American Football: Domination

Beep.

The game ended. Nagy's face was filled with sorrow. They had been so close, just a hair's breadth from victory. He truly believed they could have won—

The problem was, in the final moment, the Bears lacked a player who could slam the door shut and turn the tide. If it had been Alex Smith, or Lance, the result would have been entirely different.

But there are no ifs. The Bears had Trubisky.

Looking back now at the 2017 draft, the Bears had paid dearly to take Trubisky at No. 2 overall, while the Chiefs maneuvered cleverly to grab Lance at No. 3. One choice had diverged into two destinies.

Nagy drew in a long breath, his gaze hardening. Next year, it had to start with the draft again.

Out on the field, Foles once again became the Eagles' hero. But how far could he take them this year? The thought swirled messily in Nagy's mind.

Then came the final Wild Card showdown, the marquee matchup:

"Los Angeles Chargers vs. Baltimore Ravens."

But the game proved another truth about the playoffs. Under pressure, sparks might fly into greatness—or spiral into a storm of mistakes.

One-and-done doesn't always mean beautiful football.

This one? It turned ugly. Mistakes stole the spotlight.

Both quarterbacks—Philip Rivers and Lamar Jackson—struggled badly. Jackson's collapse under pressure was disastrous: sloppy mechanics, poor reads, botched timing, no in-game adjustments. It was so bad that even critics winced at piling on.

The Ravens' crowd thundered "Flacco! Flacco!" from the stands. On the sideline, Flacco stood ready.

But Harbaugh refused, leaving Jackson in.

Rivers wasn't much sharper, but his veteran calm mattered. Knowing he didn't have his best stuff, he managed the game with discipline, choosing wisely, keeping the Chargers steady.

By halftime, it was 12–0, Chargers blanking Baltimore with four field goals. Not decisive, but control was theirs.

In the fourth quarter, both quarterbacks finally showed life.

Rivers led a flurry—touchdown pass, two-point conversion, another field goal. The Chargers pulled away, 23–3.

Only then did Jackson snap awake. He started bombing long passes, tucking and running on option reads, and somehow clawed back two late touchdowns.

But it was too late.

23–17. Chargers held on.

When it ended, Jackson stood frozen, lost.

He had longed to face Lance head-on, to prove himself. But in the regular season, he'd never gotten the chance. In the playoffs, he hadn't even survived long enough to stand opposite him.

Was he not even worthy of standing across from Lance?

Bitter, hollow thoughts filled him.

Harbaugh stepped in, thumping Jackson's helmet.

"Don't cry, Lamar. Next year, we come back. The future's ours."

And so the Wild Card round was complete.

In this age of chaos, the label fit.

Of four games, only the Cowboys defended their seed, surviving the Seahawks. The other three? Upsets. Lower seeds toppling higher ones, throwing the league into deeper turmoil.

It was… deliciously wild.

Now, the divisional matchups were set.

Saturday, January 12

Afternoon: AFC #1 Kansas City Chiefs vs. AFC #6 Indianapolis Colts

Night: NFC #2 Los Angeles Rams vs. NFC #4 Dallas Cowboys

Sunday, January 13

Afternoon: NFC #1 New Orleans Saints vs. NFC #6 Philadelphia Eagles

Night: AFC #2 New England Patriots vs. AFC #5 Los Angeles Chargers

The schedule was out.

Slightly surprising, the defending champion Chiefs were given the first slot, not prime time. But it made sense.

On paper, Chiefs-Colts was the least suspenseful matchup of the divisional round, while Patriots-Chargers carried the most intrigue. The league balanced ratings with fairness, avoiding last year's mistake of shoving all of Lance's games into prime slots, which had stirred backlash.

This time, the scheduling drew broad praise.

Except from the Colts.

Why were they seen as the least threatening? Was everyone already writing this off as a Chiefs win?

Bart: Yes.

The league's notorious "Lance-hater," Bart, had been shoved out of the spotlight this year. He still clung to his belief: one great season from a running back means nothing. Backs are disposable. Every year they wear down. To judge one, you need three full seasons. He never hid his disdain.

But this season had made him eat crow, hard. The Chiefs kept winning—only three losses all year. Lance had smashed through the sophomore wall, the team was more complete, more mature. Even Bart admitted it.

Still, he insisted the Colts had no chance. Their defense was too weak, all offense, built for shootouts. Against Kansas City, that was suicide.

Sure, the Chargers had beaten the Chiefs—but that was an anomaly. Hunt's off-field disaster had wrecked KC's game plan, and Lynn's gutsy late gamble had stolen it. Luck, more than anything.

Once is chance. Twice? Impossible.

Look at the teams who'd really challenged Kansas City this season—Patriots, Rams, Ravens, Steelers. All had leaned on defense to slow them.

The Colts? No shot.

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Powerstones?

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