Mental State
"Clap, clap, Chiefs!"
"Clap, clap, Chiefs!"
A storm was brewing over Arrowhead Stadium. The mounting pressure spread like a tidal wave, hanging thick in the air, as if ready to explode at any moment. The vast sea of red was burning with intensity.
The atmosphere was completely different.
Although this was the Chiefs' sixth home game of the season, Arrowhead felt unfamiliar — exuding a sense of tragic grandeur, a majestic spirit of do-or-die determination. Backed into a corner after six consecutive losses, this wasn't just a regular game. Their opponent was the Oakland Raiders.
This game had no room for retreat.
Not just at the stadium — even Old Oak Tavern was buzzing with energy.
"Clap, clap, Chiefs!"
The rhythmic chant of two claps followed by a shout echoed through the bar, perfectly syncing with the grand scene playing out on TV.
Suddenly, the bar's door creaked open.
West spotted the figure immediately.
"Hey, Chris!"
It was none other than Chris Provoos, awkwardly lingering at the entrance, trying to sneak in unnoticed — but West wasn't about to let that happen.
"Ha-ha-ha! Look who's here! Chris!"
"Didn't you say you'd never watch another game?"
"What? Couldn't stay away?"
Laughter and teasing filled the bar as Provoos raised a middle finger in response, his neck stiff with defiance.
"If they lose again, I'm done for real."
The crowd immediately called him out.
"You said that last week too!"
A wave of laughter erupted.
Provoos scowled, grumbling under his breath.
"Even if they lose, I want to see it with my own eyes."
West came to his rescue.
"Alright, alright. Enough roasting Chris. Save your energy to curse out the Raiders. The enemy isn't here."
"Let's go, Chiefs!" West's shout reignited the bar's energy, with everyone joining in a thunderous cheer.
Then West poured a beer and slid it across the bar to Provoos.
"This one's on me."
Without a word, Provoos approached the bar, eyeing the golden beer hesitantly before grabbing it and taking a large gulp.
Bang!
He slammed the glass down, roaring at the top of his lungs —
"CHIEFS!"
The entire bar erupted into cheers.
From Arrowhead Stadium to Old Oak Tavern, and across Kansas City, the city had come to a standstill. Everyone's focus was on the game.
The tension built.
It was December, but it felt like midsummer.
Taking a deep breath, then another, Travis Kelce still couldn't calm his racing heart. Anxiety and excitement twisted together. But when he glanced at Lance, he noticed a stark contrast. Lance's eyes were calm, his expression serene, as if this were just another ordinary game.
That unshakable mental state seemed... abnormal.
Kelce exchanged a glance with Alex Smith. The two offensive captains reached a silent agreement. Kelce patted Lance on the shoulder and gestured to the group before calling out —
"Alright, quiet down! Quiet down!"
"The rookie has something to say!"
Lance blinked in surprise.
Me? Why wasn't I informed?
There was no turning back now. All eyes were on him.
Kelce flashed a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Lance sighed, helpless but amused, feeling the tension ease a bit.
"Travis," Lance began, deadpan, "if you didn't want to give a pregame speech, you could've just skipped it. No need to drag me into it."
The locker room erupted in laughter, breaking the tension further.
Lance took a step forward and spoke clearly.
"We lost to Oakland last time."
"No excuses."
"I'm not here to talk about how we only lost by one point. I'm not going to blame bad luck. A loss is a loss. It's that simple."
"A one-point loss is still a loss. A thirty-point loss is also a loss. Different scores don't make the defeat feel any better. That's the reality of sports."
"To win, we must first confront defeat head-on."
"Losing wasn't any one person's fault. We win as a team, and we lose as a team. Today, we fight as a team."
Lance's gaze swept across the room. The players' eyes locked on him, their attention unwavering.
"A few weeks ago, I made a bet with Eric Berry. I told him we'd make it to the Super Bowl before he returned."
A chuckle rippled through the crowd at the mention of Berry, who was sidelined with an injury.
"But let's be honest. That's not something I can decide on my own."
More chuckles.
"I can't predict the outcome of this game."
"Sure, I'd love to stand here and promise victory or guarantee a Super Bowl run. But I can't."
"We might win. We might lose. The season could end in just four hours. That's the reality we face."
"But what I can promise is that we will give it everything we've got. We will leave it all on the field. When this game ends, I want to be able to look our fans and Eric in the eye and say — I gave it my all. No regrets. No what-ifs."
His words, calm yet powerful, carried weight.
Without anyone realizing it, the players' blood started to boil. Heads lifted, chests puffed out, and shoulders straightened.
"Are we ready?"
"Then let's go to war. Remember, you're not alone."
Kelce's chest swelled with emotion. Raising his fist high, he let out a battle cry —
"FIGHT!"
"FIGHT!"
The locker room echoed with roars as the players clenched their fists and yelled in unison.
One by one, they stepped onto the field.
When they emerged into the sea of red at Arrowhead Stadium, their demeanor had completely transformed.
The game was about to begin.
The Raiders won the coin toss. Jack Del Rio chose to defer, giving Kansas City the ball first — ensuring the Raiders would receive the kickoff in the second half.
The commentators weighed in —
"Del Rio is ready for a battle. Facing a divisional rival at Arrowhead Stadium is never easy. His strategy is sound — he wants control in the second half when it matters most."
"But that's Del Rio's plan. Let's see what Reid has in store."
The Raiders' kickoff was straightforward, sending the ball out of bounds to prevent a return. Alex Smith led the Chiefs' offense onto the field, starting at their 25-yard line.
Smith took a deep breath. Despite all his experience, the tension was palpable.
The first series wasn't about play-calling. It was about execution.
Smith glanced at Lance, who flashed a smile beneath his helmet.
Suddenly, Smith's nerves settled.
"Attack!"
Smith barked the command.
Taking the snap, he immediately handed the ball off to Lance.
A running play to start?
Predictable.
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Powerstones?
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