Want to Try Your First Touchdown?

It took a mere thirty-eight seconds for the red tide flooding Sanford Stadium to swell into a colossal wave and swallow the field whole.

Georgia's players, their faces lit with smiles under the delirious roar of a packed house, only ran hotter from there.

UAB's senior quarterback, Tyler Johnston III, showed the strain almost immediately — misfiring on a short throw against a Georgia defense widely projected to send a small army of players to the NFL.

Worse, the Blazers took the field with only ten men and ate a five-yard penalty, laying bare just how much pressure the entire team was already feeling.

In their previous game against Jacksonville State, barely nine thousand fans had dotted the stands. Today, ten times that number filled the stadium.

And every time UAB's offense sputtered, Georgia's marching band rolled out another menacing, earth-shaking melody.

The eyes of UAB's players, standing in the very belly of the beast, had been wavering from the opening kick.

A string of penalties shoved the Blazers' first drive fourteen yards behind where it started, and at last they were forced to punt.

Total time of possession: a scant eighty seconds.

The punt sailed high into the air.

"We only need fifty-five yards."

"Piece of cake, right?"

"Then let's go show them it is."

"Yes, Sir."

Less than three minutes into the game, Dwayne Moi Stone jogged onto the field to run the second drive.

Bill Clark, UAB's head coach, had realized his line was being utterly overwhelmed, and he screamed at his coordinators of five years, grasping for anything that might stop the bleeding.

He'd known from the start there was a gap between them.

This was a collision between the top of CUSA and the best team in the SEC.

CUSA — the conference UAB called home — hadn't placed a single team in the Top 25. It lived on another planet from the national stage entirely.

For the schools in that conference, winning a bowl game in December and hoisting a trophy was the practical ceiling of their ambitions.

But still.

This was too much.

This kind of gap.

"What the hell are you all doing out there! GOD DAMN IT!"

Bill Clark's face was already flushed red.

Georgia's second drive.

As if mocking a UAB side that looked like it was struggling to gain even a single yard, Dwayne Moi Stone picked up a first down on the very first play.

He'd gone with a 2-2 personnel grouping — a combination rarely used at midfield — and with only two receivers on the field, completed the pass without the slightest trouble.

UAB had five defenders in the backfield, and yet they left the freshman wide receiver, who had crossed the field in a deep route from right to left, completely unattended.

That wasn't all.

Both of the receivers on that play had been freshmen.

Once again.

Bill Clark bellowed at his defensive coordinator.

"What exactly are we trying to do here!!"

"...."

"Both receivers were freshmen!! Two freshmen!!"

As the ESPN2 booth walked viewers through Adonai Mitchell, the man stepping in for Jordan Addison while he dealt with lingering knee soreness after the Clemson game:

"Go, Red 80—! Set!!"

Georgia was managing its rotation with plenty of slack today.

Even now, it was Kendall Milton taking the handoff and charging forward.

Zamir White and James Cook were the work horses responsible for grinding out the tough yards, but at the moment both of them stood on the sideline, watching the game at their leisure.

They'd step onto the field the instant they were needed — but in comfortable stretches like the first and second series, they'd yield the reps to their teammates.

However.

UAB kept coming apart.

Amateurish, laughable mistakes came gushing out — twenty full yards surrendered to penalties alone — and Georgia was handed a free trip into the red zone.

Georgia, as if it had been waiting for exactly this, dialed up an option play, trusting in Dwayne Moi Stone's ability. The reigning Heisman Trophy winner, checking with his sideline, lined up with a completely relaxed face.

Before the snap, Dwayne Moi Stone read the UAB defense and made an improvised call.

An audible.

"Blitz!! They're blitzing!!"

"What?!"

"Twenty-six!! Twenty-six!!"

He'd identified the linebacker charging at him and pointed him out by number — all while keeping tabs on the movement on the other side of the field.

So he relayed an addition.

The one listening was Kenny McIntosh.

"Kenny!"

"?"

"Zero!"

"...."

Kenny McIntosh, lined up to Dwayne Moi Stone's right, nodded at the instruction and slid over to the left.

He understood: if UAB's number 26 abandoned his blitz, then number 0 — sitting in a spot that looked like he was shadowing the slot receiver — would come screaming in on a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blitz, and someone had to pick him up.

Georgia's offense these days followed Dwayne Moi Stone's audibles without a flicker of hesitation.

They'd been through it all last year.

They'd reaped the results together.

"Go, Red 80-!! Ready—! Hut!"

Shotgun snap.

The UAB defense, its scheme fully decrypted, moved exactly the way ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dwayne Moi Stone had predicted.

Number 26, who was supposed to blitz, took a hard fake upfield and then dropped back — while number 0, sure enough, came rocketing toward the quarterback.

But the fullback was already waiting there, the block landed cleanly, and the pocket was secured without a scratch.

Dwayne Moi Stone hunted for his target.

Soon his eyes caught Ladd McConkey breaking his route from left to right.

With enough composure to track the position of the cornerback in pursuit, Dwayne Moi Stone calmly whipped his right arm — and the ball left it at blistering speed.

The throw arrived at the single most ideal height a receiver could ask for and settled perfectly into Ladd McConkey's hands.

The tackle came, but he was already across the goal line, and the referee raised both arms high above his head.

Ladd McConkey, who had redshirted last year and was in his freshman season now, had also been a complete nonentity on the recruiting trail.

A product of North Murray High School in Georgia, Ladd McConkey was another 3-Star wide receiver.

But Kirby Smart, who had spent years building an outstanding football program, had already turned a host of 3-Star and 4-Star prospects into NFL players.

Until now those stories had mostly come from the lines and the defensive side of the ball — but with a quarterback named Dwayne Moi Stone in the fold, the offense had joined the party.

Two drives.

Two touchdowns.

The passing attempts Georgia's quarterback needed to author that line: a mere three.

A victory that had been distant from the opening kick now receded beyond the horizon, invisible, in a matter of minutes.

UAB gave it everything they had, but their ordeal was far from over.

After a struggle, they clawed their way to midfield — where Georgia's safety, Lewis Cine, picked off a pass.

The ball was back in Georgia's hands. Again.

Bill Clark stood with his mouth pressed shut, tangled in his own frustration.

He lifted his head and looked up at the scoreboard.

"...."

I figured desperation was what had made him do it, but that last play from UAB's quarterback was genuinely terrible.

When the pocket collapses and enemy linemen are bearing down on you and you can't locate a target in time, the correct move is to aim for one of the sidelines and just throw the damn ball away.

Instead, UAB's quarterback hurled the ball into the dead center of the field. There was a receiver there, sure — surrounded on all sides by a sea of defenders.

On a slow, floating pass like that, it's child's play for the cornerback to clamp the receiver while the safety lurking behind strips the ball away.

He should have seen this coming.

This one's on ability. Plain and simple.

Well.

He's not wrong, actually.

"Left swing. Wing Man!"

"Again?"

"Days like this are made for it. Let's Go!"

Slap!

Today's playbook isn't complicated.

Coach has given me free rein.

So even now, all I relayed was the O-line's block direction and the Wing Man call, where I become the lead run blocker.

The objective is a first down.

No one's expecting another house call like before.

Shotgun snap.

I called it out.

"Go, Red 80-!! Set!!"

The composition of the personnel on the field gives it away, but today is a day for things we haven't tried before.

The play calls are SET calls instead of my usual Turbo or Hut, and starting in the second quarter we plan to mix in a different tempo to scramble the defense's reads.

The snap arrives.

I hand the ball to Zamir.

Then take off running left with him.

From what I'd seen earlier, UAB's outside linebacker, number 0, was weak enough to get shoved around even by Kenny.

In CUSA, a frame and strength like that might cut it at OLB — but in our SEC, unless you're exceptional, that's a cornerback or safety body.

UAB's number 0 closed in from the right, and I coiled my whole body low before driving my shoulder into him.

THUD!

Huh?

That's not right.

The plan was to absorb his charge, shove him off, and reset my balance — but he went over backward so easily that I ended up sprawled on the turf myself.

What the hell--

Seriously?

You're really doing this to me?

I was a little disappointed I couldn't keep running, but Zamir churned forward fourteen yards and moved the chains.

Fine.

I'll take it.

Gripping the hand Zamir extended to haul me up, I waved both arms at the crowd and whipped them into an even greater frenzy.

The decibel level climbed far higher than it had been on that 73-yard touchdown pass earlier today.

Come on.

Louder. Scream it louder.

Part of why UAB froze up early, I figured, was our roster — but the fans' roar played its part too.

Which is exactly why I did what I just did.

Let's see them freeze up even harder.

"Hello Kitty. Hard-Boiled Egg. We're going under center on a Hut."

"Not Turbo?"

"I think we've got them beat on the read. Might as well."

"Let's run it, then."

"Good. Let's go."

Slap!!

Our first under-center formation of the day.

The defense was already in chaos.

Just as the starting quarterback couldn't get his head on straight, UAB's Mike linebacker today had been scrambling to react to one novel situation after another, and his composure was slipping.

Directing a defense with a clear head is no problem at all — but just as a shaken quarterback drags the entire offense down with him, the moment a Mike backer gets antsy, the whole defense starts to wobble.

"Red 80!!"

Calling the play without the "Go" was itself a device to sow confusion.

I've already got a full year of college ball under my belt, and by now every team that faces us analyzes not just our schemes but our play calls and cadence, and comes prepared.

They'd know full well that I favor Turbo calls from under center — so I wanted to plant a false assumption in the D-line's heads by using the same pre-snap call.

And then.

"Ready-!!"

The instant I shouted Ready instead of Turbo, UAB's left tackle rose out of his stance first.

At the same moment, every one of our O-linemen popped up and pointed a finger right at him.

Now that's a genuinely entertaining sight.

Part of why a quarterback's brain matters is memorizing countless plays and every route every receiver runs — but part of it is knowing how to bait the opposition into beating themselves, just like this.

Even when the play comes in from the sideline, the snap timing is, always and entirely, the quarterback's to set.

Of course, if you've got an unreliable quarterback, even that gets decided for him — but those cases are truly rare.

Starting at the 43-yard line.

Fourteen yards gained.

Plus a five-yard penalty banked.

We were quickly at the opponent's 38, and with no pressing need to keep it on the ground, I was hoping to throw again.

"...."

The sideline's call: a passing play.

I gave a thumbs-up.

And after the huddle —

"Go, Red 80-!!"

Trusting that another clean pocket would form, I took one last read of the defense and called the set.

"Set!!"

The O-linemen swallowed up their blockers with room to spare.

No blitz came.

Probably the flow of the game and the endless parade of penalties had made the linebackers timid — but if that was the case, the backfield needed to be protected properly, and once again the coverage wasn't.

Want to try for one?

Your first touchdown?

I caught AD sprinting through his route on the right, aimed for the empty space upfield, and whipped my right arm.

The ball climbed high and tore downfield.

Soon it dropped into AD's cradle.

And a moment later, the instant it crossed into the end zone, I raised both arms above my head once more.

Third touchdown.

Today, I'm ending this game in the first quarter.