American Football: Domination

3rd and 3.

For more than two minutes, the Oakland Raiders and the Kansas City Chiefs had been locked in a relentless struggle in the red zone. The Chiefs now stood just five yards from the end zone, but the battle showed no sign of easing. Both sides fought tooth and nail, their primal instincts unleashed in a display of raw grit and determination.

Backed into a corner, the Raiders summoned an extraordinary surge of energy, fighting to keep their century-old nemesis out of the end zone.

The atmosphere burned with tension.

Before Alex Smith even called for the snap, the sounds of labored breathing and muscles straining echoed from both sides of the line. It was a powder keg waiting to ignite.

Then someone moved.

Step. Step. Step.

Lance shifted from Smith's left to his right, and immediately Bowman straightened and followed, shadowing Lance's movements step for step.

Lance pivoted again, returning to the left side, and Bowman mirrored him, refusing to let him out of sight. But Lance didn't stop at Smith's rear. Instead, he moved parallel to the quarterback, positioning himself in front of wide receiver Tyreek Hill.

All signs pointed to Lance lining up as a receiver once more, partnering with Hill in a new, unfamiliar tandem.

It was clear the Chiefs had been experimenting with different formations during their losing streak, crafting new plays in practice.

The unfamiliarity meant unpredictability, which posed a serious problem for the Raiders.

With Travis Kelce on the right—normally considered the "strong side"—the Raiders couldn't afford to ignore Lance on the left. Suddenly, both sides of the Chiefs' formation were strong, and the Raiders found themselves in a dilemma.

So, was Lance a decoy?

Mack shot Lance a sideways glance and silently cursed: Coward, too afraid to face me head-on.

Refocusing, Mack fixed his attention on Smith. If Lance was on the other side, all the better—he could channel his frustration directly onto the quarterback.

"Sorry, Alex. Looks like you'll have to be my punching bag today."

Mack crouched like a predator, his fierce gaze sending shivers through Fisher, who swallowed nervously.

The atmosphere grew heavier with each second. Lance's constant shifting added to the players' irritation, fraying their nerves even further.

Finally—

"Attack!"

Smith's call pierced the air.

The Chiefs' offense exploded into motion, a dizzying array of routes and movements:

Smith took several steps back, scanning the field. His eyes lingered on Kelce to the right before quickly shifting left, suggesting Hill as his intended target.

Two steps. Three steps.

Smith raised his arm, preparing to throw toward Hill—or at least in Hill's general direction.

A quarterback's movement forced the defense to react instantly. Bowman moved, Mack moved. Though it wasn't a quick throw, Smith's expedited motion forced the defense into action prematurely.

Under the mounting tension, everyone moved with an edge of desperation.

Mack knew he had to act fast. Any hesitation would mean losing his chance to sack Smith.

But Fisher stuck to Mack like glue, holding his ground with surprising tenacity. Every second of delay felt agonizing as Mack fought to push past.

Growing impatient, Mack overstepped, slipping slightly and losing his balance. Ironically, the misstep worked in his favor—Fisher lost leverage, and Mack managed to slide under his opponent's arm.

If it takes crawling, then I'll crawl.

Charging forward, Mack locked onto Smith and spotted the football still in the quarterback's hands. His heart leaped.

Smith hadn't thrown yet.

Mack surged forward, ready to strike—

But then Smith pivoted.

And the ball left his hands.

Mack watched the pass in what felt like slow motion, the ball carving a graceful arc through the air. When his gaze followed its trajectory, Lance's figure materialized in his vision.

Lance?

Why was Lance there?

Hadn't he been set up on the opposite side to pair with Hill? Why was he back on the right?

Mack didn't have time to answer his own questions. Acting on instinct, he changed direction to follow the ball.

But then—

Rip!

The pocket collapsed.

The Raiders had only sent a modest pass rush, but Bowman spearheaded the effort. Ignoring Hill entirely, he tore through the line and zeroed in on Smith. Bowman's tackle came just as Smith released the ball, and though he delivered a crushing hit, the quarterback had done his job.

2.3 seconds.

That's all Smith needed. His delayed release bought just enough time to deliver the pass. The Chiefs had executed a masterful misdirection, shifting the entire defense to focus on Hill and Kelce before redirecting the play to Lance.

Still, wasn't this strategy risky?

Lance hadn't even crossed the line of scrimmage when he caught the ball. Worse, the Raiders' defense had already adjusted, collapsing inward toward Lance.

Now, with defenders closing in, Lance was trapped.

What kind of suicidal play was this?

Lance caught the ball and immediately shifted right. Mack, who had recovered, tracked his movements and closed in.

But then—

Screech!

Lance slammed on the brakes.

The sudden stop caught Mack completely off guard. Already off balance, he stumbled and fell forward, his cleats slipping beneath him.

From the stands came a collective jeer: "Mack, seriously? Can't hold your ground? That's just sad!"

Mack ignored the taunts, his focus entirely on Lance.

What shocked him wasn't his own misstep—it was Lance's choice of direction.

Instead of heading for the sideline, Lance darted straight through the slot.

The slot?

Why the slot?

How could the slot possibly work?

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Powerstones?

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