American Football: Domination

"Touchdown!"

Unable to hold back, Bart clenched his fists and sprang to his feet, shouting with passion, like a lion awakened from its slumber.

In the ESPN studio, all eyes turned to him, watching as if observing a gibbon playing with a ball:

This was the post-game analysis studio, not a live broadcast booth. The game was being covered by Pash at Arrowhead Stadium. Their job was simply to watch quietly, take notes, and be ready to break down the action afterward.

So, what was Bart doing, acting like he'd never seen a touchdown before?

Even Bart himself hadn't expected it—

How did he suddenly lose control like that?

Bart had no personal grudge against Lance and wasn't intentionally targeting him, but over the past five weeks, one mistake after another had dragged him deeper into a swamp. By the time he realized it, he was already stuck, unable to turn back, repeatedly eating his words and soldiering on despite being publicly embarrassed.

Now, all he could do was double down on his stance.

Deep down, Bart had been desperately hoping for Lance to lose, even just once, so he could finally be right for a change—because otherwise, he felt like he might just wither away from sheer humiliation.

And finally.

Finally!

The Pittsburgh Steelers brought both intensity and poise to this game, and after that 51-yard touchdown connection between Roethlisberger and Brown, Tomlin's team had taken the decisive step forward—

Checkmate.

"19-10."

Not only did the Steelers hold a lead, but there were just three minutes and 24 seconds left in the game. The Kansas City Chiefs needed two possessions to reclaim the lead, and one of those possessions had to end in a touchdown.

So far, the Chiefs had only managed one touchdown, thanks to Lance.

From any angle, the Steelers were now firmly in control. They had a 90% chance of victory. Last season's playoff defeat at Arrowhead Stadium was about to repeat itself.

So close. So loud.

This time, Bart didn't hold back. He faced the other analysts with a grin, embracing the spotlight.

"A brilliant touchdown."

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but… I did say the Steelers could win. I said they were ready. I said the Chiefs were nothing but paper tigers—"

Bart exhaled deeply, finally letting go of all the tension that had been weighing on his shoulders. The clouds above his head cleared, and for the first time in weeks, he felt light, comfortable, and at ease.

Then he was interrupted.

"The game isn't over."

Bart froze. "What?"

Lawson gestured toward the TV screen. "I said, the game isn't over. Look at Kansas City."

Bart turned to the broadcast feed—

Arrowhead Stadium was buzzing with a frantic, almost tragic energy. The fans hadn't given up. They were still chanting in unison, cheering with all their might. But the anxiety etched on their faces was unmistakable.

Could the Chiefs turn things around?

It wasn't just about last season. For the past decade, even the past twenty years, the Chiefs had developed an unfortunate habit of collapsing under pressure in critical moments. It was a curse, deeply ingrained in the franchise's DNA.

Despite their efforts to stand tall and push forward, the Chiefs always seemed to lack that final spark of confidence. Even this season, despite multiple fourth-quarter comebacks, no previous crisis had been as dire as the one they faced now.

It was hard—unbelievably hard.

Resilience and championship mentality aren't just slogans. They're part of a team's identity, forged through countless trials.

The Steelers, for example, had that toughness and experience, which allowed Roethlisberger to find Brown for a game-changing touchdown.

Arrowhead hadn't surrendered, but the air was heavy with somber determination.

"Offense!"

"Offense!"

The chants echoed across the stadium.

Hanging by a thread, teetering on the edge.

Yet on the field—

Lance was telling stories.

Yes, really. Bart blinked in disbelief, but the broadcast feed clearly showed Lance talking and laughing with the offensive unit.

The studio was filled with puzzled silence.

"What?" Kelce furrowed his brow, confused by Lance's words.

Lance repeated with a grin, "I said, the fat lady hasn't sung yet."

Kelce shook his head. "I heard what you said. I just don't get it. What fat lady?"

Lance chuckled. "It's a saying from London's West End theater scene. There was a famous show that ran so long people couldn't keep track of time—no one knew when it would end."

"But this show had a signature feature: a fat lady would come out to sing near the finale. When she started singing, you knew the end was near."

"So, the saying goes: it's not over until the fat lady sings."

"And guess what? The fat lady hasn't sung yet."

Lance had noticed the tension gripping the entire team.

The Steelers' heavy, grinding style had suffocated the Chiefs, preventing them from finding their rhythm. It was frustrating, stifling, and exhausting.

And that deep bomb from Roethlisberger to Brown, coupled with the ticking clock and widening score gap, felt like a noose tightening around Kansas City's neck.

But Lance wasn't about to give up. He wasn't ready to surrender. The game wasn't over yet. The most exhilarating moments in sports were still to come.

Anxious?

What's that?

A playful smile curled on Lance's lips.

"No, wait, my bad. The fat lady is singing."

"Tick-tock. Tick-tock."

Lance mimicked the sound of a ticking clock, making his teammates chuckle. The tension eased slightly.

"But as long as her song isn't over—

Hey, guys, did you hear that?

Her song's not done. The game's not done."

One by one, Lance locked eyes with his teammates.

"Listen closely. She's still singing."

With that, he flashed a bright smile and jogged to the 25-yard line for the kickoff. He was ready.

All eyes followed the number 23 on Lance's back. There were no rallying cries or motivational speeches. But something shifted. The team's nerves relaxed. One by one, they followed Lance, lining up for the next play.

The situation was dire.

Lance knew this was the toughest game he'd ever faced. He now truly understood what it meant to go up against a professional-level defense.

And this wasn't even the peak version of the Steelers' defense. What would it be like to face the prime defenses of the Ravens, Seahawks, or Bills?

Still, he was ready to keep fighting.

For the first time, Lance wasn't focused on victory. Winning or losing no longer mattered.

The Chiefs might lose. The Steelers might win. Josh Smith might trash-talk after the game. Le'Veon Bell might dismiss the Chiefs' run game. None of it mattered.

Lance wasn't fixated on the result anymore.

He was here to fight.

And he was ready.

Whatever the outcome, he would leave the field with his head held high, having given his all.

Fight to the end!

No regrets.

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Powerstones?

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