Except One Game (3)

▷ HALFTIME

The bewildering first half had come to an end, and Clemson's locker room sat in a deep, heavy silence.

Every time they'd tried to get something going, the quarterback's misfires had grabbed them by the ankles. No quarterback completes every pass — but today had gone far, far beyond that.

And yet there was no real alternative. Sitting Trevor Lawrence on the bench in a marquee game with this much attention on it would mean weathering an enormous backlash.

Dabo Swinney stood before his players. It took him a long moment to force the words out.

"We should be ashamed of ourselves."

"…"

"…"

"There's no room for excuses. None. You forgot who you were in that first half. You showed none of who we are on that field, and of course you came back with nothing to show for it. I'm… I'm working right now to hold down my disappointment. That's the only reason I'm not raising my voice. I am angry. You should be angry too. On our own home field! After playing a game that sorry!"

Dabo Swinney's voice climbed higher as his emotions built, and among the Clemson players listening, a resolve began to stir — the will to stage a comeback in the second half.

Be fitting one of the most respected masterminds in college football, the man had a genuine gift for the halftime speech.

But the question that actually mattered was this: could Trevor Lawrence lead the offense to the points that were absolutely mandatory to overturn a 16-point deficit?

The lone touchdown they'd barely scraped together had come off a defensive back's opportunism, pouncing on a receiver's mistake.

Clemson's first-half offense had been, frankly, wretched.

If the game plan itself had been flawed, you could have blamed offensive coordinator Tony Elliott — but the sole reason was simply that the quarterback had been off.

Even now, Tony Elliott hovered at Trevor Lawrence's side, watching his every move.

It was the classic face of a day that refuses to break your way.

An ugly memory surfaced in Dabo Swinney's mind.

In last year's National Championship against LSU, Trevor Lawrence had worn that exact same expression.

No sense of comfort in the pocket whatsoever — passes sailing out of bounds or getting buried into the turf.

"We need you, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Trevor."

"Hoo—"

"You. We need you."

"Yes, sir."

While Clemson prepared for the second half this way, Georgia was busy locking down its victory.

Kirby Smart reminded everyone that in college football, the tide can turn in the blink of an eye — sixteen points was nothing.

And so he declared:

"LET'S MAKE IT A 32-POINT GAP!!!"

"YEAH—!!!"

"UUUUUGAAAAA—!!!"

"WOOF!! WOOF!!!"

At Kirby Smart's fiery call to bury them deeper, Georgia's players erupted in a ferocious response.

One team chasing, needing to climb back and take the lead.

One team stretching the margin, sealing the win beyond reach.

The second half of Clemson versus Georgia was about to begin.

(Chris Fowler — ESPN Play-by-Play)

"Welcome back to Death Valley. This is Memorial Stadium in Clemson, South Carolina — and it is a perfect night for football. The weather is mild, the skies are clear, and this game is unfolding under a beautiful night sky. Of course, I suspect Clemson's fans did not enjoy that first half very much."

(Kirk Herbstreit — ESPN Analyst)

"Without that touchdown midway through the second quarter, things would be far more difficult right now. Nobody expected Trevor Lawrence to struggle the way he has today, and Clemson desperately needs their quarterback to bounce back."

(Chris Fowler)

"Maria Taylor is on the field, and she'll bring us word on the mood inside both teams. Maria?"

▷ 3Q — 15:00

The coach was right.

Sixteen points is nothing in college football. Two possessions and it's a tied game.

Besides, Clemson gets the ball first in the second half — if they gave up points early, the whole complexion of the game would turn strange.

Even if they conceded in the third quarter, fine.

Just not on the opening drive.

"Boot it deep, Jake."

Jack Podlesny handled the team's field goals and PATs, but kicks like kickoffs and punts belonged to Jake Camarda.

It was one of the reasons our defense had been so good this year.

The kid was a legitimately nasty punter.

Even now, Jake's kick came down deep in prime position, and the coverage unit did its job from there, pinning Clemson back to start at their own 22.

Now it was the defense's turn to take the field.

I went out to see the special teams off.

"Nice job! Nice job, 31!"

The reason I sometimes call guys by their jersey numbers is simple.

The name just won't come to me.

You think memorizing everyone's name is easy? There are nearly ninety of them.

I kept it up from there, standing at the front offering encouragement until every special teamer had cleared the field, then barked one loud word at the defense before heading back to my spot.

As soon as I pulled the headset down over my neck, the play tower came through immediately.

"How do you think the second half opens up?"

"Sorry?"

"You nailed the opening of the first half, didn't you?"

"I believe I told you I'd only let you spoon-feed me so far?"

"Haha. Right."

Well.

I didn't think I could call it quite like I had in the first half. By now, they'd have realized the situation had changed.

But one thing was certain.

The foundation would be the same.

"If I were them, I'd be watching for the short game."

"…Astonishing."

"What?"

"What you just said is word for word what Kirby and Dan said."

"Good to hear. Let's watch it play out."

"Right."

If this were a bowl game on the road to the playoffs, or a National Championship, Trevor Lawrence would have run no matter what.

But watching the first half had taught me something.

He was protecting himself more than I'd expected.

Trevor Lawrence seemed to be avoiding the kind of rushing attempts that carried real injury risk — he'd actually kept the ball only three times, gaining less than ten yards combined.

Only when a first down sat within two yards did he take off.

So, no quarterback run game.

What remained was running back usage — and shallow concepts.

Plug in one or two deep-running decoys, then actually target the receivers closer to the line.

Still, it would probably start on the ground, wouldn't it?

Right on cue.

The ball went to Travis Etienne.

Etienne, rated one of the best running backs in the NCAA, swallowed up seven yards without breaking a sweat.

He pushed the O-linemen to the right, using the right-side bunch as blockers.

It was nearly identical to the scheme we'd run in the first half, and Clemson's tight end, number 25, played his part well.

He completely sealed off Azeez, who'd been shooting straight for Etienne.

Second and 3.

Clemson's second snap of the half.

Out of a two-receivers-per-side look, Trevor Lawrence glanced right and fired toward number 6 lined up in the Z position.

But there simply wasn't enough room.

I never would have sent a pass there.

His decision-making is genuinely awful today.

Number 6 had been so busy accounting for Kelee Ringo that he turned to the ball too late, and a reasonably well-thrown pass fell incomplete.

Attempt failed.

The pressure's only going to build from here.

Can you keep your composure?

(Chris Fowler)

"And Trevor Lawrence is incomplete once again. His first-half completion rate was a mere 47.1% — it's dropped below even that now. He is having an extraordinarily punishing night so far."

(Kirk Herbstreit)

"Excuses aren't easy to come by here. But that's football — he has to work his way out of it himself."

Clemson's third attempt brought more of the same.

They shuffled the personnel group a little, but the basic framework was unchanged.

I couldn't say for sure, but factoring in Trevor Lawrence's temperament — number 6 must be the receiver he trusts most.

On a drive where a comeback was mandatory, at the start of the third quarter no less, there was no reason to pass over Amari Rodgers — the team's best receiver — for a freshman.

It wasn't a choice that defied all comprehension.

The problem was that it failed, plain and simple.

Forty-seven seconds in, Clemson's drive was, for all practical purposes, dead.

"I can see them getting antsy."

"Yes. Exactly."

As our turn on offense drew near, I found myself naturally at Coach Monken's side.

"How about it? Feel like pushing the tempo a little?"

"Absolutely."

"Then we'll go short passes too."

"Yes, sir."

He liked the idea of us turning Clemson's own shallow concept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠against them.

"Shake it short, and keep the run conversion in the back of your mind."

"Yes, sir."

While Coach Monken gathered the entire offense to relay the plan after our talk, Clemson's punt was handled cleanly.

Starting field position: our own 32.

Not bad at all.

"LET'S GO—!!!"

(Chris Fowler)

"Dwayne Moi Stone is back on the field after barely a minute away. He was highly impressive in the first half — two touchdown passes, and he converted four of six third-down opportunities. He also showed off an impressive 32-yard run."

(Kirk Herbstreit)

"I still cannot believe this young man is a freshman. Eighteen years old! The composure he shows on the field, the plays he makes — he's out there playing like a veteran NFL quarterback."

(Chris Fowler)

"He's a star among NFL stars, too — though I'm not sure that's the right way to put it."

(Kirk Herbstreit)

"No, I'd say it's quite accurate. NFL players genuinely look forward to playing alongside this kid. I know a few of them myself."

The sounds that reached my ears when I took the snap were good sounds.

Body against body. Pad against pad. When they collided, came the grunts of men gritting their teeth and throwing everything they had.

That's why I call the play.

"Ready—!! Hut!!"

Under center. A fake handoff to the running back. Play action.

Trusting the men on my blind side, I rolled smoothly to the left.

Eyes flicking toward the right receivers first — a fake.

Playing hesitant for a beat, I tapped the ball with my left hand.

One Mississippi.

Tap.

After counting that one second in my head, I turned my head straight downfield.

And there was Darnell, settling into his spot.

When Tre' McKitty is on the field, the defense treats him as a receiver — but with Darnell out there, they file the tight end away as a blocker.

We'd built this scheme by stabbing right at the blind spot of that stereotype: using Darnell as a receiver.

The second-quarter touchdown had run on the exact same principle.

(Chris Fowler)

"Moi finds his target. And he fires across the middle — Darnell Washington is the man, and he hauls it in for the first down. Too easy."

The instant the pass connected and the first down was secured, Clemson's number 47 reacted with real agitation.

He rounded on the safety sitting deep, screaming at him to do his job.

Clemson had built their defense today around a 3-4 scheme, with number 47 running the whole show.

James Skalski.

A textbook NCAA-level middle linebacker.

Whether he was NFL-caliber, I couldn't say.

He carried a strong enough grasp of the game to adjust his defenders' alignments and strategy with improvised audibles, but at 6-foot-0 and 228 pounds, his measurables fell well short of the standard.

He could generate enough push to blitz, but he wasn't all that fast in a straight line.

To compensate for what his body lacked, a player needs an even greater strength somewhere else — or the absence of flaws everywhere else — and the NFL never drafts a player who has neither.

Though at worst, you bring a guy like that into camp and test him out.

Either way — the kid was smart.

"Ready—!! Hut!!"

Shallow concept again.

But this time, the defense was ready for it.

James Skalski crept up level with the D-line just before the snap, watched the ball change hands, and charged straight at me.

No — he tried to.

Whump.

Tray Hill fired up and stoned him in an instant, and behind that, the rest of the line swallowed up all three Clemson D-linemen trying to collapse the pocket.

Whether it was by design or not, number 22 chasing a receiver instead of joining the rush was a stroke of luck.

If he'd committed too, I might have been sacked.

A pocket my brothers were holding open for me.

But the receiver side wasn't cooperating.

I briefly weighed taking off and running myself as I searched for one last place to put the ball.

If nothing was there, I'd just run it. Fine.

And then —

Bingo.

Kenny McIntosh, who I'd assumed was caught up blocking, was standing all alone on the right.

I fired the screen pass immediately. And ran.

Kenny blew past the 50 in a flash, tore down the right sideline past the 40, ground it out all the way to the 35, then stepped out of bounds.

What unfolded was a completely different animal from the play we'd called in the huddle — but moving the chains was what mattered.

And this time, the O-line had been genuinely superb.

"I love you bastards."

"You hear that, punk? You're nothing without us."

"Damn right. Keep it up."

We'd attacked the space behind the line of scrimmage and the perimeter once each.

Which meant it was time to convert to the run game.

Coach Monken's hand signal said the same.

Kenny, who'd covered all that ground, jogged off, and James Cook took his place.

Alright, then.

Shall we pick up the pace a little?

"Turbo, set!!"

Snapping quicker now, we ripped off two rushing plays.

We'd ground out another 14 yards and stood at the 21.

"God! I love it!"

The play call that just came in was perfect.

I dropped quickly in front of my brothers.

"We're running Snaek!"

"Snaek? For real?"

"Yup, yup. Right-side Snaek. Got it?"

Smack!

The Snaek is an offensive concept run out of the shotgun — named for the way a successful one makes it feel as though the points were genuinely stolen from right under the defense's nose, like a pickpocket's heist.

After taking the snap, I had to move as far away as possible from where the pass was actually headed.

It meant throwing away the shotgun's single greatest advantage — receiving the snap from depth — but if you wanted to fool them, this much was necessary.

1-1 personnel. Tight end to the left. Running back likewise on the left.

"Ready—!! Hut!!"

The instant the ball hit my hands, I shifted from the right hash toward the left hash, backing off roughly ten yards' worth of depth as I went.

Clemson's defense bit and flowed with me, and McKitty, right on schedule, sold the loss of his one-on-one against the edge, baiting the defender into charging at me.

But the real dirty work belonged to Zamir.

McKitty, for his part, took off toward the vacated zone.

Having let the tackle slide past him and surveyed the defensive territory, McKitty angled toward the vast open grass — and I, who had been calmly waiting for this exact moment, delivered the pass without a shred of hesitation.

(Chris Fowler)

"HE IS WIDE OPEN!! McKitty!! Georgia's tight ends have now accounted for two touchdowns today!! And Death Valley grows quieter by the minute! Just as they did in the first quarter, Clemson's opening defensive series of the third quarter ends with points surrendered!"

Podlesny, who'd botched the PAT back in the first quarter, calmly drilled this one to add the extra point.

Personally, I considered this score a big one.

A 16-point lead and a 23-point lead are entirely different animals.

Above all, it was decisive that Clemson — the team that desperately needed to score first — had coughed it up instead.

"Another beauty, huh."

"It was a killer play call, sir."

"Flattery, my ass. Go get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

Bewilderment gave way to a restless stir. The stir gave way to silence.

Watching Death Valley's stands transform into something unrecognizable from where it had started, I remembered what these people had been saying before the game.

What was it again?

Overhyped?

I dare anyone to say it now.

If I'm overhyped, then what does that make Trevor Lawrence — an empty gift box, at best?

Meaning keep talking, I brought a hand up beside my ear and fluttered my fingers open and shut, then settled onto the bench and watched Trevor Lawrence preparing to lead his team back onto the field.

.

.

▷ End of 3Q