Dominate the Super Bowl

The atmosphere was somewhat oppressive—

The playoffs were ultimately different from the regular season.

If it had been the regular season, no matter how difficult or dangerous, they would still have been able to ignite their fighting spirit, possessing the belief to fight back even from the edge of a cliff; but in the playoffs, the continuous thoughts of no way back and no turning points lingered in their minds, the fear of elimination nearly causing their hearts to burst.

The more they thought, the more cluttered their thoughts became, making it even harder to concentrate.

This was also Li Wei's first experience.

Li Wei admitted that he hadn't played well in the second half either and was influenced to the extent that his focus wasn't adequate. Once distracted, the interpretation of tactics and the observation of the defense could lead to omissions and deviations. These small deviations in team cooperation could lead to completely different outcomes.

So, what to do?

Give up?

How could that be possible?

"Damn!"

"Damn damn damn, God damn it, you bunch of ungrateful pricks!"

"Do you know how much I want to go out there and kick Mariota's ass?"

"No, but I can't."

"Right now, I feel like a madman tied up in a mental hospital, stupidly sitting in front of the TV watching you guys get pushed around by that Henry."

"Yes, yes, that's familiar."

"All season, we've watched Li Wei push other defensive groups to the ground, and now watching another Crimson Tide Storm legend running back give us a harsh lesson, that's what you call retribution."

"So, what are you going to do? Surrender?"

"Damn, fuck surrender!"

Right in front, a voice like a broken gong rang out, and Houston looked up in astonishment—

What's this?

Then, Houston saw Li Wei holding a cellphone, the speaker emitting crackling sounds, unmistakably Eric Berry's voice.

Eyes gradually gathered on Li Wei, full of astonishment.

Li Wei, however, seemed unfazed and looked intently at it before finally shrugging regretfully, "This is as loud as it gets."

This scene, this picture, and the intermingling of Berry's curses and Li Wei's actions naturally exuded a ridiculous sense of humor.

Quietly, both the offensive and defensive groups' attention converged, moving closer subconsciously to hear better, but their lips gently curled into smiles, amused by Berry's long-missed scolding and by Li Wei's performance akin to a Chaplin silent film.

"...no!"

"The game isn't over, the season isn't over."

"You can choose to sulk and lose the game like wimps, or you can choose to fight with your heads held high until the last moment and then calmly accept whatever the outcome may be. God damn it, I don't want to face Arrowhead Stadium in this state. We can lose the game, we can embarrass ourselves by being knocked out in the first round of the playoffs again, but we can't surrender without a fight."

"Absolutely not!"

"Damn! Stand up, kick their asses hard, or I'll drag myself over there and kick your asses..."

Swear words, a flood of them, unbearable to hear.

Indeed, Berry was just Berry.

Li Wei noticed that the special duty group's kickoff had ended and the defensive group needed to take the field, without saying another word, he simply hung up the phone—

Houston gaped at Li Wei, "Did you just hang up on Eric Berry?"

Li Wei flashed a smile, "Houston, get ready to take the field."

Houston was startled, then burst into laughter, "Wow, rookie, you're a madman — wow! You really are a madman! Ha-ha, but I like it."

After that, Houston said no more, picked up his helmet, and summoned the defensive players to take the field.

As soon as they stepped onto the field, the atmosphere shifted subtly—

The Kansas City Chiefs' offense was in trouble. Smith, who had performed brilliantly during the regular season, faltered at the crucial moment, causing the passing offense to be completely stifled. The pressure fell entirely on the ground game, but a crippled offense was bound to struggle, becoming more nervous and more chaotic as the cycle of pressure continued.

Relying solely on Li Wei was not enough.

Moreover, Li Wei himself lacked experience.

Therefore, if they wanted to turn the situation around now, the Kansas City Chiefs needed to start with defense, at least maintaining their intensity in the Red Zone.

However, just relying on Red Zone defense wasn't enough; before entering the Red Zone, and even before crossing midfield, the defensive team also needed to stop the Tennessee Titans.

Now, what the Kansas City Chiefs needed was not just a turning point or a chance, but focus. They needed to shake off the influence of the Titans' strong second-half performance, focus 100 percent on their own tactics and performance, and find their rhythm again, working their way back on track bit by bit.
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Thus, Li Wei made a call to Berry.

There were some things Berry could say, but Li Wei couldn't.

Meanwhile, Berry's voice also reminded the Kansas City Chiefs that they were not fighting alone; they were still moving forward, carrying the expectations of Berry.

Taking a deep breath, Houston's gaze sharpened—

They could lose the game and be humiliatingly removed from their home field again, but they absolutely could not give up victory without a fight, absolutely not!

By the time they lined up again, Houston's demeanor had completely changed, his eyes locked on Mariota and Henry with razor-sharp focus.

Then.

He stomped the ground and sprang into action.

Houston launched an attack, immediately stepping forward with an unstoppable momentum, bypassing the congested front line from the Chiefs' left side and the Titans' right, cutting through the crowd like a sharp blade into the pocket, never taking his eyes off Mariota.

But!

The football wasn't in Mariota's arms.

So, Henry?

Houston quickly glanced around, noticing the football nestled in Henry's arms as he tried to break through the middle. But the Chiefs' defensive line advantage created an impenetrable human wall; Henry had no chance, forcing him to adjust again.

Suddenly, as his feet hesitated and jerked, he had to change his route of advance.

In that lightning-fast moment, Henry saw Houston and Houston saw Henry; their gazes collided briefly across their helmets.

Houston reacted swiftly, a split second faster, lunging forward—

Stop and pivot.

While his feet stayed rooted, his upper body launched forward, spinning at high speed like a top, his arms spread wide like an eagle, firmly wrapping around Henry's legs and using the weight of his body to force him down.

In fact, it was just a moment, and the slight edge Houston had gained in his reaction allowed him to tackle before Henry could react a second time.

Henry's legs were tied up, just like a mummy.

No chance, absolutely no chance.

During a moment of dizzying turmoil, Henry had already fallen backwards, and amidst the stumbling impacts, Houston kept ramming upwards from below with his helmet against Henry's ball-carrying arm, where strength, momentum, and gravity intertwined, the jolts and collisions fiercely tugging at his body.

The next second, the football broke free and mischievously flew into the air, reappearing above the green field.

Fumble!

"God, a fumble!"