The ESPN studio fell silent, as if the raging red flames erupting from the Arrowhead Stadium had broken free from the television screens, sweeping through the studio like an unstoppable force.
Four years ago, at this very stadium against the Oakland Raiders, the Kansas City Chiefs fans broke the Guinness World Record for the loudest crowd roar, rivaling the famed Seattle Seahawks' 12th Man.
But compared to what was happening now? That day seemed like a mere ripple against today's tidal wave.
This wasn't just noise. It was a palpable energy, a unified force that radiated from the heart of the stadium, flooding every corner of the city, every screen, and every person watching. The chants roared as one:
For that brief, transcendent moment, players, fans, and the city itself merged into one. Rivalries and team allegiances faded, replaced by an appreciation for the raw, unfiltered beauty of sportsmanship and spirit on display.
Maybe there was one exception.
When Lance was swarmed by layers of Raiders defenders, Bart allowed himself a flicker of hope. But that hope was extinguished in an instant as Lance broke through, leaving despair in his wake.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The five stages of grief cycled through Bart's mind in mere seconds. His heart sank, crashing to the depths like a shattered vase.
What about his pride?
Pride? It was long gone. The repeated humiliation had dulled any sense of pain. Bart had resigned himself to the inevitability of the ridicule—his spirit was crushed.
Bart felt he might as well renounce it all and join a monastery.
If Bart was in this state, how much worse could it be for the Raiders themselves?
Mack stood frozen, gasping for air, his mind a tangled mess. The defense had tried everything. They'd regained some footing, yet somehow, they still couldn't stop the Chiefs.
For the first time, Mack didn't look at Lance. Instead, he turned toward head coach Jack Del Rio, only to find his coach's eyes vacant, devoid of direction or solutions, staring into the void.
Was surrender the only option?
This was the Kansas City Chiefs, their age-old rivals. Even in the face of humiliation, even with the odds stacked against them, they could not—and would not—wave the white flag. The Raiders had to fight to the bitter end.
When Derek Carr led the Raiders' offense back onto the field, it seemed he had finally woken up. His passing regained some rhythm, and instead of relying solely on Amari Cooper, Carr spread the ball across multiple targets.
They managed to string together several plays, earning three first downs and crossing midfield.
Though not much, it was a marked improvement over the dismal first half. It rekindled faint memories of the last time these two teams clashed, where Carr and Cooper had mounted a fourth-quarter comeback to steal the win.
Would history repeat itself?
Not if the Chiefs' defense had any say in it.
In one swift, decisive possession, Kansas City forced a clean three-and-out, quashing the Raiders' glimmer of hope.
Faced with dwindling options, Del Rio gambled on a fake punt.
However, the gamble did chew through the remaining seconds of the first half, preventing the Chiefs' offense from extending their lead before halftime.
When the second half began, the Raiders received the ball first.
Carr maintained some semblance of momentum from the first half, picking up a couple of first downs. But once they crossed midfield, the Chiefs' defense tightened the screws, forcing yet another punt.
In stark contrast, Kansas City's offense continued to dominate. Offensive coordinator Eric Bieniemy (formerly Andy Reid's assistant) strategically slowed the tempo, blending the run and pass in a steady march downfield.
By the time the third quarter ended, the Chiefs had widened the gap to 34–0.
As the fourth quarter approached, something unusual happened on the sidelines.
The Chiefs' bench erupted in laughter and camaraderie. The mood was light, jubilant, and celebratory.
"Wait, what's happening on the field?" the commentator asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
In the studio, Bart's sharp eyes scanned the scene, piecing together the unfolding events. A realization hit him like a freight train.
The camera panned across the stadium as applause rippled through the crowd. One by one, fans stood up, clapping and cheering.
"Smith is taking off his helmet and heading to the bench!"
"Wait, what?! Patrick Mahomes, the rookie quarterback taken 10th overall in this year's draft, is about to make his NFL debut!"
Bart slumped back in his chair, defeated.
The Chiefs were leading by so much that Andy Reid felt comfortable pulling his starters and giving his backups—including their rookie quarterback—some valuable playing time.
To Bart, it was the ultimate humiliation.
For Patrick Mahomes, it was a dream come true.
The young quarterback sat quietly on the bench, not expecting to play. When the call came, his eyes widened in disbelief.
"I… I… What do I do?" he stammered, looking at Lance.
Lance grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
"First step: Put on your helmet."
Mahomes fumbled to grab his helmet, his excitement and nerves evident as he jogged onto the field. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, a standing ovation welcoming the future of the franchise.
For the Raiders, the game was all but over. For the Chiefs, it was a coronation.
The crowd roared as Mahomes took his first NFL snaps, heralding a new chapter in Kansas City football.
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