A stumble—
Fournette couldn't keep his balance.
He collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, feeling like he was about to fall apart, unable to even stand.
This time, he didn't get up right away.
He lay there, panting heavily, staring up at the vast sky, at the stars scattered across the night, at the bright, full moon.
He just wanted a moment.
And then—
A face appeared above him, grinning brightly, a hand reaching down toward him.
"Come on, man. Why are you lying down? Get up. Let's go, let's go!"
Blatant taunting.
Fournette wanted to rip that smug smile off Houston's face.
But he had no strength left.
No words left.
Instead, he rolled away, ignoring the hand, scrambling back to his feet.
Behind him, Houston dramatically clutched his helmet, howling like his soul had been crushed.
Fournette—frustrated beyond belief—nearly choked.
Damn it, I'm the one who got crushed here!
Just like that, first-and-ten had become second-and-ten.
No progress.
"…Based on the formation, it looks like Jacksonville is setting up a pass—but watch the offensive line's stance. This could still be a run."
"Kansas City's defense needs to read the movement at the snap—Jacksonville might be using a screen pass to disguise a rushing play."
As Romo spoke—
The field shifted.
He was right again.
Bortles set up a screen pass, but he didn't even fake a play-action—he handed the ball straight to Fournette from the start, then moved with the offensive line's screen as if selling the fake.
It was clear—
Jacksonville's offense wasn't completely out of ideas.
Marrone had some creativity, trying to mix things up.
Nantz glanced at Romo, eyes full of disbelief.
"Tony… are you a psychic? No tarot cards, no crystal ball, and yet you keep predicting the future?"
Romo didn't respond.
His focus remained on the field.
And he wasn't alone.
Kansas City's defense had also seen through Jacksonville's deception.
BANG!
Fournette crashed into a wall.
Again.
This time—
He got sandwiched between a linebacker, a cornerback, and a safety—three consecutive waves of impact.
Like a pinball, he bounced between them, again trying to force his way forward.
But by the time he realized what was happening—
His vision spun.
And he went down.
Stars danced around his head.
Humiliation.
This time—
Fournette wasn't even angry.
He just lay there, staring at the night sky, refusing to move.
His entire body radiated defeat.
Forget it.
This game?
Is there even a way out?
His pride? His dignity?
Gone.
At this point, he might as well crawl under a car and stay there.
No one talk to him.
Nantz was stunned.
Kansas City's defense—
It wasn't just that they were locked in, focused, and completely unshaken by Jacksonville's misdirection.
They were dominating.
Physically.
Mentally.
They had taken control of the game.
And now?
Jacksonville was dazed.
From their defense to their offense to the coaching staff—everyone was reeling.
Everything had happened in a blur.
And suddenly—
The game belonged to the Chiefs.
But how?
How did this happen?!
"Tony?"
Nantz turned to Romo.
"You called Jacksonville's play exactly. And the Chiefs also read it perfectly. How?"
Bortles wasn't exactly an Oscar-winning actor, but the play design had been decent.
Even Nantz hadn't seen through it.
Romo chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"It's not that I'm brilliant."
"It's that Jacksonville's offense is trapped—by its own thinking."
"They've trapped themselves."
"From the regular season to the playoffs, Jacksonville's offense has never been elite. But they've always been steady—because they lean on the league's second-best rushing attack."
"But unlike Kansas City—who has been actively searching for a pass-run balance, relying on both Lance and Hunt—Jacksonville's offense has completely leaned on the run game."
"Statistically—"
"In the Wild Card and Divisional rounds, Jacksonville ran the ball on 58.4% of their plays—the highest percentage of any playoff team."
"And in this game?"
"That number has climbed to 66.7%."
Nantz's mind clicked.
"That means…"
"On first and second down, Jacksonville is overwhelmingly likely to run. They only pass on third down."
Romo nodded.
"It's not about being psychic."
"It's about patterns."
"Kansas City's defense simply adjusted and stayed disciplined. Now, they're exploiting Jacksonville's predictability."
"And Jacksonville's offense? They're falling apart."
"But the real question is—"
"Why?"
"Why is Jacksonville's offense so stiff?"
"Why is their play-calling so rigid?"
Romo leaned forward, frowning.
"I get it."
"Jacksonville's system has worked all season. Marrone isn't an offensive mastermind. Sticking to what worked is logical."
"But this is the AFC Championship."
"They're facing Andy Reid."
"Why are they playing like they're scared?"
"Why are they running like they're protecting a lead?"
"Why do they look afraid to take risks, as if they don't want to score?"
"Look—"
"At the end of the first quarter, the game was still tied."
"But Marrone's play-calling made it feel like Jacksonville was already ahead by three touchdowns."
"I don't understand it."
"I don't know what Jacksonville's game plan was before this started."
"And sure—early in the game, this was working. The teams were evenly matched."
"But then—"
"Kansas City adapted."
"Reid made adjustments immediately. You could see how well they prepared. They had options."
"But Jacksonville? They didn't."
"Their strategy failed—"
"And they refused to change."
"Don't blame Fournette."
"Jacksonville needs to snap out of it."
"They need halftime. They need to reset."
"Otherwise…"
"This game is only going to get worse."
Romo managed to keep his tone neutral.
Trying to stay objective.
Trying to hope for a competitive second half.
But—
When will this half even END?
When does this nightmare stop?
Because right now—
Jacksonville?
Had no answers.
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Powerstones?
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