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... erged. Jake stood a pace ahead of his staff, arms crossed, back straight. The game wasn't lost—not yet. But something had to change.
Behind him, Paul Roberts leaned in. "You sure?"
Jake didn't answer.
He'd already made the call in the tunnel.
Mensah stood by the fourth official, his jersey tight, shoulders coiled like a spring. Chapman was off—more brains than legs tonight. This wasn't about dictating the middle. This was about dragging the game open.
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