One man stands guard, ten thousand men cannot defeat him!
Even if the San Francisco 49ers' defensive group had only one man left at the end zone baseline, Jimmie Ward stood tall and fierce, still refusing to yield easily.
Fully focused! Burned out!
Ward's arms and fingertips were stretched to the limit. He could even see clearly the distance between his fingertips and the red-brown shadow gradually shortening.
Closer!
Closer!
As the football was about to meet his fingertips, like God creating Adam, his heart soared high, wedged in his throat, time and space froze.
At that moment, a right hand emerged out of thin air, appearing between Ward's hands.
The scent of blood engulfed him, lingering under Ward's nose.
That right hand stretched to its limit, casually inserted between Ward's fingertips and the football, giving a slight push.
Swish.
