章節 43: Itching for Action
Indeed, Bateman's passing accuracy might not be top-tier, but let's not forget—being the No. 2 quarterback for a powerhouse like Alabama means he's no pushover.
Short passes often rely on teamwork. As long as the throw isn't wildly off target and the receivers and tight ends understand the play correctly, a connection can be made.
While Alabama's ground game drew significant defensive attention, Coach Saban called for a series of short pass plays to gradually wear down Clemson's defense.
Were these tactics innovative?
No. Saban's passing plays were straightforward and traditional.
Did they work?
Yes.
And that was enough.
Alternating between runs and passes, Saban's vast experience and seasoned tactics shone through, consuming eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds before, facing a third-and-three in the red zone, Alabama scored a touchdown.
It was a fake run, real pass.
Bateman faked a handoff to Lance, drawing the defense toward him, then spun around and found tight end Hunter Kiss.
With his back to the end zone, Hunter Kiss secured the ball despite being tackled, using his physical advantage to force his way in.
Touchdown!
After a successful extra point, the scoreboard read "14-21."
The Crimson Tide had closed the gap, now just one touchdown behind. The energy in Bryant-Denny Stadium surged to life.
"Roar!"
"Roar!"
Although this was just a preseason game, and the outcome didn't really matter, the historic rivalry between these two teams—coupled with their clash in the National Championship earlier this year—ignited a passion in both the players and the fans that rivaled a regular-season game.
Clemson was no exception.
With a loud snort, one of the "Black Reapers," Dexter Lawrence, jumped to his feet. Compared to veterans like Watkins and Wilkins, Lawrence was still a high schooler, brimming with youthful energy and always eager to prove himself.
He was always ready, never willing to let an opportunity slip by.
Moreover, there was competition between Lawrence and fellow freshman, No. 99 Clelin Ferrell. Seeing Ferrell fail to live up to the coaches' expectations, Lawrence became even more eager, his eyes fixed on the coach.
Would they just let this slide?
That No. 23 from Alabama was nothing special. The quarterback could only manage short passes. Alabama's offense was using the same old tactics repeatedly. If Ferrell couldn't handle it, why not let him take over?
Watkins and Wilkins didn't stop Lawrence. In fact, they were curious about the coach's decision too.
They didn't like Alabama.
If they had to choose, they preferred the Alabama they had dominated in the first half—grounded, struggling to make plays. Sure, this was just a preseason game, but Watkins and Wilkins hadn't forgotten the bitterness of losing the National Championship in January. Weren't they supposed to get their revenge today?
Coach Swinney hesitated.
Preseason games had their own strategic importance. Should he disrupt his plans just to secure a win in a warm-up game? Or should he continue trusting his players? After all, they couldn't rely on just one lineup for the upcoming season.
Thoughts swirled in his mind.
Swinney glanced back at Deshaun Watson, who was still sitting calmly, arms crossed over his chest. Though his face was now serious, lacking the earlier laid-back vibe, he was still composed, showing no signs of panic despite Alabama's recent score.
Swinney regained his composure.
Everything stemmed from that No. 23 running back who had seemingly come out of nowhere. Their scouting report had completely overlooked him, throwing a wrench into their plans.
Damn it.
But they couldn't afford to panic now. They had to stick to the plan.
So, Swinney ignored Lawrence's eager gaze and reaffirmed his approach.
The third quarter was nearly over, and it was Clemson's turn to attack. They needed to stay calm, grind out a solid offensive drive, control possession, and drain the clock.
If they could finish with a touchdown, the game would be back in their hands.
Swinney regained his confidence and signaled the offense to take the field.
Indeed, this time, Clemson's offensive strategy was more meticulous and balanced. They engaged Alabama's defense in a war of attrition, locking into a battle of wills.
Seven minutes and forty-five seconds passed.
This drive spanned the third quarter and into the fourth. Short passes and runs were the focus, as Clemson mirrored Alabama's earlier method of offense. Their grit and determination reflected the depth they had displayed in the National Championship game earlier that year, where they had fought Alabama to the wire.
But, no touchdown.
Alabama's defense made a crucial stand in the red zone, stopping Clemson at the seven-yard line. Still, Clemson managed to secure a field goal.
It was their first points of the second half.
"24-14."
The lead extended once more, and with most of the fourth quarter already gone, Alabama now faced a tougher challenge.
Watson settled back into his relaxed posture, joking with his teammates again.
Watkins and Wilkins also regained their calm. Only Lawrence remained on edge, eager to prove himself in this game.
The scales of victory tipped ever so slightly in Clemson's favor. The shift was subtle, but it was enough to change the mood. When Alabama's offense returned to the field, there was a heavy sense of pressure.
Lance felt it too.
Though it wasn't an official game, the pressure of competition filled his heart. Unlike cross-country running or mixed martial arts, this was the first time Lance had felt the weight of so many people depending on him. It was intense, yet thrilling.
This was a first for him.
Alabama felt it, and so did Clemson. The first play exploded with energy.
Roar!
Clelin Ferrell stormed onto the field like a sumo wrestler, squatting low as he entered, celebrating in a way that mocked Alabama's offense.
"Sorry."
Alabama's right offensive tackle, Lester Cotton, extended his hand to Lance, his face full of apology.
Just now, Cotton had missed his block, allowing Ferrell to break through the pocket. Lance barely had time to receive the ball from Bateman before Ferrell was on him, and he was sacked before he could even start his run.
It was ugly.
Cotton knew it was entirely his fault. He took full responsibility.
Lance grabbed Cotton's hand, pulling himself up before patting Cotton on the shoulder. "You did fine. Just don't make the same mistake again."
With that little joke, Cotton rubbed his helmet, embarrassed.
Lance didn't mind. Sure, Cotton had missed his block, but the real issue was that their offensive play had been predictable. Clemson's defense had read it perfectly and was a step ahead.
Besides, in football, getting hit was part of the game.
From that hit, Lance could still taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue—
It was thrilling, exciting even.
Blowing out an opponent was great, but it was boring without a fight. After overcoming a challenge, crushing the opponent felt far more satisfying.
Lance thought to himself, looks like No. 99 is ready.
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