I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Chapter 150 A pincer attack

Third gear, size 8.

Kyle yelled, "Ready, set, kickoff!"

The center forward kicks off.

Kyle received the ball and retreated, his eyes quickly scanning the area.

On the left, the receiver is making a crossover, but is being closely marked by the opposing safety and can't shake them off.

In the middle, the tight end was knocked off his feet by linebacker Bruce, and his path was disrupted.

On the right, the running back pretended to catch the screen as part of the tactic, then turned and rushed towards the sideline.

But the person on the 21st didn't fall for it.

Li Ang merely turned slightly to the side, using the corner of his eye to spot the running back, while keeping most of his attention on Kyle.

He is waiting.

Kyle cursed inwardly, "Damn it!"

'

The feet were already dancing dangerously inside the pockets.

The Lumberjacks' frontline was battered, and Bruce's large hand reached out from the left.

Kyle nimbly ducked to avoid it.

From the right, another dark figure lunged forward. He twisted his waist and retreated, his cleats scraping against the turf with a harsh sound.

The attack timer ticked, 3 seconds, 4 seconds.

The pocket is breaking down.

The field of vision is narrowing.

Kyle saw it; the tight end was near the right sideline, using a beautiful spin fake to shake off the defender, and was raising his right hand in a gesture.

There was no time to hesitate.

Kyle twisted his body and threw the ball with all his might.

It was a bullet pass, spinning and whistling, weaving through the gap between two defenders, heading straight for the close-range forward's chest.

Larry yelled from the commentary box: "Caught it! The tight end caught Kyle Anderson's bullet pass near the sideline! Turn and advance!"

The near-forward received the ball, turned, and was about to accelerate when a deep blue shadow loomed over him.

Li Ang did not immediately pounce on him.

He was like a moving wall, precisely blocking the path of the close forward, and then slamming his shoulder into the opponent's side.

It wasn't a tackle, it was a charge!

The goal is not to knock him down, but to force him out of bounds!

boom!

Jin Duanfeng let out a muffled groan, pushed two steps to the side by that force.

He stretched out his arms with all his might, and just before his toes touched the white paint on the sideline, he pushed the ball forward with all his might.

The rugby ball rolled half a yard on the grass and came to a stop.

The referee's whistle blew sharply.

Larry's voice was filled with regret: "Only 5 yards before going out of bounds! Not enough distance for a first down! Third down failed! It's that Li Ang again! How come he's everywhere?! He anticipated the pass, didn't tackle, but used his body to force the near end out of bounds, minimizing the advance! Smart defense! Ruthless defense!"

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The close forward knelt on one knee outside the sideline, panting heavily, and spat at the grass: "Damn it!"

'

Kyle walked back to the tee box, his chest heaving violently.

He took off his helmet, and sweat poured down his hairline like a waterfall, soaking his short, golden hair.

Kyle looked at the head coach on the sidelines, who was biting the edge of the clipboard with his brow furrowed.

Fourth gear, 3 digits.

This team's half, 42-yard line.

To go for a power play, or a punt?

Kyle wiped his face with the arm guard, and the fabric on the arm guard was instantly soaked.

3 yards.

At the 42-yard mark in their own half.

If a strong attack succeeds, the offensive can continue, and it may even be possible to tie the game with a touchdown.

If they fail, they will hand over possession of the ball directly to the in-form Cavaliers, and it will be an excellent starting point for their offense.

The head coach walked towards him, his voice hoarse: "Kyle?"

'

Kyle didn't answer immediately.

He looked back at the other side of the court.

The Cavaliers' defense had rallied together, high-fiving and roaring, banging their helmets together, their morale soaring.

The person number 21 stood at the edge of the crowd and did not participate in the celebration.

He just watched quietly, then slowly raised his hand, tapped his temple with his index finger, and pointed at Kyle.

The meaning was clear: I'm watching you.

A chilling rage, mixed with a sense of humiliation at being belittled, surged up from Kyle's stomach.

He put his helmet back on, the visor clicking crisply and decisively.

Kyle's voice came from beneath his mask, low and deep: "We play. We can't give them any more possession. Especially not that number 21. He'll kill the game."

Sampson stared at him for two seconds.

There was a struggle in the old coach's eyes.

This is gambling, a huge gamble.

But when he saw the resolute, icy blue light in Kyle's eyes, he slowly nodded.

"Go ahead. I believe in you. You can assess the situation on the field. If you don't get a chance, protect yourself and don't get injured."

Kyle nodded, turned and walked back to the offensive group.

He clapped his hands, gathering the other ten members of the lumberjack attack team around him: "Listen up! We're going to use the blitzkrieg tactics we practiced before! Clear the pocket, give me a path to run! Everyone, those who block your way! I can get through in a second! Understand?!"

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The roars were uneven: "Understood!"

'

Soon, the offensive round began.

The logging team adopted a strong, fourth-gear stance.

"They've set up an offensive formation!"

In the commentary booth, Larry's voice suddenly rose, filled with disbelief: "Ladies and gentlemen, did you see that? The Lumberjacks didn't punt! They went for it with 3 yards left on fourth down in their own half, 42 yards out! My God, that's a really brave decision."

He paused, his voice tinged with obvious worry: "Kyle Anderson, their star quarterback, has just experienced two frustrating third-downs, and now he's choosing to shoulder the team's fate. Either he gets the first down to keep their hopes alive, or—he hands over a prime offensive position to the already dominant Cavaliers. Let's all—pray for them."

The spectators in the stands responded enthusiastically: "Go for it! Kyle! You can do it!"

"Don't be a coward! Charge!"

"God, please, this has to happen!"

"Defend! Stop them! We must stop them!"

The Cavaliers' defense immediately pushed forward, with the linebackers almost sticking to the back of the offensive line and the safety also approaching the inbound line.

Kyle yelled, "Ready, set, kickoff!"

The center forward kicks off.

Kyle received the ball and retreated, his eyes scanning the area quickly.

The intersection on the left is locked.

The deep route on the right has been reinforced by the retreating guards.

The receiver in the short passing zone is tightly marked. There's no target.

The Cavaliers' frontline closed in again, and the Timbers' pocket was rapidly crumbling.

The defensive end's large hand had already grazed past his mask.

Commentator Larry yelled, "No passing options! Kyle has to drive himself!"

Kyle clutched the ball tightly to his chest, protecting it like a bomb.

He charged towards the right sideline.

His first step was incredibly explosive, instantly shaking off a linebacker's tackle.

A sliver of space appeared ahead, and the left guard and left interceptor used all their strength to block the two defenders.

Rush over!

If we can get through, we'll be the first to attack!

But that dark blue shadow appeared once again.

Li Ang did not pounce on Kyle.

He appeared out from the side like a ghost, then stopped.

It precisely blocked Kyle's path as he advanced.

He crouched slightly, arms outstretched, about three yards away from him, like a goalkeeper.

He was forcing Kyle to change direction.

Larry practically screamed, "Smart! Leon didn't just grab! He held his position, forcing Kyle to move laterally! He's buying time for his teammates!"

"6

Kyle's heart sank.

If he charged straight ahead, he would inevitably crash into Li Ang's arms.

If you change direction, you will lose linear speed.

There was no other way; Kyle was forced to come to an abrupt stop.

He stomped his left foot on the grass and twisted his body toward the edge of the field.

But with just those two lateral steps, the Cavaliers' star center Bruce had already arrived.

Its enormous body blocked the way like a wall.

A pincer attack from both sides.