SEC Championship Game (2)

(Brad Nessler — CBS Play-by-Play)

“Up next, we'll introduce the starting lineups, sponsored by Dr Pepper. Mac Jones is in the starting lineup. What a sensational year he's had — second in the nation in completion percentage, 27 touchdowns against just 3 interceptions.”

(Brad Nessler)

“Forristal set a career high last week with 6 catches for 52 yards. First look near the goal line — Najee Harris walks into the end zone — and that's a touchdown for Alabama!”

Alabama's opening drive held everything. What kind of team this Crimson Tide was. Who was the star and who was the supporting cast. And who was really running the show. Mac Jones never let the play clock dip below fifteen seconds, and the command he displayed looked less like something a quarterback had crafted and more like tactics designed, start to finish, by head coach Nick Saban.

Seventy yards on nine plays. Alabama's offensive distribution went like this: four receptions to DeVonta Smith. Four rushes to Najee Harris. One reception to Miller Forristal. Built around their vaunted nation's-best wide receiver and nation's-best running back, with the team's second receiver slotted in mid-drive like a joker card.

And that — that right there — was the play we'd be watching all day. And the play we'd be running, too. No tricks needed. Just what we'd done most all season long. The thing we were most confident in, and best at. From here on, I'd take the field myself and show them exactly the same.

“We're gonna beat the living hell out of 'em until they quit!!”

“LET'S GO—!!”

(Brad Nessler)

“Here comes the Dr Pepper starting lineup. Number 14 gets the start — Dwayne Moi Stone, in the midst of the greatest true freshman season in history. A nation-leading 41 touchdown passes, and first in completion percentage as well at 77.7%. Six interceptions, and 48 total touchdowns through the air and on the ground combined.”

(Brad Nessler)

“Two tight ends in the game — Tre' McKitty and Darnell Washington. Second and seven. James Cook lined up in the backfield. Moi... he's going deep. Pickens! He's got it! TOUCHDOWN GEORGIA! Jo—George Pickens! The Georgia Bulldogs answer right back!”

“ALL DAY!! ALL DAY!!”

“That's exactly it, BRO!!”

“YEAH—!!”

The coaches, the teammates — everyone felt the same. DeVonta Smith? Najee Harris? We weren't the least bit jealous of them. Or afraid of them, either.

George Pickens. Jordan Addison. Jermaine Burton. Kearis Jackson. These four trustworthy wide receivers gave me a far richer set of attacking options. Same went for the running backs — Zamir White with the power to punch through, James Cook with the agility to slash outside, Kenny McIntosh with the fastest wheels of the bunch. In terms of pure versatility, our roster actually had the edge.

People say one devastating weapon beats a handful of mediocre ones — but that all depends on the hands holding it. Whether as a head coach back then, or now, I've always preferred variety.

“Did I tell you, or did I tell you?”

“Yeah— great catch out there.”

“We have to keep doing this all game.”

“Oh, we will. Get your rest, son.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Our score had come from moving George — normally our X-receiver — into the slot. Alabama's number 13, Malachi Moore, couldn't control George's movement at all. Under normal circumstances, George's assignment would have been Patrick Surtain II, number 2 — but the nation's most suffocating cornerback was so busy shadowing Jordan that he couldn't do a thing.

And that was it. That was the job for our offense, all day long. We'd designated whichever side Malachi Moore, the freshman, covered as the weak point, and we'd hammer it until they found an answer. If we were lucky, one of their cornerbacks would have a mental breakdown; even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if not, we'd already cashed one touchdown from this look, so at the very least we'd broken even on the investment.

Now it was the defense's turn again. From what I'd seen a moment ago, Coach Lanning and both of our defensive coordinators were furious — I was curious how much composure they'd recovered while our offense was on the field.

That first defensive drive had been nothing like us. Not one bit.

Podlesny's kickoff started Alabama's return, and the ball struck from our own 35 sailed perfectly, dropping dead just in front of the opponent's end zone. Alabama's number 19 took it and ran — but he was tackled before gaining even twenty yards. And then, a flag on the field. Whose was it?

That's it!! The instant the words return team, number 29 came out, we reacted immediately. Now they'd have to run their drive backed up against their own end zone. Which meant the defense just got a whole lot simpler.

“They'll run it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Look at the current formation: Alabama had only one wide receiver on the field. One tight end. Three running backs. They'd probably stacked it as one tailback and two fullbacks, and the key would be how the fullback lined up behind the left tight end and left O-tackle moved. Wherever that fullback inserted himself into the tackle box — that would be the direction Najee Harris ran.

“Come on, Dean. You know this too.”

Our MLB all year had been Nakobe Dean, and coaches and teammates alike knew just how capable a control tower the kid was.

Mac Jones lifted his right leg. Alabama's snap came. Exactly as expected. Alabama had left a tight end beside the left tackle in this formation for one reason: to send one of their original left-side linemen the other way. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was line tactics similar to our Marching Band — the left guard and that number 19 from earlier pulled right. Number 65 picked up Aziz as he charged in for the sack, and Najee Harris ran through the gap number 19 had cleared.

But—

“That's it, Dean!! THAT'S IT!!”

The play that sent our sideline leaping into the air — Nakobe Dean's beautiful tackle. He'd kept his eyes locked on Najee Harris from start to finish, waiting in front of the rushing lane like a host greeting a guest. Harris gained maybe three yards — but against a back averaging 5.8 per carry on the season and 8.1 inside the opponent's 20, holding him to three was a very good result.

On the second defensive series we tried to build momentum bit by bit, but once again, DeVonta Smith was the problem. With the pocket well protected, Mac Jones threw from the 31-yard snap — and DeVonta Smith roamed freely through our backfield, waltzing into the end zone untouched.

Coach Lanning hurled his headset to the ground. Coach Smart screamed at the control tower.

“FUCK!!! Are you kidding me right now?!!”

It was still early, granted. But our secondary hadn't gotten their heads on straight yet. Consecutive scores allowed — that's a rare situation, and clearly a bad tide to be swimming against.

However—

“This is exactly when the offense has to carry them, you hear me?!! Unlike those guys, we don't get spooked just because it's a championship game!! Let's go!! We're taking points back down the field!!”

Times like these are when the offense shines brightest. And when one side is struggling, the other side willingly pumping strength back into it — that's what a team is. What family is.

After the big shout, I pulled my helmet on and made myself a promise: let's tie this game up, fast. Back onto the field. The game was barely nine minutes old.

(Gary Danielson — CBS Analyst)

“Look at this, now. A drive that started at their own 11 has moved 72 yards on just seven plays, and before you know it they're in the red zone. This is what the kids these days call Moi Magic. He hides the ball exquisitely in the pocket before delivering it, and taking the snap under center, he doesn't even drop back — he fires a screen pass immediately. Absolutely impossible to read.”

(Brad Nessler)

“Both quarterbacks are on fire here in the first quarter. Mac Jones has completed all six of his pass attempts for 86 yards and a touchdown. And Dwayne Moi Stone has completed all eight of his so far, piling up 91 yards. First and ten at the 17. Georgia operating in the red zone.”

Spider 2-3 X-Corner. Trips Nasty X-Swirl Shadow. I-Hug X-18 Force Z-Dart.

These were the passing plays we'd spent the last week preparing specifically to attack Malachi Moore. The concept pre-defined our first and second reads, so if Patrick Surtain was glued to the first target, it made it easy to move on to the next without hesitation.

By now, surely, Alabama had figured it out too. That Malachi Moore was the weak link. If anyone had, it was Nick Saban.

Red zone, the 17. From here on, it was option plays. Personnel group: 1-1. Still three receivers on the field. And I was about to turn them into four on the sly.

“RE—D!! 80!!”

After calling it out, I shifted my right foot. Catching the signal, James Cook, who'd been stationed at my right, sprinted left and settled into the slot receiver position. And at the same instant, Alabama's number 32 — Dylan Moses — got busy. A running back had suddenly vanished from the backfield and drifted out to the Y-slot, which meant the defender they'd parked there against the run now had to be redirected somewhere, anywhere.

I had no intention of waiting for them. While the defense was scrambling — that was exactly when I planned to take the snap.

“TURBO, SET!!”

With the Turbo call, I took the ball and dropped back quickly. And looked to my first read. George — Surtain had attached himself to his side.

Then, next. Jordan.

The moment I swung my eyes across the field, I saw him — a man charging through my right tackle. I ducked instinctively. Thwack. Had he beaten Peter clean through, or curled back around it? Alabama's number 4 nearly had me in his grasp. Another half-second and he'd have recorded a sack.

But I didn't get caught.

You know what a shimmy is, right? It's a shoulder move — you see it all the time in the NBA. People think Stephen Curry invented it, but it actually goes back to a dance that was all the rage in the 1920s, and the NBA's Jimmy Butler built a deception move out of it.

It may not have looked all that graceful just now. But either way, I slipped the tackle with nothing but my shoulders. Alabama's number 4 made one mistake: instead of driving at my hips or torso, he lunged for my shoulder to try to drag me down. To be fair, going for the arm or the shoulder raises the odds of forcing a fumble, so I understand the greed when a clean tackle seems guaranteed.

But when greed runs hot, what you lose grows bigger too. The one invisible mistake Christopher Allen had just made opened the road to the end zone for me. Whether he'd truly believed the sack was in the bag, I can't say — but to my eyes, Alabama's D-line clearly eased off for a heartbeat, their feet and hands going slack.

Having shimmied out of the tackle, I folded up my passing options entirely and bolted into the open lane that had materialized straight ahead to my right. The moment I started running, my vision thundered. My own breath roared, expanding through the helmet. I focused on one thing only: running.

Alabama's secondary had chased our receivers all the way deep toward the end zone, and as I crossed the line of scrimmage in a flash, I saw number 3 dead ahead coil to spring forward. Could I beat him to the end zone? He was a little closer. So I did something.

With the ball tucked tight in my right armpit, I palmed it out and made the motion of throwing a pass — feet still churning, of course. And then—

He bit.

Alabama safety Daniel Wright apparently remembered that the moment he charged me, he'd be leaving a receiver free behind him. He flinched — and I kept running through the hesitation. He dove late, desperately — but I'd already hugged the ball back to my chest, crossed the line first, and dove into the end zone.

THUD!

Stings a little, doesn't it?

Sucker~~~

(Brad Nessler)

“TOUCHDOWN!! SENSATIONAL!! Dwayne Moi Stone just showed you something out of a magician's handbook!! Touchdown Georgia!! They've got their chance to tie this game right back up!!”

(Gary Danielson)

“He shimmy. He run. He fake. And he touchdown. Where on earth would you find a better play than that? Dwayne Moi Stone is not a pocket passer — he simply prefers throwing from the pocket. And if you didn't know he could shake a tackle or two in there, well — this is what happens to you, just like it happened here.”

(Brad Nessler)

“Take a look at this. Oh — beautiful. The shimmy to escape, and that fake — that was just gorgeous.”

(Gary Danielson)

“Composure. That's the only word for it. With the end zone right in front of him, Moi stayed calm, watched the defender, and knew the man was going to charge him. So he faked the pass — and delayed Daniel Wright's dive by just a hair. But that hair's difference is what created the touchdown. An unbelievable true freshman. However much praise you heap on him, it isn't enough.”

From a game that might have slid entirely into Alabama's hands, Moi had wrestled Georgia back. The defense's first two series had been embarrassingly poor, and if the offense hadn't struck back immediately, they'd have spent the rest of the afternoon in agony. But the game was tied now, and Georgia had closed out the final defensive stand well. Alabama still had the next possession — but yards had been limited, and the pressure sustained.

Yet Kirby Smart did not relax. Because the two minutes just granted were equally fair to both teams.

Kirby Smart gathered his players at the edge of the field, and before him, the men dropped to one knee. It was the same on the far sideline. Nick Saban too, stood watching his players hold the identical pose.

“Keep your focus all the way to the end!!”

“This break actually works in OUR favor!!”

Both sharp football minds knew perfectly well that a short breather like this tilted slightly more toward the offense than the defense. Having said everything that needed saying, Kirby Smart and Nick Saban returned to their posts, adjusted their masks, and pulled their headsets back over their ears.

Nick Saban stared down at his play sheet. No particular reason. 'It should have gone better than this.'

Back when the opening drive had succeeded, Nick Saban had been certain he'd seize early control of the game. The immediate score given up, he'd chalked up to an accident. And when the second drive, riding that momentum, put points on the board again, he'd expected an even greater blow to land on Georgia than the first score had dealt — a team whose weapon was its defense, after all.

And yet the tide had bent instead of breaking. If the first quarter had unfolded with a listless offense and a shining defense, Georgia's swagger would have been even higher and Alabama the ones sweating — because the moment their key offensive weapons went quiet, Alabama's position was obviously the worse one. Thankfully, that hadn't happened.

Except.

“...”

Dwayne Moi Stone had wrecked all of it. He'd re-stolen the stolen momentum. The revived energy of Georgia's defensive unit — which should have sagged under the deflated mood — and the anxiety factor that still floated atop the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠water's surface no matter what: both traced back to Georgia's quarterback.

Soon, Nick Saban shook his head quickly. To shake the thoughts loose.

Ever since the day the Mac Jones Who? incident — the story that had swept the nation this year — was staged, Nick Saban had worked to sever every connection running back to Dwayne Moi Stone. To that end, he had thought, endlessly. I made Mac Jones. Into the greatest quarterback in the NCAA. Without me, Mac Jones would have finished his career as a mid-to-upper-tier NCAA quarterback, and joined a practice squad in the NFL draft as a sixth-rounder or an undrafted free agent. That is the caliber of coach I am. The kind who turns the ordinary into the extraordinary.

I am everything the Crimson Tide is. I lead NCAA football.

Only after stacking these near-autosuggestions layer upon layer had Nick Saban finally found peace of mind. And just now, for a flicker — it had threatened to come apart.

Both teams' players trotted back onto the field to begin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the second quarter, formations set, the countdown underway. When the number hit zero, the referee would restart the game.

Midfield line, the 49. Third and eight. A first quarter traded blow for blow — and the shape of the second?

Still anyone's guess.