Madness and joy—an emotion both simple and complex, pure and direct—rushed like a fireball from the soles of the feet to the top of the head, threatening to explode the heart.
Wes was completely submerged in the moment, overwhelmed with excitement and exhilaration so intense his heart ached, unable to form words.
Amidst the chaos, in the turbulence of that instant, Wes finally noticed Anderson's absence and scanned the crowd in confusion.
Through the kitchen window, he saw that familiar silhouette: Anderson, quietly smoking a cigarette, savoring the championship moment. No words were exchanged, but somehow, Wes understood.
They had all been through so much over the past years. Each had fought their own battles.
As his thoughts drifted, Wes recalled Provost heading to Minneapolis—
He wondered if, at this very moment, Provost had finally found peace.
Outside U.S. Bank Stadium, it was like a volcano in mid-eruption. Faces were frozen in disbelief, overflowing with euphoria.
No one had expected this Cinderella matchup to deliver the most stunning, jaw-dropping, heart-pounding Super Bowl in history.
And absolutely no one expected it to end .
The grief of Eagles fans clashed with the euphoria of Chiefs fans, while neutrals danced into party mode. The entire city of Minneapolis was swept into a hurricane of heat and delirium.
It was like summer had stormed into the cold.
In the midst of it, Provost stood frozen. Eyes wide, mind blank, soul curled up and quivering.
Thoughts surged wildly through his head.
His knees gave out. He collapsed. Face buried in hands, he sobbed uncontrollably, forehead pressed to the ground.
All his fear and confusion, anger and doubt, sorrow and frustration, burst forth. No more walls.
Super Bowl Champions!
From a team that once struggled to win even a single playoff game, now they had won four straight, capped with an unforgettable final. Kansas City had found its light.
And Provost could no longer contain it—he let everything go. All the weight, all the burden, all the pain of the past months and years came pouring out. He trembled violently. Cried until his heart felt like it might burst.
The moment Kelce raised the football, U.S. Bank Stadium erupted like a volcano. The ground shook. Red flooded the field.
Alan blinked in confusion. He raised his hands in hesitation, unsure whether to celebrate. He turned to the side.
"Was that… a touchdown?"
Josh, however, had already gone feral, leaping and shrieking. "CHAMPIONS!" he screamed, arms in the air.
No more need for confirmation.
Alan finally let go, throwing his fists skyward, howling in ecstasy. "AAHHHHH!"
Sue clutched her chest. Her eyes misted, her vision blurred. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst. This game—this ridiculous game—was too much.
She turned and saw Alan, grinning like a child.
She couldn't even remember the last time he looked like that.
They had aged. Life had dulled their spark. Their days were spent working their little diner, building a life with their hands—but the vigor of youth had long faded.
Once, they were twenty. Once, they dreamed they could change the world.
And now, here was Alan again, laughing and shouting like he could still touch the stars.
"Old man," Sue teased, "didn't you say sports were pointless? A waste of time?"
Alan scratched his head, sheepish, fumbling for a reply.
But it didn't last long.
Joy, wild and radiant, kept flowing. Alan smiled again, accepting the ribbing. Embracing it.
He loved this. He loved this.
He was grateful he came to Minneapolis. Grateful to have seen it live. Grateful to have witnessed Lance's miracle.
The red sea before him was blazing and blinding, and Alan felt more alive than he had in years. Life wasn't just work. Outside the narrow walls of routine, there were infinite possibilities.
Alan looked at Sue and shouted again, beaming:
"Champions! Champions! We're CHAMPIONS!"
Sue saw Josh's jaw hanging open. The man looked like he'd seen a ghost—clearly shocked by this unfamiliar Alan. But Sue recognized it. It was the Alan she'd fallen in love with.
For a moment, Lance and Alan's faces blurred together—and then gently parted again.
Sue looked toward the field, finally spotting No. 23 in the crimson sea.
Not just anywhere—he was heading into the sea of white.
Lance ignored the congratulations, the hugs, the cheers. He was searching.
Everyone was looking for him. Teammates. Coaches. Reporters. Even Eagles players.
Coach Pederson had hugged Reid and Smith—then found Lance in the chaos to give him an embrace, too.
Cameras followed Lance's every move, beaming him to the world.
But Lance kept looking.
He spotted the figure on the ground. Curled up. Alone.
He pushed through the crowd. Walked past Eagles players, shook hands, nodded.
There, arms wrapped around his knees, collapsed into a small heap, was Nick Foles.
For 20 advance chapters: .com/michaeltranslates