Chapter 163 161: Halftime
"I said it. I've been saying it all along." Charles Davis sat in the ESPN broadcast booth, waving his hands passionately. It was as if he were sitting on pins and needles; he couldn't stay in his seat, popping up every so often to emphasize his point with exaggerated motions. "He's just a shooting star, nothing more!"
"Honestly, I thought they would at least put up a fight in this game. After all, that shooting star shone quite brightly in the last game. I never expected it to burn out so quickly. It's like he was a ghost that wasn't even there the entire first half! The San Francisco 49ers offense has completely disappeared!"
Charles was practically spitting as he spoke, his animated expression doing nothing to hide his exhilaration.
"Let's look at his stats: four of eleven passes completed, for twenty-one yards, one interception, and no touchdowns. He only managed to get one first down. That's his first-half performance. A quarterback like that isn't the brains of the team, he's a tumor—a tumor that needs to be cut out!"
The stats don't lie.
The reason Lu Ke got so much attention in the first week's game was, in the end, because he put up unbelievable numbers. Likewise, in today's game, Lu Ke's first-half stats are nothing short of a disaster. Even though four of his six incomplete passes were dropped by the receivers, the fact remains that the San Francisco 49ers' offense is completely stuck in quicksand, still sinking, with no way to escape.
"Now, let's calm down and face reality," Charles said, seeming to compose himself. His tone returned to a calm, matter-of-fact demeanor. "He's just an ordinary quarterback. Does he have what it takes to be a starting quarterback in this Alliance? That remains to be seen. But what we can be sure of is that there are countless quarterbacks in the entire Alliance who are on his level. He is not going to be the savior of the San Francisco 49ers."
His calm tone carried an irrefutable, iron-clad certainty.
Edward Bowen took up his role as host again, guiding the conversation. "So you're saying you don't think Lu Ke can bounce back in the second half?"
"No, I don't think so." Charles didn't hesitate. "To be precise, I don't believe the 49ers' future belongs to him. Alex Smith will be back next week, and Colin Kaepernick is a much better option. The question for the second half is: can the San Francisco 49ers get another first down? Do they stand a chance of avoiding the embarrassment of a shutout?"
After speaking, Charles flashed a huge smile and winked slyly to show off his cleverness. "Oh, and by the way, my bet still stands. If the San Francisco 49ers manage to win this game, I will personally eat this microphone!"
He was brimming with confidence.
Charles wasn't alone. In the other broadcast booths, all the commentators were talking a mile a minute, eager to share their opinions. They analyzed why the San Francisco 49ers were failing, broke down the Dallas Cowboys' containment strategy, and predicted how the second half would unfold. Not a single one believed in Lu Ke; it was a universal chorus of doom and gloom.
Even in the Fox Television studio, where Teddy and Kirk were openly supporting the San Francisco 49ers, the atmosphere was heavy. It wasn't just because of the 17-0 score, but because the 49ers' offense couldn't get anything going. It seemed like every single part of their game was off, their rhythm completely disrupted. What on earth was happening?
Meanwhile, the players in the locker room were asking the same questions: What the hell went wrong? What's going on with the offense?
Lu Ke casually draped a towel over his head, completely blocking out all light and sound as he entered his own world of thought. He needed to calm down. He needed to clear his head. He needed to get a grip on the situation.
The first half was a total mess, but it wasn't without a glimmer of hope.
Even though the Dallas Cowboys' coverage was tight, openings could still be created and connections could still be made. It's just that the windows were smaller and more difficult to hit, and on top of that, the receivers weren't playing well. That's what led to this predicament.
Even though the Dallas Cowboys' defensive strategy was working perfectly, they were barely putting any pressure on Lu Ke. They were basically banking on the fact that Lu Ke couldn't run the ball and that his physicality was terrible. If Lu Ke could just find one seam, it would be enough to change the course of the game.
Even though Lu Ke's completion percentage was a disaster, two of the incompletions were his own inaccurate throws. For a quarterback like Lu Ke, who was known for his precision, this was unusual. But both errant passes were mid-range throws, a product of his Mid-range Pass Accuracy rating of just sixty-five.
The Cowboys' entire defense was slanted. They had flooded the short-pass zones, leaving almost no openings and giving up no yardage. The Long Pass Area, on the other hand, was patrolled by two safeties, seemingly leaving the door wide open, inviting the quarterback to throw deep. They didn't even blitz, making it obvious they were leaving a gap. However, the two cornerbacks' steps were constantly moving backward, always ready to provide help over the top.
Intentionally or not, the movements and angles of the defensive players left what looked like openings, forcing Lu Ke to choose the mid-range pass.
But mid-range passes place the highest demands on timing with the receiver, route running, and finding the open spot. As a result, Lu Ke had two errant throws, plus the interception caused by Davis's butterfingers.
Lu Ke's strengths were his accurate judgment, his ability to read defenses, and his pre-snap reads. His weaknesses were his lack of experience, his thin resume, and his inflated confidence.
The Dallas Cowboys were exploiting Lu Ke's tendencies perfectly. They were certain Lu Ke would identify the holes in the mid-range zone and decisively choose to throw there—which was precisely where they had laid their trap. Then: deflect, shut down, intercept!
During the game, split-second decisions are often made on instinct and momentum. Now that he had calmed down, the entire blueprint was gradually becoming clear:
Game experience is a kind of wealth that can't be earned via a shortcut. Lu Ke didn't have it yet. Fortunately, there was still half a game to play.
"Shit! Mind your own damn business! And let the motherfucking quarterback do his job! If he can't, we still have Smith, and we have Kaepernick! This nightmare will be over in just one more half!"
"We're talking about doing our jobs now? Did *you* do *your* job? Who the hell dropped the ball that led to the interception? Who the hell was slacking off and nearly cost us even more points?"
"What did you say? What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell have *you* even done today?"
"Shut up, both of you! The offense isn't working, and everyone's responsible. Four drops! The receivers dropped the ball four times! It's not all on Lu Ke!"
"Then whose is it? He's the quarterback! He gets the glory, so he has to take the blame! You can't just enjoy the good times and refuse the bad. Life doesn't work that way."
"Have you guys even been treating him like a quarterback? Huh? What the hell are you all doing in practice? You think today's dropped passes have nothing to do with how you've been training? Are you sure you're not sandbagging, deliberately trying to get Lu Ke benched?"
"You're crazy! Jesus the Christ! You shameless bastard!"
The rookies and the veterans seemed to have thrown all pretense aside. All their conflicts erupted at once, spiraling out of control.
Regardless of whether they were on the offense, the Defense Team, or the special teams, and regardless of personal friendships, all the players in the locker room were now crudely divided into two camps: first-years and non-first-years.
This year's rookies, including the Undrafted Players, only totaled twelve. The other forty-one players on the main roster were all in at least their second year in the Alliance.
In terms of sheer numbers, the rookies were at a clear disadvantage—they couldn't even put up a defense, let alone a fight. But the San Francisco 49ers' situation was a bit unique. Of the forty-one non-first-year players, a full fifteen had just joined the San Francisco 49ers this year. In other words, there were only twenty-six true veterans on the 49ers.
Although the fifteen newly-joined players were technically in the veteran camp, most of them kept their mouths shut, refusing to get involved in the team's factional disputes.
And so, a standoff unfolded between the twelve rookies and the twenty-six veterans. They went back and forth, not giving an inch. All the pent-up frustration and gloom from the past weeks, combined with the suffocating annoyance from today's first half, erupted in a torrent, turning the entire locker room into a powder keg.
The clamorous argument gradually spun out of control, piercing through the barrier of the towel and drilling sharply into Lu Ke's ears. It shattered his train of thought, and a dull ache began to throb in his head.
But Lu Ke didn't immediately join the fray. He needed time and space. He needed to clear his head, and there was still a second half to finish. Maintaining order in the locker room wasn't the job of a first-year undrafted rookie.
Lu Ke waited. He waited for Head Coach Jim Hubble to come out and restore order. But he waited and waited, and Hubble never came. So, he decided he wouldn't wait any longer.
"Shut up!" Lu Ke ripped the towel off his head and shot to his feet. Then, drawing on all the power from his Dantian, he roared, enunciating every last syllable, "ALL—OF—YOU—SHUT—YOUR—FUCKING—MOUTHS! Shut up! SHUT UP!" His bellowing shout forcefully suppressed all the other clamor.
Everyone stared at Lu Ke, dumbfounded. But his sharp, resolute gaze radiated such a powerful, oppressive aura that no one dared to speak a word in response.
"I don't need you to like me! I couldn't give a rat's ass about any of you!" Lu Ke's eyes swept across the locker room, finally landing on Vernon Davis. He wasn't targeting Davis specifically, but Parris was standing behind him, forming a line. He had to face them head-on.
"I like winning! I crave victory! I want to see the look of defeat on those Cowboys' faces! I want to feel the pleasure of crushing them again! I refuse to repeat the tragedies of the 1992 and 1993 National League finals! This is San Francisco! This is our team! Nobody comes onto our home turf and acts wild! If you're all a bunch of cowards, afraid to win, afraid to face the Cowboys, then please, get out!"
His resounding words echoed through the locker room, his powerful presence full and vibrant, stirring up a thunderous momentum.