"Lance!"
"Oh my God, Lance spins out of Mitchell's surefire tackle! Mitchell completely misses—he looks like a rookie out there, utterly played by Lance! And now, Lance is free!"
"Wow!"
"Twenty-five-yard line!"
"Davis is the only one left chasing him down, but... look at Lance's speed."
"Jesus Christ!"
Close enough to touch, yet forever out of reach—there's nothing more heartbreaking in life. That's the pain Sean Davis was feeling.
Lance was right there.
But he couldn't catch him.
Step by step, inch by inch, the gap widened.
Until, finally—
Lance broke away.
The Arrowhead crowd erupted.
"Fly!"
"Fly!"
"Touchdown!"
Roll!
The stadium roared like a tidal wave crashing down. And then, echoing through the air ca the team's anthem, sung in unison by tens of thousands of fans.
"He's here! He's there! He's everywhere! It's the Edge Runner—Lance, Lance, Lance!"
The entire stadium shook with energy.
In the ESPN booth, comntator Pasch tried to find his voice, shouting with everything he had. But even he was drowned out by the deafening crowd.
It wasn't the first ti Pasch had seen Lance work his magic.
Nor the second.
But every ti, it sent chills racing up his spine.
"Unbelievable!"
"The ga's not over yet!"
"No doubt, the ga is far from over. The Steelers have Big Ben, Brown, and Bell—they're never short on firepower. They can strike at any mont. But the Chiefs have Lance."
"The rookie running back—this year's third overall pick—has done it again! He shrugged off four tackles and single-handedly tore through the entire Steelers defense to reignite the ga's suspense with just seven seconds before the two-minute warning!"
"Incredible!"
"Mind-blowing!"
"Arrowhead Stadium has witnessed another miracle."
"Lance dazzled with his fancy footwork in tight spaces, showcased his precision in reading the defense, and, despite being off-balance, unleashed his top-end speed. It was a textbook example of what a running back should be."
"Seriously, are we getting to see this for free?"
On the field, Lance stood in the end zone, roaring to the heavens.
The tension, the struggle, the weight of the battle—they had all pushed him to his limit. His eyes blazed with fierce determination as he scanned the stadium.
"Ahhh!"
One roar after another, he let it out.
Behind him, Kelsey, Hill, and Smith rushed to his side, shouting his na in celebration.
"The fat lady's still singing!"
"The fat lady's still singing!"
The ga wasn't over yet.
The stadium, once subdued, now surged with newfound confidence. Their unified chant echoed through the air, giving the Chiefs a much-needed boost.
Then—
As the offense returned to the sideline, Lance didn't sit down.
Instead, he tossed the ball to linebacker Houston and walked toward the defensive players. His gaze locked on Murray, the backup safety who had replaced the injured Eric Berry.
Murray had been under imnse pressure all ga, especially with both Antonio Brown and Le'Veon Bell targeting his side of the field.
But this was the beauty of sports, wasn't it?
To challenge the best. To push past your limits.
Even if you failed—so what?
One failure didn't an you'd always fail.
It was about rising again, stronger each ti.
Looking Murray straight in the eye, Lance said, "The fat lady's still singing. The ga isn't over yet."
Murray blinked, confused. "What fat lady?"
The rest of the offense burst into laughter.
The tension? Gone.
The mood? Lifted.
Now, it was the defense's turn to step up.
Score: 19-17.
Two points behind.
Two minutes and seven seconds remaining.
For the Steelers, all they had to do was hold on to the ball and run out the clock.
For the Chiefs, it was do-or-die.
Coach Reid chose not to go for an onside kick—too risky. He trusted his defense to get the ball back.
It all ca down to strategy now.
Both coaches, Reid and Tomlin, were locked in a battle of wits.
Tomlin would naturally want to run the ball to chew up ti. But Reid had three tiouts left, plus the two-minute warning—essentially giving him four stoppages.
That ant Tomlin's Steelers needed at least one first down to fully take control of the clock.
The question was, how would Tomlin achieve it?
First-and-10.
Reid anticipated the run, and sure enough, Bell took the handoff.
Houston, quick on his feet, tackled Bell for a minimal gain.
Then ca the two-minute warning.
Second-and-12.
Everyone expected a pass this ti.
But Tomlin?
He surprised everyone by giving the ball to Bell again.
This ti, Reid's defense was caught off guard.
Bell powered through for 12 yards—just enough for a first down.
And with that, Reid was forced to use his first tiout.
The Chiefs were on the edge of a cliff.
Bell, calm and composed, glanced toward Lance.
A silent ssage passed between them.
Lance had just shifted the montum with a brilliant run.
Now, Bell responded with a top-tier performance of his own.
There was no need for trash talk.
This was a battle of skill—a running back showdown between two of the league's best.
The scales tipped once more, this ti in Pittsburgh's favor.
Tick. Tick.
Ti was slipping away.
Tomlin kept things thodical.
On first-and-10, he tried to sneak a quick pass to Brown.
But the Chiefs defense was ready.
Triple coverage shut down Brown instantly.
No big plays.
No mistakes.
Seeing that, Tomlin went back to basics.
Ground ga.
Bell ran straight into the pile, not even trying to gain extra yards—just burning ti and protecting the ball.
Finally, the Chiefs defense held firm.
They stopped the Steelers on three consecutive downs.
The clock showed 37 seconds.
That was all the ti the Chiefs had left.
And they had no tiouts remaining.
Two plays.
Maybe a third, if they could manage a quick out.
A Hail Mary, perhaps?
For Tomlin, it wasn't a concern.
Alex Smith?
A Hail Mary?
Unlikely.
Tomlin wasn't worried.
He knew Smith wasn't that type of quarterback.
Victory was within Pittsburgh's grasp.
99%.
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