It is a third-and-8 near midfield. There are three seconds left on the play clock.
The optical illusion is about to be on display.
Jalen Hurts throws his hands in front of his body, uttering the final syllables of the Eagles’ presnap cadence, demanding the football. Everyone on offense is still, as if frozen in time beneath the pumice of Mount Vesuvius. Everyone, that is, except for Lane Johnson.
