"Even though Elliott missed the extra point and couldn't extend the lead further, history has still been made—we are witnessing it unfold."
"With the score now at '43:38,' the two teams have combined for 81 points, officially surpassing Super Bowl XXIX in 1995, and making Super Bowl LII the highest-scoring game in Super Bowl history."
"In the 1994 season, the San Francisco 49ers defeated the San Diego Chargers '49:26,' combining for 75 points—the first time in history a Super Bowl topped 70."
"But in the 2017 season, the Eagles and the Chiefs have gone even further. A full-blown shootout. Not only have they shattered a 23-year-old record, they've also become the first in over half a century of Super Bowl history to break the 80-point mark in a single game."
"Wow."
"Even though pregame expectations pointed to a strong offensive showing, neither of these teams was considered the league's absolute best on offense this season. Yet on the biggest stage, they've both dug deep, brought out every last strategic wrinkle and ounce of nerve, delivering an absolute offensive masterpiece."
"From preparation to execution to player performance—every detail is shining. This might just be the best Super Bowl since the turn of the millennium, if not ever."
"We are truly witnessing history."
"And the game still isn't over. This might not even be the final score."
"Regardless of who ends up hoisting the trophy, this one's going in the books. The Eagles, the Chiefs—both offenses have delivered their finest performances, elevating this title fight to new heights. The real winners tonight might be us."
—
But to Revis and the Chiefs' defense, this was far from good news.
Once again, the touchdown was in their grasp—and once again, it slipped away. They'd already forced a fourth down stop. Already applied immense pressure. And yet, they watched helplessly as the Eagles turned the tide once more.
The first time—at the end of the first half—had already been hard enough.
But now, again, late in the second half?
It was a gut punch.
The Chiefs, young across the board, felt the blow. The atmosphere grew heavy.
Elliott's missed extra point helped soften the blow slightly.
But everyone knew: the gap still meant one possession.
That earlier missed extra point had galvanized the Chiefs. This one? Not so much.
The situation, the tone, the timing—it all felt different.
Faces grew tense on the Chiefs' sideline. Eyes flicked away, unable to meet the field. Minds churned, thoughts tangled.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Time was still ticking. Little remained. No room left for offensive errors. The pressure was suffocating.
This indoor stadium had no wind, no winter chill—yet the air felt frozen.
Thick.
Still.
Oppressive.
Then, Smith straightened his back and turned to Lance. "The fat lady hasn't sung, right?"
That smile—light but laced with defiance.
Smith looked right at Lance. "I'm not confident. But we're going to win."
Then he smiled. Raised his chin.
Helmet on, Smith walked out radiating calm, but steel resolve.
Smith—the quiet one, the modest one, the selfless one—now wore a war face. Bearing the weight of an entire franchise, he marched forward with unshakable resolve.
They were ready. For whatever came next.
Even if it broke them.
Offense and defense alike, they were one team. Shoulder to shoulder. Facing the brink together.
The offense would carry the weight of the defense's frustrations.
Time to fight on.
All in. No regrets.
One, then two, then three, four, five more straightened up, chests out. The Chiefs' offense took the field once again.
—
"Smith! Smith!"
"Smith escapes a near sack, delivers an eight-yard strike to Kelce—beautiful!"
—
"Lance! One cut! Two! Three!"
"Wow! What should've been five yards turns into ten and a fresh set of downs!"
—
"A rare sight—Lance and Hunt combine for a wall-crushing block. Lance clears the way for Hunt to snag the pass. Brilliant, imaginative football from the Chiefs."
—
Crisp. Fluid. Deadly.
Despite the pressure, despite the time crunch, the Chiefs' offense looked like they were gliding. The entire unit was locked in, marching as one.
Starting from their own 25-yard line, they surged forward—blending passes and runs, crossing midfield, storming into Eagles territory—
—
At the 17-yard line.
Close to the red zone. Close to the end zone.
Just like the Eagles, the Chiefs' offense was firing on all cylinders. Ground game, air game, everything clicking. From Smith to the wideouts—everything flowed like silk. They were showing the league just how explosive they could be.
The viewers at home were loving every second.
Analysts had said pregame: offense would shine, but defense would decide the winner.
No one expected this.
Both teams unleashed unbelievable energy, demolishing predictions, outplaying elite defenses, and unleashing the full beauty of offensive football.
Especially the Chiefs—against the Eagles, one of the league's stingiest defenses all season. After enduring the Jaguars, the Chiefs now had the Eagles on their heels. Again. Again. Again.
Time and again, the Chiefs stepped up under fire—and kept this battle alive.
And now?
Same story.
Their defense had stumbled into self-doubt.
But their offense was burning bright.
—
First-and-ten. Play action. Smoke screen.
Smith kept the defense guessing—then handed it off to Lance.
The league's best ground game flexed its muscles.
In the thick of bodies, Lance shoved forward for eight hard-earned yards—not just nimble, but punishing. The run game came alive once more.
The Eagles' defense looked scattered.
—
Second-and-two.
Things were getting tight now. The Eagles were digging in, their red zone defense toughening by the second.
Both sides—teeth clenched, eyes burning—clashed at the edge of the red zone. One inch at a time.
The blood in the air was palpable.
Every breath inside the stadium felt like a gasp for life.
Every heartbeat echoed the roar of the oncoming storm.
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Powerstones?
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