brief moments, they exchanged the upper hand multiple times, with the distance between them shrinking and the tension in the air intensifying.

Here it comes!

As the defender, Ferrell had to make the first move to break free of the passive position and seize the initiative. He pushed off, his massive frame launching forward.

However—

At that fleeting moment, Lance made an unexpected move, coming to a sudden halt. His body completely under control, it was as if he had hit a pause button.

Brake!

Stop!

—Miscalculation.

Ferrell's tackle narrowly missed its mark, skimming past Lance as if the runner's body had turned into a blur, slipping by him at the last second.

Ferrell's heart skipped a beat, and before he could feel surprise or panic, he shifted his weight, forcing himself into a half-step to the right. He tried to collapse his weight onto Lance's standing position, using his excellent physical gifts to try to cut off Lance's escape route.

Regardless of whether Lance managed to evade the tackle, or whether Ferrell's panicked second attempt succeeded, Ferrell's massive body, like a mountain of flesh, was physically blocking Lance's path forward.

Ferrell gritted his teeth, focusing all his strength and weight into this move, fully committed to bringing down his opponent.

Just as Ferrell thought he had successfully blocked the run, he caught a glint in Lance's eyes—whether it was a flash of confidence, a smirk, or simply the light reflecting off his helmet, Ferrell couldn't tell. But for a moment, there was a calm, almost assured control in Lance's expression.

Ferrell cursed silently.

In the next moment, he felt a shadow rushing straight at him.

Not only did Lance not evade or avoid him, but he charged directly forward—

A head-on collision.

Instinctively, Ferrell tensed up. Remembering O'Daniel's encounter earlier, he braced himself, not backing down.

Perfect, he thought. Let's see how this lightweight running back handles 275 pounds (120 kg) of pure force coming right at him. Ferrell smirked, imagining the pain Lance was about to feel.

Just as the two were about to collide, Ferrell noticed a subtle shift—Lance's body moved slightly, their centers of gravity barely misaligned.

Wait, how was Lance able to control his body to make such a precise adjustment at the last moment? And what was he planning to achieve with this?

Before Ferrell could even complete the thought—

Boom!

A powerful impact slammed into Ferrell's right shoulder.

Like a tidal wave, the force surged into his shoulder with immense pressure.

It was a solid, direct collision, without any finesse or trickery, a pure test of power. The force from below rose like a meteor punch, landing squarely on Ferrell's shoulder.

Ferrell felt as though his shoulder was going to shatter. For the first time, his body felt fragile.

Boom! A sudden, overwhelming force toppled his balance. His 265-pound frame, lacking agility, was now completely exposed, and unable to adjust, he absorbed the full brunt of the impact like a punching bag. The sheer force of the blow spun Ferrell around.

Allen: I've seen this play before!

In a mind-boggling spectacle, the 265-pound Ferrell was spinning, as if an invisible hand was guiding his clumsy, lumbering frame into a slow-motion pirouette. The entire crowd fell silent, stunned.

Ferrell, like a wannabe ballet dancer trapped in a heavyweight's body, awkwardly spun around. His world was upside down as his balance was sent into a spin cycle. Barely 90 degrees into the turn, he had already lost all momentum and couldn't continue.

He froze.

Ferrell was left in a precarious position, his center of gravity and balance utterly shattered. He was helplessly at the mercy of gravity, arms flailing as he tried to grab onto something, but it was useless. He tumbled backward.

Face up. Back down.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ferrell caught a glimpse of Lance's silhouette slipping past him like a breeze, disappearing before he could react.

The world was crumbling—

How had this happened?

Ferrell couldn't figure it out.

As for Lance?

Using his shoulder as the axis, Lance had felt the full weight of the impact as well. The massive force slammed into his left shoulder, but rather than resist, he flowed with it. He sunk into the hit, allowing the momentum to carry him in a clockwise spin, successfully deflecting the remainder of the force.

Completing the 360-degree spin, Lance didn't stop. He instinctively angled his body to the right, pushing forward and upward.

One step.

As he surveyed the field, he saw exactly what he had predicted. The Tigers' defense had swarmed to the other side, leaving the right side of the field wide open.

Two steps.

While there were still cornerbacks and safeties on this side, the previously dense defensive line had scattered, leaving open space ahead.

Everything was just as Lance had observed and analyzed. Burns had agreed—the Tigers' defense was concentrated in the middle. Both in numbers and strength, they were clogging up the line of scrimmage, putting immense pressure on Alabama's offensive line and ground game. But in doing so, they left the flanks vulnerable.

The cornerbacks and safeties were occupied with the wide receivers. All Lance had to do was dodge the first line of defense and redirect the linebackers' attention. The sideline would open up.

Now, it had.

Three steps.

Even though Lance had escaped Ferrell's grasp, the collision had cost him time. The defense was already starting to react.

The opening was right in front of him. The defensive misalignment had created a window of opportunity. But that window was slowly starting to close again as defenders rushed over.

There was no time to lose.

Without hesitation, Lance surged forward. His legs powered him into a sprint like he was launching into a 100-meter dash.

Though he had staggered slightly from the earlier impact, Lance's steps were strong and stable. Within two or three strides, he had regained his balance and was picking up speed.

A Tigers cornerback was closing in on him, ready for a head-on tackle. But just then, a figure appeared on Lance's right side, crashing into the cornerback—

It was wide receiver Foster, Alabama's number one. He had initially run a deep route, but turned back to block for Lance.

A collision. A block.

The lane that had been closing reopened once again. The path ahead was clear.