American Football: King of the Bay Area

David Akens was a player in the NFL with a career that was both quite ordinary and quite remarkable.

Kickers, the most overlooked yet crucial position on a team, were never a high priority during the draft. Countless kickers were Undrafted Players, and most of them earned their spots on a roster through tryouts. Akens was no exception.

As one of the Undrafted Players, Akens didn’t even see game time for the first two seasons of his career, relegated to the practice squad. But from an obscure undrafted player, over a long thirteen-year career, he had been selected to the Pro Bowl for the fourth time just last year, forging his own brilliant legacy.

After last season, salary negotiations between the Philadelphia Eagles and Akens reached a stalemate. Ultimately, Akens left for the San Francisco 49ers. Unexpectedly, in Week 4 of the regular season, a heavy burden now fell upon Akens’s shoulders. Facing his former team, he was about to become the key player who would decide the game’s outcome.

Facing the boos and shouts from the entire stadium, the San Francisco 49ers players became Akens’s strongest—and only—support, constantly cheering him on and offering encouragement.

Walking onto the field, Akens appeared calm and unwavering. Amidst the noise, he accurately kicked the extra point. The score was now 28-27, with the 49ers taking the lead.

The San Francisco 49ers were in the lead! This was the first time the 49ers had led all game, and it came with the clock winding down. They had firmly seized control of their own destiny!

But there were still forty-nine seconds left in the game. This meant victory was not yet secured; the Philadelphia Eagles still had one last chance to fight back. Forty-nine seconds, so brief in ordinary times, felt agonizingly long on the field—long enough to make a heart stop beating.

Lincoln Financial Field, raucous and electric for the entire game, fell into absolute silence for the first time.

All the San Francisco 49ers players stood on the sideline, anxiously watching every move on the field. Forty-nine seconds. They were only forty-nine seconds away from a four-game regular-season winning streak. Just moments ago, their offense had used seventy-one seconds to take the lead and reverse their fortunes. Now, they had to endure a grueling forty-nine-second wait.

It was absolute agony.

Lu Ke crossed his arms over his chest. With his helmet off, his short black hair was already soaked through. Amidst the crowd of white and Black players, his refined Asian features... somehow, perhaps, didn’t seem quite so glaringly out of place anymore.

Lifting his head, Lu Ke could see the tension as the entire stadium held its breath. It was so quiet he felt he could hear the frantic beating of every fan’s heart. In the face of such extreme silence and tension, Lu Ke, conversely, relaxed, letting out a soft chuckle. ”You think maybe we scored that touchdown too fast? If I’d known, I would’ve deliberately stalled for a bit. Or had Marcus run the ball to burn some clock. Then we wouldn’t have this to worry about.”

Standing next to him, Logan rolled his eyes, looking at the impossibly carefree Lu Ke in exasperation. ”Ha! Ha!” he laughed dryly. ”Not funny. Not at all, okay? I’m so nervous I’m about to puke, and you’re over here cracking jokes? Haven’t you noticed Marcus is about to cry?”

”Screw you!” Marcus didn’t look up. The height difference was just too great; standing in front of Lu Ke and Logan was too humiliating. He refused to look up and refused to respond. ’These two are lunatics.’

During their brief exchange, the situation on the field had already shifted.

In a desperate situation, Michael Vick showcased the flair of a true pioneer, pushing the abilities of a mobile quarterback to their absolute limit. On a read-option play, he faked a handoff, drawing in the 49ers defenders, then scrambled out of the pocket and completed a twenty-two-yard pass on the run, connecting with DeSean Jackson.

After the catch, Jackson kept running, pushing all the way to the Philadelphia Eagles’ 45-yard line, just five yards shy of midfield.

The Philadelphia Eagles immediately called a timeout, stopping the clock at forty-three seconds.

When play resumed, the San Francisco 49ers’ Defense Team finally made a stand. With lightning speed, outside linebacker Patrick Willis sacked Vick—a much harder feat against a mobile quarterback with exceptional Pocket Footwork. But Willis’s tenacious defense slammed Vick to the turf, and the Philadelphia Eagles lost six yards.

On the next play, cornerback Reggie Smith made a crucial defensive stop, batting away Vick’s pass intended for Jeremy Maclin. He was inches away from an interception, but could only watch as the football fell to the ground, incomplete.

”Aww!”

Watching from the sideline, Lu Ke and the others let out a collective groan of frustration. An interception there would have been a game-ending turnover. A moment later, however, Lu Ke was the first to start clapping, shouting, ”Number 30, way to go!” He then gave Reggie Smith a thumbs-up, showing his approval.

In sports, the players are often so focused and in the zone that they don’t feel the tension. It’s the spectators on the sidelines, or the viewers watching on TV, who feel a suffocating nervousness from their lack of control. Lu Ke was now finally experiencing what it meant to have your heart in your throat. Given the choice, he would much rather be on the field, fighting it out himself.

After two consecutive defensive stops, twenty-nine seconds remained on the clock. The Philadelphia Eagles now faced a third-and-sixteen. For them, however, there was no difference between third and fourth down; they had two chances to gain sixteen yards.

On third-and-sixteen, Vick unexpectedly decided to run it himself. With every second so precious, a run was hardly the wisest choice, but Vick trusted his legs. He surged forward for ten yards, and as soon as he was down, the Philadelphia Eagles called their second timeout.

Fourth-and-six. Twenty-four seconds left. After the snap, Vick once again used his legs to escape the pocket. He found No. 87, Tight End Brett Celek, through the traffic and completed a six-yard pass. Celek then pushed forward for another four yards before he was brought down.

The Philadelphia Eagles had miraculously survived, converting on fourth-and-six. At the critical moment, Celek used his size to shrug off 49ers outside linebacker Parris Harrisson, then made a sharp cut to secure the catch. The converging cornerback and safety were just a step too late.

That successful conversion made every player on the San Francisco 49ers sideline hold their breath, while fans in front of their TVs forgot to breathe entirely.

But the game still wasn’t over. The Eagles had now reached the 49ers’ 35-yard line. Field goal range was well within reach.

Of course, the Eagles could attempt a field goal now. Their kicker, Alex Henry, had a collegiate long of fifty-seven yards, and this attempt would be from roughly fifty-two. But any kick over fifty yards is a gamble. To be safe, they needed to get closer.

On the ensuing drive, the San Francisco 49ers’ Defense Team erupted with unbelievable ferocity, breaking up a pass over the middle and forcing the Philadelphia Eagles to use their final timeout.

Next, Vick attempted a short pass, finding another Wide Receiver, Riley Cooper. Cooper secured the catch, but the 49ers’ defense was on him instantly, stopping him dead in his tracks near the line of scrimmage—

The referees spotted the ball; Cooper had gained only one yard.

The Philadelphia Eagles had to hurry to the line, where Michael Vick immediately spiked the ball to stop the clock.

Third-and-nine, eight seconds left, and no timeouts remaining. The Eagles had no choice but to attempt the field goal. A fifty-one-yarder. This would be the most important and difficult kick of rookie kicker Alex Henry’s career. With all eyes on him, Henry walked onto the field.

Make the kick, and the Eagles complete the comeback. Miss, and the 49ers win.

The tense atmosphere was practically boiling. The referee blew the whistle, the Eagles’ center snapped the ball, and Henry began his run-up. But at the critical moment, the San Francisco 49ers called their final timeout—the classic move to ice the kicker.

Henry had to pull up mid-stride, forced to wait out the timeout, reset, and prepare to do it all over again.

The entirety of Joe’s Bar fell into absolute silence. The TV volume was cranked to the max, and the dull roar of the stadium crowd traveled through the airwaves, crossing the North American continent to ring clearly in everyone’s ears. Then came the sound of heartbeats—THUMP, THUMP, THUMP—so loud it seemed as if blood itself had slowed in their veins.

It was as if the world had stopped, and only that small rectangle of turf in Lincoln Financial Field was still operating in real time.

Suddenly, someone pushed open the doors to the bar and called out, ”Anthony!”

”SHHH!” Everyone in the bar turned and shushed him in unison. Then, ignoring the guy who stood frozen in the doorway, they all snapped their heads back to the TV screen, their gazes fixed on Alex Henry.

The snap. The hold. The run-up. The plant. The kick.

The football traced a long, high arc through the air, seeming to vanish for an instant into the sun, making hearts everywhere stop cold. It reappeared in the shadow of the stadium’s upper deck and—DOINK! It struck the goalpost. The post shook violently, and the sharp sound sent a cold sweat through everyone watching. The next moment, the ball ricocheted at a bizarre angle and slipped through the uprights.

The two referees standing under the goalpost each took a step forward and raised their arms high. The field goal was good!

The comeback, answered by a comeback. The game-winner, answered by a game-winner.