The offense and defense switched again—it was the Colts' ball. Zhao Dong, lining up as the strong-side linebacker, stepped back onto the field.
The Colts came out aggressive, running a two-play, no-huddle sequence to pick up 8 yards. That set up a crucial 3rd-and-2. Two more yards and they'd move the chains.
"Attack!"
Manning's sharp cadence cut through the air, and the play was underway.
Wait—
Zhao Dong took a step forward, eyes locking on the Colts' tight end breaking toward the flat. His instincts flared—this was the target.
Sure enough, Manning's throwing arm came forward. The ball was already in the air.
It was a simple design—just two yards to keep the drive alive. If the tight end could get past Zhao Dong and into the open space behind him, the first down was almost guaranteed.
Zhao Dong planted hard with his right foot. Turf and dirt sprayed as he cut left, looping around the tight end's route.
In a flash, he was in front. The moment the tight end's hands touched the ball, Zhao Dong wrapped him up and drove him into the turf with a resounding thud.
Clean tackle. No flag.
If he'd made contact before the catch, it would've drawn a penalty. But the timing was perfect—textbook defense.
A wave of groans rolled through the stands as Colts fans sighed in frustration.
The 3rd-down attempt was stuffed. The ball stayed right where it was—at the Colts' 28-yard line.
"Fourth down. They'll have to punt," Ziegler said from the booth.
Beside him, Chernow shook his head. "That was inches from a completion, but the Tyrannosaurus closed it down. His speed is unreal."
"Unreal?" Ziegler scoffed. "He's the first NBA player in history to cross over to the NFL like this, and his physical testing numbers are the best the Jets have ever recorded. He's 26—if he stays healthy, this team could make serious noise."
The Colts weren't taking risks here. Not after giving up a touchdown earlier. The field position was too dangerous. They sent out the punting unit.
Both teams switched personnel—offense and defense trotting off, special teams coming on.
Jets head coach Edwards made the call—Zhao Dong would be returning the punt instead of the team's primary return man, Lex Teshinem.
Lex, stuck on the bench, clenched his jaw. "Damn, this is unfair," he muttered, eyes locked on Zhao Dong.
But he kept his mouth shut. Most of the locker room had rallied around Zhao Dong, and Lex was in the minority. He remembered vividly how Zhao Dong had ended Venis's career—and how no one in the media had dared dig deeper. Just thinking about it made his stomach turn.
He'd even told his agent he wanted out of New York. This team felt suffocating.
The Colts played it safe—booming the punt out the back of the end zone. No return chance. Change of possession.
Now it was the Jets' turn to attack.
"Zhao Dong, you're lining up at tight end," Edwards said before they took the field. "Knock out that strong-side linebacker, and Welin will get the ball to you."
"Got it." Zhao Dong's eyes lit up.
He jogged over to quarterback Welin Paul. "If you have to, throw it a little higher."
"Yeah," Welin nodded, "but be ready—it's gonna test your catch radius. My accuracy's not perfect."
Both squads took the field. The Jets lined up in a classic I-formation.
Zhao Dong set himself just off the right guard—one of seven men on the offensive line. Outside him was the lone wide receiver in this formation. Across the line, the Colts' strong-side linebacker sized him up—smaller frame, but built solid.
"Looks like a run play," Colts middle linebacker Hofs Wennington read from the second level. He immediately shifted the defense.
But he didn't like the matchup. Neither did Colts head coach Adam Lomas. The strong-side linebacker was a good player—but compared to Zhao Dong? This was a mismatch. Bigger, stronger, and with elite speed, Zhao Dong was a nightmare at the point of attack.
Wennington barked adjustments, warning his teammates—especially the strong-side backer—to watch for the hit.
Across the line, the strong-side linebacker crouched low, eyes locked on Zhao Dong through the bars of his facemask.
"Attack!"
Welin Paul's snap count rang out, and the play began.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
On the line of scrimmage, bodies from both sides went down in a chaotic clash of helmets and pads.
Thor, the Jets' anchor on the offensive line—practically the Optimus Prime of their blockers—was holding strong. Under his lead, they fought to keep the Colts' four-man front at bay, forming a solid pocket for quarterback Wellin Paul.
Bang!
Zhao Dong, crouched low in his stance, exploded off the turf. He met the Colts' strong-side linebacker head-on, and the impact was like a freight train colliding with a compact car. The linebacker staggered and toppled backwards.
Zhao Dong stumbled past him, regained balance, and turned his head toward Wellin Paul.
At the same moment, Colts middle linebacker Hofs Wennington closed in fast, ready to break up the play. The passing window was vanishing.
Swoosh!
According to the plan, Wellin Paul sent a slightly high pass, but it was perfectly timed.
Zhao Dong was already four yards downfield when the ball arrived—so was Wennington. The linebacker lunged in, hoping for an interception. But the high trajectory killed that chance. He settled in right behind Zhao Dong, prepared to wrap him up the instant the catch was made.
If Zhao Dong bobbled it, perfect—it would be an incomplete pass, no gain, and they'd move to the next down with the same field position. If he caught it, Wennington planned to slam him to the turf immediately.
Five yards ahead of the line, Zhao Dong leapt, twisting in the air to adjust. His big hands opened, and the football slid neatly into his grip.
A split-second later—Bang!—Wennington hit him midair, driving him down hard.
The whistle blew. First down play over. Five-yard gain. Second and five.
Wennington popped up, shaking his head. He'd timed the tackle perfectly, but Zhao Dong didn't drop the ball. The Jets moved the chains.
He glanced at Zhao Dong's hands. "Damn… can't even see the ball in those mitts. Those gloves have to be custom."
And they were—standard gear didn't fit hands that size.
---
Forty seconds later, the Jets lined up for second down.
This time, they ground out two yards. Third and three.
Big moment—convert, or punt after fourth down.
Up in the booth, offensive coordinator Edelz radioed down to Wellin Paul: target Zhao Dong again.
Paul huddled the team and relayed the call. The Jets spread out in shotgun—no running backs, receivers spread evenly to stretch the Colts' defense.
"Set… hut!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The trenches erupted again.
Bang!
Zhao Dong bulldozed the strong-side linebacker a second time, blowing right past him.
"Damn mismatch advantage!" groaned a Colts fan in the stands—a sentiment echoed by thousands more in front of TVs across the country.
Wellin Paul lobbed another high pass.
Bang!
Zhao Dong climbed the ladder, snatched the ball clean, and got drilled in midair.
Still no drop.
The whistle cut through the roar. Four-yard gain. Eleven total. First down. Ball on the 31.
---
Another forty seconds, and the Jets were back at it.
Edward liked what he saw—kept hammering the same weak spot. Zhao Dong's size-speed combo was eating the Colts alive. They had no linebacker explosive enough to match up.
One, two, three series later, the Jets marched all the way to the 79-yard mark—just one yard shy of the red zone, 21 from the end zone. The Colts burned a timeout.
---
In the broadcast booth
"We cannot let the Jets score here," Ziegler barked. "A touchdown puts us in a bad spot."
"Our defense is showing cracks," Chernow admitted.
"No, Chernow—we're not just 'a little weak.' We don't have anyone who can deal with that Tyrannosaurus out there," Ziegler replied.
Chernow nodded. "Too slow up front, too small in coverage. Zhao Dong's got the body of a lineman, the speed of a top wideout, and absurd burst. We don't have a strong-side backer who can even slow him down."
"Our starting tight end's built like him," Ziegler said, frustrated, "but he's slower, less explosive. Even if we switched him to defense, he couldn't keep up."
Chernow shrugged. "Tight ends are offense. Not everyone's a two-way weapon like Zhao Dong."
(End of chapter)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for Advanced Chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9