Dominate the Super Bowl

Chapter 343 Manufacture a fumble at 342

The atmosphere was somewhat oppressive—

The playoffs were ultimately different from the regular season.

If it had been the regular season, no matter how difficult or dangerous, they would still have been able to ignite their fighting spirit, possessing the belief to fight back even from the edge of a cliff; but in the playoffs, the continuous thoughts of no way back and no turning points lingered in their minds, the fear of elimination nearly causing their hearts to burst.

The more they thought, the more cluttered their thoughts became, making it even harder to concentrate.

This was also Li Wei's first experience.

Li Wei admitted that he hadn't played well in the second half either and was influenced to the extent that his focus wasn't adequate. Once distracted, the interpretation of tactics and the observation of the defense could lead to omissions and deviations. These small deviations in team cooperation could lead to completely different outcomes.

So, what to do?

Give up?

How could that be possible?

"Damn!"

"Damn damn damn, God damn it, you bunch of ungrateful pricks!"

"Do you know how much I want to go out there and kick Mariota's ass?"

"No, but I can't."

"Right now, I feel like a madman tied up in a mental hospital, stupidly sitting in front of the TV watching you guys get pushed around by that Henry."

"Yes, yes, that's familiar."

"All season, we've watched Li Wei push other defensive groups to the ground, and now watching another Crimson Tide Storm legend running back give us a harsh lesson, that's what you call retribution."

"So, what are you going to do? Surrender?"

"Damn, fuck surrender!"

Right in front, a voice like a broken gong rang out, and Houston looked up in astonishment—

What's this?

Then, Houston saw Li Wei holding a cellphone, the speaker emitting crackling sounds, unmistakably Eric Berry's voice.

Eyes gradually gathered on Li Wei, full of astonishment.

Li Wei, however, seemed unfazed and looked intently at it before finally shrugging regretfully, "This is as loud as it gets."

Taking a deep breath, Houston's gaze sharpened—

They could lose the game and be humiliatingly removed from their home field again, but they absolutely could not give up victory without a fight, absolutely not!

By the time they lined up again, Houston's demeanor had completely changed, his eyes locked on Mariota and Henry with razor-sharp focus.

Then.

He stomped the ground and sprang into action.

Houston launched an attack, immediately stepping forward with an unstoppable momentum, bypassing the congested front line from the Chiefs' left side and the Titans' right, cutting through the crowd like a sharp blade into the pocket, never taking his eyes off Mariota.

But!

The football wasn't in Mariota's arms.

So, Henry?

Houston quickly glanced around, noticing the football nestled in Henry's arms as he tried to break through the middle. But the Chiefs' defensive line advantage created an impenetrable human wall; Henry had no chance, forcing him to adjust again.

Suddenly, as his feet hesitated and jerked, he had to change his route of advance.

In that lightning-fast moment, Henry saw Houston and Houston saw Henry; their gazes collided briefly across their helmets.

Houston reacted swiftly, a split second faster, lunging forward—

Stop and pivot.

While his feet stayed rooted, his upper body launched forward, spinning at high speed like a top, his arms spread wide like an eagle, firmly wrapping around Henry's legs and using the weight of his body to force him down.

In fact, it was just a moment, and the slight edge Houston had gained in his reaction allowed him to tackle before Henry could react a second time.

Henry's legs were tied up, just like a mummy.

No chance, absolutely no chance.

During a moment of dizzying turmoil, Henry had already fallen backwards, and amidst the stumbling impacts, Houston kept ramming upwards from below with his helmet against Henry's ball-carrying arm, where strength, momentum, and gravity intertwined, the jolts and collisions fiercely tugging at his body.

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The next second, the football broke free and mischievously flew into the air, reappearing above the green field.

Fumble!

"God, a fumble!"