"Damn!"
"Get out of the way!"
"Cheater! You stole our victory!"
"Weasel!"
"I'm going to kill you, I'm going to kill you!"
In one instance, Kansas City was preparing for the upcoming league finals.
In another, the National Conference finals in New Orleans had just concluded. Chaos erupted at the Mercedes-Benz Superdome with curses and insults raining down.
Above the field, however, was a different scene.
Ah, ah ah ah!
Aaron Donald clenched his fists, raised his head to the sky, and let out a primal roar. His baby face was fierce and murderous, bursting with lethal rage, spreading bloodlust without reservation.
Not far away, Drew Brees stood hands on hips, dejectedly hanging his head, his face hidden inside the helmet, unrecognizable, yet conveying deep frustration and anger—
So close, just a tiny bit close.
This could have been the New Orleans Saints' best chance to clinch the championship in the Super Bowl since their peak in the 2009 season, after a whole decade.
