It was over. Just like that, the game had ended.
Jake Elliott stood motionless on the field, his face a portrait of disappointment and regret.
In his dreams, he had envisioned himself arriving in Philadelphia atop a figurative cloud, emerging as the savior at a critical moment. He would step into "god mode," flip the script, and orchestrate a stunning comeback to secure victory for the Eagles. He would be the hero they celebrated, a powerful rebuttal to the Cincinnati Bengals who had cast him aside and a statement of his worth.
For a fleeting moment, as the onside kick left his foot and rolled out with precision, that vision felt possible. Jake truly believed he could become the player who sealed the game in Philadelphia's favor.
He had even rehearsed the celebration in his head—high-fiving Carson Wentz, handing over the reins for a Hail Mary play, and basking in the cheers of his new teammates.
But just as quickly as it had started, it all came crashing down.
It was Lance who single-handedly crushed the Eagles' hopes of a last-second miracle. With unyielding resolve and an ice-cold demeanor, he snuffed out their chance at a comeback.
Unshaken under pressure.
Was this what star power looked like?
Jake let out a long, slow breath, carefully reining in the chaos of his thoughts. He raised his head and immediately spotted Lance amidst a sea of red jerseys—surrounded by teammates from the Chiefs' offense and defense alike.
Can you believe it? A rookie—a newcomer to the NFL—had quietly but decisively become the heart of the team just two weeks into the season.
Maybe he could learn something from Lance. Maybe he could look to him as a role model. If Lance could seize his opportunity to thrive, so could Jake. This was his chance to establish himself in Philadelphia and start anew.
After all, he and Lance were both rookies. If a running back could enjoy a breakout season, why not a kicker?
As Jake's gaze lingered on Lance, admiration and ambition lit up his eyes. For a moment, he hesitated. Would Lance agree if he asked to swap jerseys?
Finally, after some internal debate, Jake mustered the courage to ask. Just as he prepared to take a step forward, someone beat him to the punch—
Carson approached Lance with a slight air of shyness.
Initially, Wentz had planned to swap jerseys with Alex Smith—a natural exchange between quarterbacks. But his eyes kept drifting back to Lance.
Wentz himself was only in his second year in the league. From the moment he was drafted, he'd felt overwhelmed and unsure.
Spotlights had never stopped shining on him and Jared Goff, the first and second picks in the 2016 NFL Draft. Every little move they made was scrutinized, every mistake magnified. Critics didn't just watch; they dissected, demanding immediate greatness.
There was historical precedent for the immense pressure.
In 2012, the Indianapolis Colts had drafted Andrew Luck with the first overall pick, while Washington selected Robert Griffin III at second overall. Both quarterbacks delivered phenomenal rookie seasons, leading their teams to the playoffs and earning Pro Bowl nods.
Since then, the NFL had embraced a trend: drafting quarterbacks high in the first round and capitalizing on their low-cost rookie contracts to build competitive rosters.
In 2015, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers selected Jameis Winston first overall, while the Tennessee Titans drafted Marcus Mariota second. Both Heisman Trophy winners were immediately handed the keys to their franchises.
While Winston and Mariota didn't quite match the brilliance of Luck and Griffin's rookie campaigns, they still delivered strong performances. Winston even made the Pro Bowl.
The league was now ablaze with expectations for rookie quarterbacks. Rules favoring the passing game and protecting quarterbacks made it easier for teams to gamble on young talent.
By 2016, this trend hit a fever pitch.
Goff and Wentz were the focal points of the draft. The Rams and Eagles paid hefty prices to trade up for the top two picks, selecting Goff and Wentz, respectively.
Fans and analysts alike demanded immediate returns. They wanted rookie quarterbacks to explode onto the scene, just as Luck and Griffin had.
But reality was far harsher.
Goff started seven games in his rookie season. He lost all seven, throwing for 1,089 yards, five touchdowns, and seven interceptions.
Wentz fared better, starting all 16 games and posting a 7-9 record. He threw for 3,782 yards, 16 touchdowns, and 14 interceptions.
Despite breaking several rookie passing records, Wentz's efforts weren't enough. The weight of expectations crushed both him and Goff. Critics branded Goff a "bust," while Wentz was relentlessly criticized.
Tonight had been no exception.
Wentz already knew the questions awaiting him in the post-game press conference.
When head coach Doug Pederson sat down, reporters immediately confronted him with damning statistics. LeGarrette Blount, last season's rushing leader, had carried the ball just once for zero yards.
Altogether, the Eagles had attempted only ten rushes for 70 yards. Of those, 55 yards came from Wentz himself. The running backs had contributed a paltry 15 yards.
The numbers were brutal, and the blame fell squarely on Pederson and Wentz. Critics argued that Pederson's pass-heavy game plan doomed the Eagles.
Wentz wasn't surprised.
For over a year now, he and Goff had been under siege. Their every action scrutinized, their every misstep pounced on. With no rookie quarterbacks to divert attention in 2017, the spotlight burned brighter than ever.
Despite his late-game heroics tonight, Wentz knew it wouldn't be enough to escape criticism.
Lance's burdens were just as heavy, if not heavier. His rookie season wasn't just about playing football; it was about breaking barriers. Rookie, Asian-American, running back—each label carried immense pressure.
But Lance hadn't crumbled. He hadn't faltered.
Instead, he had turned that pressure into fuel, unleashing explosive performances that set a new standard for rookies everywhere.
Before Wentz realized it, his feet had carried him to Lance. It was an unconscious decision, a subconscious pull toward the player who had redefined what it meant to rise under pressure.
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