On one side, reporters surrounded Lance, three layers deep.
On the other, media members packed Tom Brady's press conference.
"Tom, do you think you lost this game because of Lance?"
The first question was a brutal strike. Brady, who hadn't even calmed down yet, felt his blood vessels swell again, his smile barely holding.
"Yes, we lost this game, and Lance did play well. But we lost to Andy Reid's Kansas City Chiefs. The better team won."
Brady gritted out each word through clenched teeth.
Perfect—
"Brady: We lost, and Lance was outstanding."
The headline was already born.
But that wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough. The reporters pressed on.
"But the biggest contributor to that Hail Mary was Lance. First, he moved the ball into Smith's passing range with his ground game. Then, he outmuscled McCourty and Chung for a one-handed catch. He single-handedly turned the game around."
Brady didn't even let the question finish before snapping.
"We had the chance to end the game ourselves, but our offense didn't execute in the final moments."
"Tom, are you saying the offensive line is to blame for the loss?"
Brady: …
These reporters were like hyenas, going into a frenzy at the faintest whiff of blood.
"I think the offensive line needs to reflect on their performance—so does our receiving corps. That deep pass was right there. Why didn't they catch it?"
Gronkowski: ??? Bro, you might as well just call me out by name.
Another reporter followed up, "So you're saying you didn't lose to Lance, you lost to yourselves?"
Brady's eyes blazed with fury. He glared at the reporter, barely stopping himself from having a full-blown meltdown on the spot. It took every ounce of his willpower to not storm out in frustration.
Though Brady managed to keep himself in check, by the end of the press conference, he was practically on the brink of insanity.
The entire Patriots locker room could feel the tension.
Thankfully, the season was almost over. Just survive tonight, and they'd be free.
Lance. Lance. Always Lance.
All season, Lance had dominated headlines. But now, after this miraculous comeback against the Patriots, the media frenzy had reached an entirely new level.
"That Catch" was everywhere. Even people who didn't care about football couldn't escape it on their social media feeds.
And the whole world was joining the celebration.
According to reports, the Patriots vs. Chiefs Wild Card Game had drawn over 30 million viewers on CBS, making it the most-watched game of the 2017 season.
Meanwhile, on Penguin Sports, over 100 million viewers tuned in online, shattering records and showcasing the sheer potential of the Chinese market.
Unbelievable.
Even seeing the numbers trending on real-time searches didn't make it any easier to believe. It felt like the Super Bowl had arrived early.
Inside the Patriots' locker room at Gillette Stadium.
Gronkowski watched with a smirk as Brady entered the showers. The moment Brady disappeared, he turned serious and clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, listen up, guys!"
"For the next hour, remember the plan—do not let Tom see his phone. We can't let him read the headlines."
"Brandon, are you crazy? Put your phone away! And the rest of you—stop doomscrolling. You're only hurting yourselves."
Gronkowski was tense, while Van Noy was still fuming from a frustrating second half. Without even looking at Gronk, he grumbled,
"How do you plan to stop him? The whole internet is flooded with this."
Gronkowski ignored him. "I already drained Tom's phone battery…"
All eyes turned to him.
He shrugged. "Don't ask. I was just playing a really big game, and I died a few times. Apple batteries are garbage."
Everyone nodded in understanding.
"So, just keep your phones hidden. Hide your chargers. If he can't see it, he won't know. If he doesn't know, our offseason starts sooner."
"If he finds out later at home, that's Giselle's problem. She'll calm him down."
"But if he finds out now, well… you all know what happens."
Gronkowski ran his hand across his throat in a slashing motion, then stuck out his tongue. That said it all.
Everyone quickly nodded, their expressions filled with shared dread.
Then—
"He's coming, he's coming!"
The locker room fell silent.
Brady walked in, fresh from the shower. But the steam hadn't washed away his frustration. His stay-the-hell-away-from-me expression sent everyone scattering, holding their breath like prey hiding from a T-Rex.
Brady didn't notice the change in atmosphere. Completely lost in thought, he walked straight to his locker and reached for his phone.
Back in the day, players had to wait a day or two to read about their game in the newspaper.
Now? One swipe of the screen, and the entire media reaction was right there in his hands.
Wait.
Dead battery?
Brady pressed the button a few more times. Nothing.
Without looking up, he called out, "Rob, where's your phone?"
Gronkowski quickly turned his back. "Uh, hold on, let me find it."
He rummaged through his locker. "Huh? No battery? What the—Hey, what about yours?"
Gronkowski clenched his fist—perfect, totally natural. Maybe he really could follow in The Rock's footsteps and go to Hollywood.
Brady frowned. "Mine's dead too."
He turned to the other side. "Jimmy?"
There was a brief pause before reality hit.
Jimmy Garoppolo had been traded to the 49ers back in October for a second-round pick. The backup QB now was journeyman Brian Hoyer.
"Brian, don't tell me your phone's dead too."
Gronkowski's heart nearly stopped—crap!
Hoyer was new. He didn't understand the Brady Effect. What if he didn't cooperate?
Just as the plan seemed on the verge of collapsing, Hoyer glanced at his phone and said casually, "Oh yeah, dead too."
He mumbled, half to himself, "Probably 'cause it's so cold tonight. Apple batteries shut off automatically in the cold."
Saved!
Gronkowski let out a long breath. "Yeah, man, these batteries suck. Soon as the temperature drops, boom, dead. Haha. Hahaha."
His laughter was dry, and he wiped sweat from his forehead.
As Brady didn't push further, the entire locker room collectively exhaled in relief. No one wanted to risk extra practices before the break.
But just when they thought they were in the clear—
A locker room assistant walked in, pushing a cart filled with towels and jerseys.
And he was scrolling through his phone.
Gronkowski: …FK!**
Brady's eyes locked on instantly.
"Scott, are you on Twitter? Let me see."
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Powerstones?
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