American Football: Domination

The tension was suffocating.

Spectators could feel it.

But for the players on the field, it was all-consuming.

Every inch of their skin, every fiber of their muscles, burned under the weight of the moment.

Lance took a deep breath.

Eyes locked on the field.

His mind raced.

They had expected this game to be a challenge.

But actually facing Jacksonville's defense?

It was even harder than anticipated.

More relentless. More suffocating.

Similar to Pittsburgh's defense—but sharper, more complete.

The Jaguars' defining trait wasn't a single dominant player.

There was no true leader like a Ray Lewis or an Aaron Donald.

It was a system.

Everything was connected.

A defense built like an interlocking puzzle—one piece always reinforcing another.

Like a chain reaction.

Like an unbreakable loop.

Marrone, the head coach, wasn't even concerned with offense.

His entire focus was defense.

He adjusted in real time.

Every play, every call, he made sure his defense was one step ahead.

He knew Kansas City's tendencies.

He had out-prepared Reid before the game even started.

Now, he was outmaneuvering Nagy in real time.

The result?

Total control.

Which meant…

Lance—along with every other Chiefs playmaker—was trapped.

No one had room to breathe.

No space to break free.

Every play felt like running into a wall.

It wasn't about skill.

Lance had faced elite defenders before.

But in those matchups, there was always a weak spot.

A single defender to exploit.

A single gap to target.

Not this time.

The Jaguars had no weak links.

They were a unit.

They covered for each other.

They gave nothing away.

So what did this mean?

It meant…

A new challenge.

Lance was excited.

Even after an entire season, the league still found new ways to test him.

He lived for this.

On the sideline, he watched as Jacksonville's offense struggled too.

Fournette was hitting the same wall.

He kept running straight into Kansas City's defense—

And kept getting stuffed.

Again.

And again.

This was a problem.

For Jacksonville.

Fournette had built his entire identity on brute force.

Power. Strength. Bulldozing defenders.

It had worked in college.

It had worked at times in the NFL.

But here?

Today?

It wasn't working.

On second down, Justin Houston read the play perfectly.

He wrapped up Fournette with a clean tackle.

Stuffed.

No gain.

Now it was third-and-eight.

Bortles had no choice but to pass.

And as expected—

His pass wobbled.

Inaccurate.

Incomplete.

Three-and-out.

Again.

"0-0."

The score refused to change.

This was torture.

Fournette stood frozen on the field.

Frustrated.

Angry.

Humiliated.

His chest burned with rage.

This was his moment.

He knew it.

Whoever broke through on the ground first would control the game.

But no matter how hard he tried—

Wall. Wall. Wall.

Every play was a dead end.

He turned toward the sideline.

And locked eyes with Lance.

Lance, standing near the Chiefs' bench, was laughing.

Chatting with Kelce and Smith.

Relaxed. Carefree.

Like this was a picnic.

Fournette clenched his fists.

He wanted to yell.

To scream.

But nothing came out.

Instead, he stomped off the field.

Still furious.

Still fuming.

And as he walked past Jacksonville's defense, he saw Ramsey—

Bouncing on his toes.

Ready.

Hungry.

Eager to take the field.

For a brief moment, Fournette relaxed.

He hadn't broken through yet.

But neither had Lance.

Jacksonville's defense would handle it.

Ramsey and the others would shut them down.

No need to panic.

Yet.

Then—

A collective gasp from the crowd.

Fournette turned.

Saw the special teams unit.

Jacksonville had just pinned Kansas City inside their own 3-yard line.

The ball had bounced awkwardly on the punt.

The Chiefs' returner hesitated, unsure whether to field it.

And in that moment of indecision—

Jacksonville pounced.

They trapped the ball.

Downed it at the 3-yard line.

The crowd erupted.

They didn't force a turnover—

But this was just as good.

Now, the Chiefs were backed up deep in their own territory.

And this was Sacksonville.

The league's most dangerous pass rush.

If they sacked Smith in the end zone—

Safety.

Two points.

And possession back to Jacksonville.

A defensive game-changer.

Fournette grinned.

Ramsey started bouncing even more.

The entire defense lit up.

They could feel it.

This was their moment.

Kansas City?

In serious trouble.

Across the country, Chiefs fans felt it too.

Even in Kansas City.

Inside the Old Oak Tavern, a sports bar packed with Chiefs fans, a familiar face walked in—

Provolos.

The second he stepped inside, he saw the screen.

Saw the situation.

And one thought entered his mind:

"I'm a curse."

He was certain of it.

Maybe he should leave.

Maybe this was his fault.

Maybe if he walked out right now—

The Chiefs would be fine.

But before he could move, West placed a beer on the bar.

Silent.

Calm.

Just an unspoken gesture:

"Stay."

Provolos hesitated.

The bar was packed.

Chiefs fans everywhere.

Not an empty seat in sight.

Was there even a place for him here?

Then—

The chant began.

"Fly!"

"Fly!"

He looked around.

Felt the energy.

Felt the passion.

Felt the hope.

And in that moment—

He stopped caring about superstition.

He stopped caring about the curse.

Because on the screen—

The Chiefs' offense was taking the field.

Provolos exhaled.

Then, finally—

He joined the chant.

"Fly!

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Powerstones?

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