Uh.
A muffled groan, dizzy and dazed, sky collapsed and earth shattered.
Watson didn't even have a chance to catch his breath, let alone adjust or escape. A force as unreasonable as a force of nature slammed into him, taking him down directly.
So embarrassing.
Despite being a mobile quarterback, known for his pocket footwork and running ability, with evasion skills that are his trump card—result?
Sack.
Watson had no idea what happened, why the fake handoff didn't deceive the opponent, what happened to the offensive line's pocket protection. He couldn't even recognize whose red figure completed the sack; he fell without resistance, like a chick just born, yet not even able to open its eyes, much less stand firmly.
Dazed, a right hand appeared in front of him.
Without thinking, Watson instinctively grabbed the right hand and got up, facing Chris Jones's face, expression frozen.
Chris Jones, expressionless, eyes showing a hint of restraint, "Sorry."
