American Football: Domination

Provo's head snapped up, eyes locking onto West's.

But to his surprise, West didn't back down. He stared right back.

For a moment, Provo felt a flicker of guilt, and his gaze dropped. He stared at the bucket of murky gray water in front of him—

Not black, not clear. Just a sickening, lifeless gray.

West finally lost his patience.

And let loose.

"You should be grateful—at least pretend to be."

"Do you know how much debt David and I covered for you? Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep David's bar afloat? My own life is a damn mess—I can't even find a real job! I'm just hoping my bartending gig lasts a little longer."

"We've put up with your mood swings, your anger. We're not your damn servants. We don't have to take your crap. But we do. We stay."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're friends. Because we all bleed red for the Chiefs. Because our lives are all a disaster."

"At least—at least we still have the Chiefs."

Provo stared at the grimy bucket.

He thought he would tear up.

But he didn't.

His eyes felt dry.

"Chris, it's hard. It's really hard. But we haven't given up."

"This week is the AFC Championship. We wanted to go to Jacksonville, but obviously, we can't afford it. So David's throwing open the doors at Old Oak—everyone's welcome to come watch the game together."

"I think you should come."

"I... I can't do much to help you. I can barely keep myself together. But at the very least, I can buy you a beer. Whether you show up or not, that's up to you."

West stood there for a moment.

Provo never looked up.

It was like he hadn't even heard him.

A deep frustration settled in West's chest. He had a thousand more things he wanted to say—

But in the end, he just turned around and walked away.

He had taken two steps when—

"I'm scared."

West stopped.

"I'm scared I'm a curse. That I'll jinx the team."

West turned back, about to respond—

But this time, Provo kept talking.

"I want the team to win. Believe me, I do. I want them to finally get back to the Super Bowl after fifty years. But… I still don't believe it will actually happen."

"I… I don't know how to believe in hope."

"I'm afraid they'll lose in the AFC Championship. I'm afraid my negativity will bring them bad luck. I'm afraid I'll be the reason it all falls apart."

Then, Provo looked up.

"Even knowing that… you still want me to come?"

Life was hard.

So damn hard.

Every single day felt like a battle.

No job, no family, no future, no hope. Trapped in a gray, lifeless limbo, slowly being devoured by loneliness and despair.

Always on the verge of breaking.

Hope?

That was a luxury.

Everything felt like the bucket of dirty water in front of him.

West studied Provo's empty expression.

Then, he nodded.

"Yeah."

Provo's lips parted slightly.

Completely stunned.

West sighed.

"Chris, you're not Lance. You're not that important. You're not some legendary figure who can change the outcome of a game."

Provo: …

"You and I? We're nobodies. Just regular fans. Our 'curse' doesn't decide anything. But together—we're the ocean."

"And the team feels that."

"Dreams matter. Because sometimes, they actually come true."

West turned to leave.

But Provo suddenly stood up.

"And what if they don't?"

West stopped again.

"Then our lives don't get any worse."

"At least we fought. At least we believed."

"Look—we already broke the 24-year curse. No matter what happens next, this season was a success."

"Chris, you can choose to believe. Or not. It's up to you."

West didn't wait for a reply this time.

He walked away.

"If we get this close to the Super Bowl and fail… doesn't that make it worse?"

"Losing hope is one thing. But gaining hope—only to have it ripped away?"

"I'd rather have never hoped at all."

Provo called after him.

But West didn't answer.

He kept walking.

And in seconds, he disappeared into the celebrating crowd.

Provo stood frozen.

Shoulders slumped.

Watching the cheering, laughing fans.

And suddenly—

He realized something.

Kansas City hadn't felt this alive in years.

For the first time in forever, the city wasn't dead inside.

The air felt different.

It was still winter.

But somehow…

He swore he could hear spring approaching.

How far can the Chiefs go this postseason?

Or—

Which of the final four teams looks like a true Super Bowl champion?

The NFL: …

Silence.

Before the playoffs started, analysts had already warned—

"This is the most wide-open season in recent history. Anything is possible."

That's what made the NFL special—

The parity. The uncertainty.

Hard salary caps. Huge rosters. Wild offseason changes.

Every single year, the Super Bowl race was wide open.

And yet—

This?

This season had been unbelievable.

Drew Brees' Saints—gone.

Brady's Patriots—gone.

Roethlisberger's Steelers—gone.

Aaron Donald's Rams—gone.

Matt Ryan's Falcons—gone.

Cam Newton's Panthers—gone.

Every single Super Bowl favorite?

Eliminated.

Shocking.

And now—

The last four teams standing?

Nick Foles—a 2012 third-round pick who had been backing up Carson Wentz until Wentz tore his ACL.

Case Keenum—an undrafted QB who had been a backup until Minnesota's starter and backup both got injured.

Blake Bortles—a disappointing first-round pick who had never lived up to expectations.

Alex Smith—a former No. 1 pick who had spent 12 years in the league with only two career playoff wins.

…This?

This was the Final Four?

For a moment—

Even the experts had no idea what to predict anymore.

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Powerstones?

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