Chatter, endless and loud.
Question after question came like a tidal wave, completely engulfing Donald. The dominant force on the field now looked lost and unfocused, his gaze darting about like a 300-pound baby who had lost his mother in a crowd.
Though Donald had quickly risen to become arguably the league's top defensive player in recent years, he never quite achieved the idol-level popularity of someone like Watt. His impact across North America was still a bit subdued.
The reasons weren't simple.
It's like Kobe Bryant in the NBA. For all his greatness, he never quite reached Michael Jordan's commercial heights, and arguably not even LeBron James'. Stardom and marketability come from a complex combination of factors. Donald faced a similar conundrum.
One reason? His media presence and charisma weren't quite as polished as Watt's.
Sure, both were honest, no-nonsense types—let their actions speak louder than words, spending long hours in gyms and training fields. But even among the soft-spoken, there's a difference.
Watt wasn't a master of witty banter, but his openness, honesty, and composure made him magnetic on camera—fans warmed to him immediately.
Donald, despite years in the league, still looked stiff and awkward in front of cameras. In the face of this media barrage, he fumbled with his words—dry, bland, and clearly parched.
"I respect Lance. I admire Lance. I look forward to meeting him on the field."
It was honest and upright.
Donald wasn't afraid of any opponent, Lance included. He genuinely anticipated their clash. But the way he said it, flat and dry, lacked any fire or passion.
No matter—reporters knew how to stir the pot.
A swift pivot, and suddenly, all microphones were aimed at Lance. The same scene replayed like a copy-paste: media bodies forming human walls at the training center gates, vowing not to move unless Lance responded.
Lance took a step forward, and the wall of journalists instinctively stepped back. Hunched shoulders, cautious eyes—like frightened animals. Lance hadn't even done anything.
The scene was downright funny.
Journalists whispered: You might forget, but we haven't—Lance used to be in MMA. You don't joke with that kind of guy.
Lance blinked, confused. Completely innocent. Without pushing through, he simply circled around to the right and knocked on the security booth.
Under the watchful eyes of the stunned reporters, he greeted the guard warmly, exchanged a high-five, walked through the booth, and emerged on the other side of the gate. Then he turned back to the baffled reporters, smiled, and waved:
Without waiting for a reply, he strolled away.
It wasn't until then that they snapped out of it and rushed toward the gate, crying out as if imprisoned souls were pleading for salvation.
Lance paused, looked up at the sky, and sighed.
He was too kindhearted.
He turned back toward the press and politely listened to a few questions. Only then did he realize what all the fuss was about.
"Of course, he's one of the league's top players. Competing against someone like that is absolutely an honor."
"We need to focus on the present—one game at a time."
"He's not my problem right now. New England is."
With a broad smile, Lance turned and walked away, leaving the reporters standing there, watching his retreating figure with mournful stares.
But they knew—Lance was right.
Donald may be a looming figure, but right now, the New England Patriots were the real concern.
In Week Six, just like last season, the Kansas City Chiefs would face a titanic opponent—this time it was the New England Patriots, the epicenter of the league's attention.
And once again—it would be on the road. The Chiefs would journey to Foxborough for a third clash at the intimidating Gillette Stadium, the Patriots' stronghold.
This time, it would be on Sunday Night Football.
The whole league was watching.
Ever since the season schedule dropped, all eyes had been on this matchup. With each passing week, anticipation grew. Everything—the media, the hype, the fans—had been waiting for this game.
Unexpectedly, the Rams' 5-0 run and Donald's clash with Lance briefly stole the spotlight. But Lance had his priorities straight—more pressing matters were at hand.
"Kansas City Chiefs vs. New England Patriots 3.0."
Back in LA, Donald finally exhaled, his tense shoulders relaxing. He looked like a man rescued from drowning.
Still, his eyes drifted east toward Gillette Stadium, full of anticipation—just like the rest of the football world.
Meanwhile, the press had come to their senses, pivoting their focus back to Lance and Brady.
This would be the biggest game of the 2018 season so far—not just because of the recent drama, but because of the history between the two teams over the past three years, the generational clash of old vs. new, and the fact that it was a duel between the last two Super Bowl MVPs.
The excitement was off the charts.
Commissioner Goodell slapped his thigh in regret—if only he had scheduled this as a Thursday night game.
Sunday Night Football would do just fine.
After a full day of games, fans everywhere were still chugging Red Bull and coffee, wired and ready.
No one wanted to miss this.
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