American Football: Domination

The landscape—complex, tangled, riddled with rivalries.

Every team clenched their teeth, sharpening blades in the shadows.

The Los Angeles Chargers were no exception.

All because of the Kansas City Chiefs. The Chargers had fought tooth and nail to craft a brilliant season, only to be forced into a Wild Card game. One extra matchup meant more fatigue, more risk—and possibly, a different playoff outlook. They hated the Chiefs, wished they could drink their blood and gnaw their bones. No surprise—they were division rivals, sworn enemies.

When enemies meet, eyes blaze red.

Still, the Chargers kept their focus on the Wild Card. They refused to repeat last year's mistake—when the Steelers and Patriots both overlooked their opponents, only to fall in shocking upsets in the Divisional Round. That slip let the Chiefs and Jaguars march into the AFC Championship.

No. Not this time.

The Chargers carried a belief—quiet, unyielding, absolute.

They expected more from this season.

In the AFC, the era of the Big Three—Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Ben Roethlisberger—had lasted over fifteen years, with Baltimore as the lone disruptor.

But now Manning was retired, Roethlisberger's peak had faded, and even Brady's dominance showed its cracks. The Ravens still fought stubbornly through their struggles. The result: an AFC wide open like never before.

Especially after the Chiefs' breakthrough last season. Their surge gave the rest of the conference hope—proof that a new contender could rise. That spark ignited chaos. Every team believed they had a chance.

At least, they told themselves so.

The playoff atmosphere swelled higher than ever. Each team had its mission. Each game, its war.

The NFL wasted no time in announcing the Wild Card schedule. With no rest between Week 17 and the postseason, the battle began immediately.

January 5, Saturday

Afternoon: AFC #3 Houston Texans vs. #6 Indianapolis Colts

Evening: NFC #4 Dallas Cowboys vs. #5 Seattle Seahawks

January 6, Sunday

Afternoon: NFC #3 Chicago Bears vs. #6 Philadelphia Eagles

Evening: AFC #4 Baltimore Ravens vs. #5 Los Angeles Chargers

The curtain rose.

No breaks. No adjustments. No breathers. The eight teams had no choice but to dive headfirst into playoff mode.

The Chargers, who'd clinched early. The Eagles, who barely scraped in thanks to Chicago's help. It didn't matter now. No time for panic, no time for thought. Just fight.

One moment, the Eagles thanked the Bears for saving their season.

The next, they had to claw at each other for survival.

Sports are cruel that way. No wonder people doubt whether true friendship can exist on the battlefield.

While the playoff teams geared up for war, the league itself eased into the transition with a buffer:

Celebration. Reflection. Review. Expectation.

The postseason shines brightest—but every year, the regular season's brilliance must not be forgotten. Championships are forged in January, but the foundation of the sport is built from September through December.

This year was no different.

As Wild Card weekend approached, analysts scrambled to summarize the season. Before all eyes locked on the playoffs and Super Bowl, they gave the regular season its due—acknowledging the crownless kings who made it memorable.

Last year, the league had opened up, chaos ruling. Quarterback play slumped, giving way to the dominance of Lance among running backs and Aaron Donald on defense. Brady still walked away with MVP, sparking endless debate.

Maybe it was time, people argued, to give non-quarterbacks their rightful recognition.

The quarterbacks heard that chatter. They wanted to answer back. And this year, several did rise to the challenge. But even so, with Manning gone, the position as a whole looked like a free-for-all.

Before the season, expectations sat squarely on Aaron Rodgers.

Fresh off injury, he signed a record-shattering contract with Green Bay, redefining quarterback salaries. A generational talent, tailor-made for passer ratings, he was supposed to reassert his greatness.

Instead—disaster.

The team crumbled around him. Receivers faltered. Rodgers, brilliant as ever, couldn't find the end zone. Yards and touchdowns plummeted to career lows. He threw only two picks, but endured 49 sacks—nightmarish.

The Packers limped to 6–9–1, missing the postseason. Rodgers' passer rating failed to crack 100, a rarity.

Elsewhere, Brady and Drew Brees, though still elite, showed their age. Not bad—never bad. But compared to their own peaks, the drop-off was clear. Still, they carried the Patriots and Saints to the playoffs. That's pedigree. That's power.

Yet the quarterback chaos raged on.

This season's passing yards leader? Roethlisberger.

Surprising, but logical. With Bell absent, Pittsburgh pivoted to the air, and Big Ben delivered—steady, decorated, still the most accomplished QB of the famed 2004 draft class.

Behind him: Mahomes, Matt Ryan, Jared Goff, and Andrew Luck.

Mahomes, especially, exploded. Like Lance the year before, he burst onto the scene, dazzling week after week. Fans gasped, "Where did this guy come from?" Over and over. By the end, he and Roethlisberger stood alone above 5,000 yards.

The league reeled.

Looking back at last year's draft, everyone finally understood just what GM Brett Veach's bold move meant.

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Powerstones?

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