A Bold Gamble

Collision, impact—offensive and defensive players collided, all eyes sweeping the field, shifting their focus from Lance to Hurts.

Hurts!

The football was cradled in Hurts' arms!

Everyone could see Hurts rolling out to the left, attempting to run and push forward himself.

The Crimson Tide's plan was clear: using Lance as bait, Clarke to divert attention, and Hurts to make the run.

Sweeney felt confident—he hadn't forgotten how the Crimson Tide had flipped the script in the second half against Louisville.

A surge of movement.

Clemson's defenders swarmed toward Hurts.

Yet, in Clarke's mind, there was only one thought:

Focus.

Despite it being fourth and two, where failure meant total defeat and the end of Alabama's season, the crushing pressure and fear that tightened his chest couldn't overpower the single, unwavering thought in his mind. His fingers felt damp, his knees shook, and every organ seemed aflame—

But.

That one belief in his head drowned out everything, like walking a tightrope in the sky. He had to focus.

Pushing off, he burst forward.

Clarke discreetly took the football from Hurts and tucked it into his arms—

Gasp.

Instinctively, Clarke held his breath.

"Focus, Ronnie, focus!"

He hesitated only for a split second before following Lance's lead, matching his stride. His breath held, his attention razor-sharp.

A moment ago, Clarke saw the crowded line of defenders and felt his heart tighten.

The next moment, those black jerseys shifted like a tide to the left, opening up his field of view.

An opening!

Clarke accelerated, pushing forward, watching as Lance knocked Watkins aside, their bodies entangled, creating a sliver of space on the right.

He stepped up and sprinted.

Barely crossing the scrimmage line, Clarke saw Muse charging straight at him.

Danger!

Alarm bells!

Oddly, Clarke felt no panic, just a surge of adrenaline, knowing he wasn't fighting alone.

He carried the spirit of Josh, the resilience of the defense, Lance's trust, and the support of the entire offense.

He was fighting alongside them.

A reflexive, subconscious move.

Bending his knees. Lowering his torso. Leaning in.

Clarke drove into Muse head-on, unleashing all his strength and speed.

"Ah! Ahhh!"

A burst. A hit. A step forward.

Clarke charged with everything he had, not holding back. Energy surged from deep within, and he, possibly the freshest in the running back squad, couldn't spare any reserves.

Burning, releasing.

Then—

Roll.

Muse was launched backward, leaving Clarke's path open. Clarke's staggering steps broke through the blockade and reached the end zone.

One step.

Two steps.

—Touchdown.

The wind seemed to pour down upon him.

Clarke stood in the end zone, disbelief washing over him. He looked down at his feet, then at the football in his hands, and turned to Lance, seeking confirmation.

"Touchdown! Clarke, it's a touchdown!"

Lance shouted, joy overflowing as the adrenaline burst like fireworks in his chest.

Happiness and triumph surged, igniting the entire Richmond-James Stadium.

Look—the Crimson Tide was swallowing the field, painting the sky in vivid, fiery red.

"Roll, Clarke!"

"Roll, Clarke!"

The stadium erupted.

Every hair stood on end.

How did this even happen?

It was unbelievable. At the most critical moment, the most important play—fourth and two, with no margin for failure—Saban had entrusted the entire game to Clarke, Ronnie-freaking-Clarke.

This was no decoy.

Who could believe that Clarke's presence wasn't just a smokescreen but the winning move itself? Saban had laid his cards on the table in plain sight and still outwitted everyone.

Sweeney: …

He couldn't believe his eyes. He stood there, hands on his head, shocked and stunned, unable to even curse, caught between frustration and disbelief.

"Five seconds!"

"With five seconds left in the game, Alabama's Crimson Tide has pulled off an incredible touchdown, breathing new life into the contest."

"Oh God, the game isn't over yet. This epic showdown isn't over."

"If the Alabama Crimson Tide makes the extra point, we're headed for overtime."

"This would be the first national championship to go to overtime since the NCAA format change in 2006 and the second overtime national championship game since Ohio State beat Miami in double overtime in 2001. We're witnessing history."

"Wait."

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Wait, forgive my language, but!"

The broadcast booth fell silent for a moment. The palpable shock and awe needed no words; it resonated through the air.

"God, what am I seeing? What am I witnessing?"

"A two-point conversion! The Alabama Crimson Tide has chosen to go for two. Saban isn't opting for the safe one-point attempt; he's risking it all with a two-point conversion."

Shock, disbelief, excitement.

After a touchdown, the scoring team has the opportunity for extra points.

One point is awarded for a kick from the 15-yard line. If successful, one point is added.

Two points require another offensive play from the two-yard line to score.

The difficulty is clear.

A two-point conversion means scoring from two yards out, where defensive tactics are most effective, making the play inherently risky. Therefore, teams usually go for the safer one-point option in both the NFL and NCAA.

However, sometimes trailing teams take the gamble to quickly close the gap.

But here's the thing—

"51-50."

Alabama's Crimson Tide trailed by only one point. A successful one-point kick would tie the game, consume the remaining time, and push it into overtime, ensuring a chance to reset and win from equal ground.

But a two-point attempt was all or nothing. Success meant an outright win and the national championship; failure meant handing victory to Clemson, losing at the last possible second after a dramatic comeback.

Saban, taking such a risk?

Richmond-James Stadium erupted. This game, already packed with twists and breathtaking turns, had reached a climax of nerve-wracking intensity.

Five seconds. In the next five seconds, the 2016 NCAA national champion would be crowned, in sudden-death style, as thrilling as golden goal in soccer, and even more heart-pounding than a penalty shootout. The crowd's collective sanity dissipated into ecstatic frenzy.

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Powerstones?

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