American Football: Domination

"Go home and cry to your mommy!"

"Whimpering little baby, try not to piss yourself!"

"This is only the beginning of your nightmare!"

With twisted faces and outstretched arms, the New England Patriots' faithful turned Gillette Stadium into a living hell. As the Chiefs headed toward the locker room for halftime, they were swallowed by a tsunami of deafening jeers, curses, and relentless boos.

Fans along the tunnel walls pounded the surfaces, creating an echoing roar.

"Welcome to hell!"

The Kansas City Chiefs were rattled.

They had expected a tough battle. They had prepared for adversity.

But the reality of being suffocated on both sides of the ball was overwhelming. The game was slipping away, and so was their confidence.

It was a wake-up call.

A brutal one.

The locker room was silent.

Aside from the occasional rustling of jerseys and shuffling of feet, no one spoke. Heads were down, eyes avoided contact.

Everyone tried to hide their disappointment.

And that silence? It terrified Andy Reid.

Anger meant fight. Frustration meant resistance.

Silence meant doubt.

And doubt was the real killer.

The curse of playoff failure was creeping back into their minds, wrapping itself around them like a suffocating noose.

Even Reid, despite all his experience, could feel it.

Doubt was contagious.

NFL players were superstitious by nature. Whether it was pre-game rituals, lucky socks, or avoiding certain phrases—every player had something they believed in.

And for the Chiefs, playoff collapses had become their greatest fear.

They had seen this movie before.

And now, they were living it again.

What they needed was a leader.

Someone to break the cycle.

Maybe... Lance?

Lance had natural leadership qualities. But more importantly—he didn't know fear.

He had no baggage. No history of failure. No haunting memories.

A rookie with no preconceived notions. And often, ignorance meant fearlessness.

But... Lance was still just a rookie. A running back.

Would the locker room follow him?

Reid hesitated—then noticed something.

Lance wasn't moving.

He wasn't preparing to speak.

He was looking at Smith.

Reid raised an eyebrow.

Smith?

Alex Smith rarely spoke up.

He wasn't a vocal leader.

But now?

Smith had noticed Lance's gaze.

For a moment, he struggled internally—then took a deep breath and stood up.

The locker room stirred.

A few players glanced his way.

"Guys."

Smith's voice broke the silence. Awkward. Uncomfortable.

"I'm not a superhero. I don't have superpowers."

"The other day, I told the rookie—this is only my third playoff win. One with San Francisco. One with Kansas City. I'm not some legendary quarterback who can flip a game on his own."

The room remained still.

A few players shifted uneasily.

Some wanted to interrupt, to reassure him.

Smith held up a hand.

He wasn't done.

"Historically, the numbers don't favor us, either."

"In the history of this franchise, whenever we've trailed by 10 or more points in a playoff game... we've never won. Not once."

"Sorry, Coach."

Reid flinched slightly, then raised his hands in surrender, pretending to give up.

A few chuckles rippled through the locker room.

It wasn't much—but it was something.

"So, by every measure, we're done."

"But—"

"I want to try."

No fire. No yelling. No speech meant for the highlight reels.

Just genuine conviction.

Smith meant it.

Deep down, he knew the truth.

This might be his last game as a Kansas City Chief.

And only he understood what that really felt like.

"No one expects us to win. Not even me."

"But I still want to try."

"Because I'm not fighting alone. We have our offense. Our defense. Our special teams. Our coaches. Our city."

"No matter what happens, I want to play free. To enjoy the game."

"So I'm going to show Gillette Stadium what Kansas City football really looks like."

"Who's with me?"

Smith was still Smith.

No fiery charisma. No bravado.

But his words carried a calm certainty.

A belief.

That belief caught fire.

Lance raised his hand first.

"I'm in."

Kelce jumped up next.

"Me too."

Then another.

And another.

One by one, every player stood up.

Shoulders squared. Eyes locked. Chins raised.

In the depths of despair, they found something stronger than fear.

They found each other.

Not to fight.

Not to prove anything.

Just to play.

To enjoy the game.

And no team that loves the game can ever truly be beaten.

Smith exhaled slowly.

A small smile curled at his lips.

His eyes flicked back to Lance.

Quarterback and running back.

They exchanged a look.

A silent understanding.

Smith clenched his fist.

"Fly."

The locker room erupted.

Reid narrowed his eyes—then smiled.

This was step one.

If the Chiefs wanted a comeback, they first needed to let go of the weight.

The fear. The history. The expectations.

Now, it was his turn.

The game plan had to change.

——

"Enjoy it," Smith murmured.

"Like it's your first game ever."

A deep breath.

A small surge of nervous excitement.

A flicker of joy.

He was ready.

——

The second half began.

New England had received the opening kickoff, which meant Kansas City would start with the ball.

The Patriots noticed something.

The Chiefs sent Hunt back to return the kickoff.

Immediately, they flashed back to Week 1—

Lance's kickoff return touchdown.

They didn't hesitate.

Boom!

They blasted the ball out of the end zone.

No chance for a return.

Even with a 21-point lead, Belichick refused to take risks.

Kansas City would start at their own 25-yard line.

Smith stepped onto the field.

This time, his mind was clear.

In the first half, he had been haunted by the thought that this might be his last game.

That fear had made him tense.

It had clouded his judgment.

But now?

Now, he was going to play.

Not for the scoreboard.

Not for the record books.

Not to prove anything.

Just to play.

"Attack!"

The snap.

The comeback began.

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Powerstones?

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