American Football: Domination

The vehicle moved steadily through the night.

Clark looked at Lance, who was focused on driving, and felt a strange sense of disbelief. It was hard to imagine that Lance was still the same person he remembered—

Radiant and commanding attention, now undoubtedly the highest-valued player on the Kansas City Chiefs roster and among the top in the league.

Yet, he remained grounded, approachable, and seemingly unchanged by the passage of time.

"Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"So, what made you decide to become a coach?"

Clark was caught off guard, then chuckled. "You actually held that in all this time? I thought you'd ask the moment we met."

Lance shrugged lightly. "Continuing football is one kind of dream. Settling into a 9-to-5 is another. Building a family around daily routines is also a dream. I don't think any one dream is greater than another. Everyone is living earnestly—each deserves respect."

"Brother, I hope I still get to see you on the football field. But even if it's somewhere else, I'll be just as happy. How could I forget those games, right?"

Clark recalled how everyone on the Chiefs staff spoke so highly of Lance—not out of flattery, but genuine admiration that slipped out naturally. Now he understood why: Lance never put himself above anyone. That was the key.

But then again, that was just Lance.

Clark smiled, "Remember the Wild Card game?"

"Titans."

"Exactly. You and Derrick Henry—two Heisman winners, two Crimson Tide legends—meeting in an NFL playoff game. We couldn't miss it. In fact, we watched it together."

"Wait, the Wild Card round? That was during the national championship weekend, wasn't it?"

"Yup. We were preparing to face Georgia, but no one wanted to miss your game. That match—wow—even now, just thinking about it gets my blood pumping."

"Come on, we still had the AFC Championship and the Super Bowl after that."

Lance teased, but Clark was earnest. "No, really."

"To me, that game was the turning point where the team transformed. You guys were on the edge of the cliff, staring down another first-round playoff exit. The weight of that fear was crushing—on everyone, even Coach Reid."

"But you didn't give up."

Simple words, spoken with deep emotion. Lance felt it too. "Because I hadn't experienced that curse or nightmare before—I didn't believe in it."

"Maybe," Clark shrugged. "But you also reminded us never to doubt our dreams. The power of a dream can be unbelievable. That night, I realized I still wanted to be part of football. It's still what I'm passionate about."

"Maybe I'll get a job. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll end up like Kurt Warner, working odd jobs to make ends meet."

"But I want to try."

People with dreams see stars and oceans in their eyes—regardless of how big or small, whether they come true or not—they're different.

Lance glanced at Clark through the rearview mirror. "That makes you different, Professor."

Clark laughed, "Different like the 10,001st assistant coach in the league dreaming of being a running backs coach?"

Lance said plainly, "Who knows? If my career lasts long enough, maybe one day I'll play on your team when you're head coach. If not, maybe I'll play for your team when you're the offensive coordinator."

"Come on—if you're going to dream, dream big."

Clark was stunned, almost not believing what he heard. But looking at Lance, he couldn't help but get a little fired up.

Seeing Clark lost in the moment, Lance shook his head in mock disappointment. "Come on, Professor—pick up the cue. You were supposed to say, 'Compared to your dream of becoming head coach, me playing that long is the real miracle.'"

Clark laughed, "Then I'd better get to work—make it happen before you retire."

Laughter filled the car.

Before they knew it, they'd arrived.

It hadn't taken long.

Though Kansas City was called a city, its bustling downtown wasn't that big. Twenty minutes was enough to cross it end to end.

Clark leaned out the window curiously and couldn't help but exclaim, "Old Oak Tavern—I know this place."

Lance replied, "Every Chiefs player and fan knows it. On game days, it's as lively as Arrowhead."

Clark was a disciplined guy. He knew he still had a lot to learn as an assistant. His jump from NCAA to NFL was mostly thanks to Burns. He didn't want to let Burns down—or embarrass Lance—so he poured everything into the team.

Leisure time?

What's that?

Even meals and bathroom breaks were tactical study sessions. Apart from bathing and sleeping, every moment went to work.

So, the Old Oak Tavern had always been more legend than reality.

Lance knew that. That's why, after studying tape together, he brought Clark here.

Tactics and professionalism aside, understanding the team's culture and fanbase was just as vital to a professional franchise.

Standing at the entrance, Clark sized up the bar—

And was a little disappointed.

It was just a plain, ordinary bar. The letter "K" on the "The Old Oak" sign had fallen off and was now dangling precariously. The faded red paint had long been worn by wind and rain. The gray brick wall looked old and worn down.

Even the windows were dusty.

This was it?

Honestly, if Clark had just driven by, he wouldn't have stopped. This rundown place was the sacred ground for Chiefs fans?

He didn't say it aloud. He was from a small town himself and knew how devastating the 2008 financial crisis had been.

While the coasts were slowly recovering, towns and cities in the heartland were still hollowed out. Many who left during the crisis never returned, leaving places like this stuck in the past.

Lance saw the look on Clark's face but said nothing—

Because this rundown look was proof of the storms this bar had weathered over the decades. It was what made it a true gathering place for fans.

Before they could go in, they saw West pushing open the door, lugging a massive trash bin, his face flushed and drenched in sweat.

Lance called out, "Hey, need a hand?"

West looked up and saw Lance in the night—startled, almost dropping the bin. Disaster narrowly averted.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates