The air in Tiger Stadium felt electric, pulsing with a rhythm all its own. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was a living, breathing force. The rumble of more than 100,000 fans screaming at once was enough to make Royce’s chest vibrate, his heart pounding in sync with the roar. He crouched on the sideline over his helmet, trying to soak it all in. Even the crowd singing that corny Callin’ Baton Rouge hit different.
It was a rivalry game, the king of matchup that every player dreamed about growing up. LSU against Ole Miss under the lights in Tiger Stadium, the kind of setting that legends were made for. Royce had always heard about it, seen clips on TV of the deafening crowd, the sea of purple and gold, the energy that seemed to lift players off the ground. But seeing it, feeling it in person? It was different.
Greg and Harold walked by, both stopping to dap Royce up.
“Cameras on now, youngster!” Greg shouted to him, slapping him on the shoulder pads. “Let’s get this money!”
“You already know, OG,” Royce said, nodding as he stood up. “You already know.”
…
Jaxson Dart barked out signals as the Tigers’ defense adjusted. It was the first drive of the game, and the Rebels were clearly trying to set the tone and shut the crowd up.
Royce crouched in his stance, his eyes scanning the backfield. His hands shook with nervous energy, heightened by the deafening roar of the crowd that made it nearly impossible to hear the quarterback’s cadence. Dart called for the snap and immediately turned to the right, tossing it out to Ulysses Bennett coming out of the backfield.
Royce had read it all the way.
The instant Dart turned his back to make the pitch, Royce exploded forward weaving through the offensive linemen. He angled his body perfectly, slipping into the backfield and closing in on the back just as he started to turn upfield.
The hit was brutal and clean, the kind that made the crowd gasp before erupting into cheers. Royce drove his shoulder into Bentley’s midsection, lifting him off his feet and slamming him violently into the turf.
The stadium erupted as LSU’s sideline roared in approval. Royce sprung up, standing over the running back for a moment, flexing his arms.
An Ole Miss lineman ran over to him, shoving Royce back. Royce jogged backward, nodding and clapping his hands as he received celebratory slaps on the helmet from his teammates.
“It’s gonna be all night for you bitches! All night!” Royce shouted at the Rebels.
…
Third and long. Ole Miss was desperate to build some momentum, already down 10-0 at the start of the second quarter.
Royce and the defense were feeding off the energy of the crowd. Royce waved his arms at his sides, willing to crowd to get somehow louder than they were, the ground beneath them feeling as if it was beginning to shake.
Dart had to nearly shout into the ears of his teammates, his cadence echoing faintly over the road of the stands.
Royce crept toward the line, bouncing on his back leg as he waited for the snap. His heart pounded in sync with the play clock as he sought to time the snap perfectly.
Dart called for the ball, and Royce shot out of his stance. The guard barely had time to react before Royce dipped his shoulder, bending low to slip underneath the block. His cleats churned the turf as he zeroed in on the quarterback.
The quarterback saw him and tried to run, but Royce was too fast. He lunged forward, shoving Dart to the ground as he attempted to spin out of the sack.
The crowd reached a fever pitch as Royce leapt to his feet, the Chinese Bandits cadence echoing through the stadium. He pounded his chest and pointed at Dart as his teammates swarmed him.
“Yeah, bitch! Yeah!” he shouted at Dart. “Sending y’all bitches back to Mississippi in body bags, nigga!”
…
Ole Miss had driven all the way down to LSU’s 11-yard line, time ticking away in the second quarter and the game threatening to get out of hand if they weren’t able to cut into the Tigers’ 17-7 lead before the break. The atmosphere in the stadium was tense, the loudest it had been all night as the fans tried to get into the Ole Miss players’ heads.
Royce lined up just to the left of the middle of the formation, his eyes scanning the backfield. He walked toward the line of scrimmage, but had no intention of blitzing, trying to disguise the zone he was dropping into.
Dart got the ball and dropped back. Royce followed the slot receiver until he left his area of responsibility. As the running back left the backfield to run into the flats, Royce’s instincts kicked in.
Royce shifted his weight and broke toward the sideline just as the quarterback cocked his arm to throw. The ball left his hand on a quick, low trajectory, meant to hit the back in stride for an easy catch.
But Royce was already there.
He jumped the route, snatching the ball cleanly out of the air and tucking it against his chest in one fluid motion. The running back barely had time to react before Royce was gone, sprinting up the sideline with nothing but green turf and deafening noise ahead of him.
The crowd erupted as Royce picked up speed, his cleats digging into the turf. He didn’t even hazard looking behind him, for fear it would slow him down. Instead, focusing solely on the massive block of purple down the field.
His heart seemed to beat impossibly fast as he chewed up the yards between him and the endzone. He couldn’t hear himself breathing over the earth-shaking noise the crowd was producing.
He crossed the goal line untouched, looking at the nearest camera and flexing his arms before lifting them above his head, letting out a primal roar.
Before he was mobbed by his teammates, he pounded on his chest twice, threw two fingers up to the sky.
Chants of “LSU! LSU! LSU!” rained down from the sea of purple and gold as the players jogged off the field, any momentum Ole Miss was hoping for ended in one fell swoop.”
…
The clock ticked down late in the fourth quarter, LSU holding on to a 37-27 lead. Ole Miss needed a score to keep their hopes alive. They lined up for a crucial fourth-and-five from LSU’s 35. The crowd noise hadn’t wavered one bit, the kind of roar that continued to make communication on the field almost impossible.
With Jaxson Dart out of the game for backup Austin Simmons, it was going to be a difficult comeback attempt for the Rebels.
Royce dropped into a zone when the ball was snapped, the Tigers only sending three at Simmons. Simmons scanned the field, but all of his receivers were blanketed. The row of LSU linebackers standing at the first down marker made him hesitant to run.
He stepped up into the pocket, the offensive line fanned out to keep the pass rush away from him. Simmons continued to drift forward in the pocket as he stepped between the linemen.
Royce exploded forward with a clear line on Simmons. The quarterback barely had time to set his feet before Royce was on him. Royce closed in and lowered his shoulder in the quarterback’s chest, panic flashing across Simmons’ face at the last second.
The quarterback threw the ball as he was lifted into the air, a desperate attempt to avoid the sack. The ball wobbled in the air, spinning awkwardly before sailing out of bounds nowhere near a receiver.
The referee signaled an incomplete pass, and the Tigers sideline erupted in cheers. Royce popped up, shoving Simmons back down to the turf.
He pointed to the east. “I-55 that way, bitch!”
The Ole Miss players were too dejected to try to counter the trash talk and trudged off the field, heads hung.
Royce jogged off the sideline, he and his teammates waving their arms to hype up the crowd. Royce ripped off his helmet and jumped up on the bench, shouting “LSU! LSU! LSU!” with the fans.
…
After the game, Royce stood against a wall in the tunnels outside of the locker room, the bright lights of TV cameras and reporters’ phones making it near impossible for him to see the people standing a couple feet in front of him.
Reporters fired off questions, their voices blending into the buzz of the moment.
“How did it feel to have such a breakout performance in a rivalry game against Ole Miss?”
“What was going through your mind on the pick-six?”
“Do you think this win puts LSU in the playoff conversation?”
Royce answered as best he could, his media training hopefully paying off. His voice was steady, but his mind still racing from the game. The one of the reporters, a woman from a local station leaned forward with a grin.
“Royce, the fans have been throwing around some nicknames for you for the last few weeks and definitely after tonight. Honey Badger 2.0 has been making the rounds on social media. How do you feel about that?”
The question caught him off guard, and Royce forced a laugh, “I don’t know about all that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just out there trying to do my job and help the team win. Tyrann Mathieu is a legend and it’s crazy that I’m even kinda being compared to him. But I’m just me. I’m just Ro.”
The room laughed, but the question lingered in Royce’s mind as the interview wrapped up. As he walked back to the locker room to get his stuff, he ran both of his hands over his face, the adrenaline of the night beginning to wane and exhaustion taking over.
