Chapter 139 137: Breaking the Deadlock
The entire offense and defense lines devolved into a chaotic mess. Players swarmed together, red and navy blue jerseys colliding like two converging flash floods. The turbulent waves echoed with a thunderous roar as they thrashed toward the quarterback, savage and menacing.
Before the offense line was completely torn apart, Lu Ke decisively threw the football.
The Sea Eagle Team's defense line was thrown into disarray. Leroy Hill watched helplessly as the football was released. He was just a step away from Lu Ke, his hands only managing to graze the quarterback's waist. The next second, to avoid a penalty, he had to let go, forcefully reining in his body and stumbling to the side. He glanced back at the ball.
'Who could he possibly be passing to in such a short time?'
Out in the open field, the Sea Eagle Team's secondary defenders had the receivers' routes tightly covered. They had shifted with the entire offense line toward the 49ers' left side, but then their eyes locked onto the ball in mid-air. An instant later, they saw the player who made the catch!
It was a short pass of about eight yards—thrown with moderate power, precise placement, and a flat trajectory. The ball was in the air for less than half a second before the receiver effortlessly cradled it in his arms.
'Marcus Lynch? It was actually Marcus!'
This was only his second down on the field, and he was already the target of a pass. And as a running back, he smoothly caught the ball and began rumbling forward like a bulldozer.
Richard Sherman, who had been covering Logan, realized the defensive line had failed to cover that part of the short-pass zone. It was a breakdown. Marcus had faced no challenge and made the catch with an open field ahead of him—he had caught the ball on the right side, while the entire offense line had pulled the defense line toward the left.
Sherman immediately abandoned Logan, lowered his center of gravity, and charged toward Marcus. He aimed for Marcus's calves; a tackle there would instantly make the player lose his balance and stop his advance. At the same time, the players on the defensive line responsible for short-pass coverage realized their misjudgment and scrambled to provide support.
But they were too slow.
Sherman dove forward, only to see Marcus leap up in a hurdling motion, sailing elegantly over his torso. Sherman crashed into the turf, sending grass flying, while Marcus landed steadily on his feet and continued to push forward.
'Dammit. Another missed tackle!'
Marcus kept advancing. Logan also rushed over, crossing paths with Marcus and knocking away one of the backup defenders. But there was another defender in his line of sight. Logan reached out to block him, but only managed to slap the opponent's shoulder, failing to grab his jersey.
That backup defender charged and dove sideways, halting Marcus's forward momentum. Unbalanced, he stumbled and fell, landing flat on his butt on the grass.
Marcus was furious with himself, slamming his fist on the turf in frustration over his performance. Normally, even after a hit like that, he could have kept his balance and pushed forward for at least another two or three yards. As a power running back, that was his specialty.
But just now, whether from an insufficient warm-up or too much excitement, his footing had become unstable, and he'd gone straight down. Marcus was incredibly annoyed about it.
Despite that, the unexpected pass had successfully gained ten yards. With help from Marcus, Lu Ke led the team to the twenty-three-yard line. They were now seven yards away from another first down, and it was third down.
Lu Ke raised his hands and gestured forward, signaling his teammates to hurry up and get into formation. Since the chosen tactic was the Shotgun Formation, Lu Ke immediately switched into the no-huddle offense he excelled at, relying entirely on his passing feel and his receivers' chemistry to advance the ball. Fast, fast, faster!
Even though it was third down with a long seven yards to go, a precarious situation for the offense, Lu Ke showed no sign of panic. He was even calmer than before.
On one side, the offensive players quickly lined up; on the other, Lu Ke loudly called out the route assignments.
At this moment, the stands of Candlestick Park weren't too loud. The crowd still seemed to be shaking off a tedious boredom, only occasionally glancing at the field. Even the commentators didn't sense the approaching danger. Except for Kirk.
Such an atmosphere was a nightmare for the game's energy, but for a quarterback calling a play, it couldn't be better. Without much effort, Lu Ke relayed the play and, without hesitation, called for the snap.
With the ball in his hands, Lu Ke didn't take a drop back or move much at all. He just took two big steps to his right and saw his target—
Michael Crabtree.
Crabtree took off as if running a forty-yard dash, powerfully pumping his arms. But after ten yards, while his arms were still swinging hard, his feet suddenly stopped and chopped in place. Richard Sherman, who had been shadowing him closely, couldn't brake in time and overran him. Then, Sherman could only watch as Crabtree stopped, turned, and raised his hands.
The instant he raised his hands, Lu Ke's pass arrived.
However, the pass was a bit low this time. It seemed there was a miscalculation in the trajectory—either Lu Ke had thrown it a little short, or Crabtree had run a little too far. The ball ended up dropping near his lower waist. Crabtree quickly reached down, bent over, and made a shoestring catch, scooping the ball into his arms just in the nick of time. But he had already lost his center of gravity and had to perform an awkward roll to avoid injury.
"Fuck!" Sherman swore out loud. 'It was him. It's him again! How many times have I been out of position tonight? That Chinese-American quarterback is definitely targeting me, humiliating me again and again. And what's worse, I'm just letting the humiliation continue! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' Sherman was trembling all over, nearly consumed by his own rage.
'I'm going to kill that guy! I'm going to run him over! I'm going to torture him!'
Crabtree got to his feet, glanced at Sherman, who was repeatedly punching the ground next to him, and let out a contemptuous sneer. He tossed the ball to the referee and then jogged over to Lu Ke, shooting him a confused look. "I thought you said ten yards."
"No, no. I wanted you to run *to* the ten-yard mark, then come back." Lu Ke's pass had actually been aimed at the eight-yard mark. A miscommunication between the two, coupled with a lack of chemistry, had led to such a risky result. But fortunately, Crabtree had still managed to make the catch.
Crabtree stared at Lu Ke, dumbfounded. He turned to Logan, who was jogging back. "He's kidding, right?"
Logan shook his head. "No, Bambi means what he says. You'd better practice the routes and positions more later." If he says eight yards, he means eight yards. The entire pass will be within an arm's reach, and the placement and height will be just right.
Crabtree blinked. 'Is this quarterback's passing really that precise?' At least that last pass was exactly eight yards.
The eight-yard reception was complete, just barely getting them past the first-down marker. The San Francisco 49ers kept their drive alive, advancing to their own thirty-one-yard line.
Third and seven. In such a difficult situation, Lu Ke appeared as calm and unhurried as if he were taking a leisurely stroll. This performance seemed to finally wake the commentators from their slumber. They were beginning to taste something different, sensing a return to the style of the opening two downs. But they needed to observe a little longer.
The Sea Eagle Team's defense was trying to realign its defensive strategy, but Lu Ke gave them no chance. As soon as the offense line was set, he immediately barked out the play call, assigning routes to three receivers. Finally, he gave Marcus a signal. To the defense, it looked like a sign for a play-action run, but in reality, Lu Ke was directing Marcus to run a route as well, using him as a wide receiver—
Or more accurately, given Marcus's weight and build, a tight end.
In less than ten seconds, Lu Ke had called the play and was ready for the snap. The Sea Eagle Team's defense hadn't even finished communicating; facing the opponent's formation, they could only hastily line up and prepare to react on the fly. As expected, Lu Ke immediately called for the ball.
Marcus ran to the right on a short pass route. Crabtree also ran to the right, heading out on an intermediate route, pulling the same trick to occupy Sherman's attention.
Kyle Williams ran to the left, and Ted Ginn Jr. also ran to the left. The two split into separate routes, charging forward with their heads down. Their movements didn't look like intermediate routes but deep ones, instantly putting the Sea Eagle Team's secondary on high alert.
Then, Logan also ran to the left— 'Wait, isn't Logan always on the right? Why did he suddenly switch to the left?' The Sea Eagle Team's defensive players were completely flustered and charged forward recklessly.
Raise, draw back, release.
Lu Ke's entire passing motion was minimal, concise, and clean. He had released the ball in the time it took to complete a three-step drop.
It was a short pass! Not a deep strike with a heavy weapon, but a short pass of about seven or eight yards! The target was none other than Logan!
Logan Newman again.
Three nearby defenders converged on him like starving wolves pouncing on prey. Logan securely caught the football, turned, and started to run, but in the next second, he saw the three players forming a circle around him. His teammates were all still running their routes, with no time to help block.
Surrounded on all sides.