American Football: Domination

Old Oak Tavern.

Behind the bar, Charles West looked at Provost with a helpless expression, raising a hand to stop the other fans from going at him.

West knew that last week, Provost had suffered another asthma attack. His temp job at the refinery was no longer an option—if he kept at it, he might not make it out alive. His rent was due next week, and just last night, he had almost frozen to death on the streets. This Kansas City winter felt especially long.

It wasn't that Provost wasn't trying—it was just that, in the face of an overwhelming era, the struggles of people like him seemed utterly insignificant, incapable of changing anything.

Did Provost want the Chiefs to win in the playoffs? Of course, he did.

More than anyone, he wished the team could move forward, lighting a spark of hope. But he was scared. He had endured too many disappointments, to the point where even allowing himself to hope felt dangerous. If he got his hopes up again, only to be let down, he wasn't sure if he could take it. His world was already on the verge of collapse—just a little more pressure, and it might shatter completely.

All the cynicism, the negativity—it was just a defense mechanism, a layer of armor shielding him from his own wounds.

"Enough, all of you, stop," West tried to calm the situation.

The other fans held back, but then Provost spoke again.

"Haven't we been through enough?"

"Every time, we get our hopes up. We cheer, we believe. Again and again, we stand behind them, pouring all our passion and hope into this team."

"And what do we get in return?"

"Disappointment. Over and over. Again and again."

His voice trembled with pain.

This season had reignited hope, but the brighter that hope burned, the more unbearable the anxiety became. The constant emotional tug-of-war was exhausting.

"I'm done."

"I just… I just don't want you all to be disappointed again."

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

The bar started stirring again, but before anyone could react, West cut in sharply.

"Shut up!"

Provost froze.

"Chris, you think you're the only one who's suffered? We all have."

"You think we support this team just because they win? Just for championships? If that's all it's about, then hell, you should be rooting for New England. How many titles have they won? Four? Five? Six?"

"I don't care."

"Because it doesn't matter."

"I support this team because they're part of my life. They fight. They struggle. Just like the thousands of ordinary people in Kansas City. They fail. They get knocked down. They feel lost. But they never give up."

"Yeah, we might lose in the first round of the playoffs again. Sports have no guarantees. But that doesn't change why I support them. I want to fight alongside them."

"Have you forgotten?"

"Against the Steelers, we fought until the last second and pulled off a miraculous win. Against the Raiders, we endured the most heartbreaking final two minutes."

"During that six-game losing streak, we thought the season was over. But the team didn't give up. Do you remember Lance's opening-game touchdown run against the Raiders?"

"That's why we believe. That's why we don't quit."

West took a deep breath.

"So in the playoffs, I'll be right here, standing with this team, accepting whatever happens, with no regrets."

"If you can't do that, then leave."

Provost was stunned. He looked at West, then at the silent yet resolute faces of the other fans, all standing against him. Words caught in his throat.

He said nothing.

He stood, stepped away from the bar, and walked toward the door.

At the threshold, he muttered, "You're all going to get your hearts broken."

Then, without looking back, he left.

A gust of icy wind rushed in as he opened the door. Standing there, Provost stared blankly ahead.

He had expected himself to cry.

But, pathetically, his eyes were as dry as the Sahara. Not a single tear.

Thoughts swirled in his mind before settling into a dull, gray emptiness. With slumped shoulders, he trudged forward, swallowed by the winter night.

So… could the Kansas City Chiefs finally break their playoff curse?

In the larger world of the NFL, things weren't much different from Old Oak Tavern.

The playoffs were a different beast from the regular season.

No matter how well a team performed all year, everything reset the moment the postseason began. The single-elimination format meant chaos was inevitable. A season's worth of effort could be undone by a single bad day, a single injury, a single mistake.

For the Chiefs, this unpredictability was both a hope and a curse.

Bart was torn.

This team—the Chiefs, Lance—had kept him on edge all season.

One moment, they shocked the league with huge wins. The next, they collapsed completely. Just when he thought he had them figured out, they did something unexpected.

Predicting them was like playing Minesweeper.

"…Bart, you look like you're defusing a bomb. Relax," joked the host, Crosby.

Bart couldn't laugh.

Because that was exactly how he felt—like every pick, every prediction, was a step away from disaster.

But looking at the other analysts in the studio, he realized he couldn't just sit there looking lost, not on national television.

Taking a deep breath, Bart made his choice.

"I don't believe in the Kansas City Chiefs."

There it was. Decision made. No turning back.

"I know the Chiefs are an enigma this year. They've beaten some of the best teams in the league—New England, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh. Those wins are undeniable."

The Patriots, the Eagles, the Steelers—the top three seeds in the league.

"But then, in the middle of the season, they fell apart. A six-game losing streak exposed their flaws. Even against weak teams, they struggled. When it really mattered, they lacked resilience."

"Yes, they finished strong with four straight wins. But look at their opponents—none of them made the playoffs. Three of those wins were against division rivals in a weak AFC West."

"I'm not calling them a 'fake contender,' but let's be honest—their playoff resume isn't convincing."

"In the postseason, their weaknesses will be magnified. They can't rely on one or two players to carry them. And, more importantly, they don't have an elite quarterback."

"And now, in the Wild Card round, they face a brutal matchup—"

The Tennessee Titans.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates