First and ten. Still shotgun formation.
Harbaugh didn't flinch. The Baltimore Ravens stuck with a four-man rush, but their man and zone coverage clearly tightened.
Mahomes once again had plenty of time to go through his second read. The difference was—all his passing options were swallowed by the black storm of the defense.
In that moment, Mahomes showed the poise of a top-tier quarterback. He executed a flawless pump fake, drawing everyone's eyes to Hill.
Hill, relying on his raw speed and burst, was streaking downfield, cutting a straight path through defenders—forty yards and still sprinting. If Mahomes connected with him, it could be the walk-off touchdown in overtime. The Ravens couldn't let that happen.
So their entire defense's focus shifted deep.
That slight opening was all Mahomes needed. He reset and delivered a five-yard dart to the wide-open Kelsey.
In the short zone, Kelsey's size stood out. Planting like a post, he made the catch effortlessly and turned upfield.
It took three defenders—Suggs, Humphrey, and Jefferson—to finally bring him down and stop the forward progress.
Still, the Chiefs picked up ten yards with ease.
Two first downs, two completions.
Kansas City's offense bulldozed its way to midfield, firmly seizing momentum in overtime.
This wasn't what anyone had expected.
Earlier, both Nantz and Romo predicted that defense would be the key in overtime. The Chiefs and Ravens had battled all game. Whoever found a way to break the stalemate first would likely take the win.
But the Ravens' defense, instead of dominating, let Mahomes pass comfortably.
They thought Mahomes—young and under pressure—might panic and make a risky deep throw, exposing his weakness and creating a turnover.
He'd shown that tendency more than once during the game.
But not this time.
Mahomes was calm. Rational. In the chaos of overlapping coverages and movement, he resisted the urge to gamble and instead found the open man, wrecking Harbaugh's plans.
And just like that—
In the blink of an eye, the Chiefs marched past midfield. Like a hot knife through butter.
So now what?
Would the Ravens collapse completely?
Harbaugh: Ha. Not a chance.
First and ten.
Baltimore adjusted their defense—upping the rush to five. It's just one more rusher, but their pressure turned lethal.
Mahomes immediately felt the heat. No time to settle. He fired off a quick three-yard pass to Kelsey again.
Kelsey advanced two steps before slamming into a wall and going down.
Second and three.
The Chiefs sensed the shift and responded fast.
Mahomes went with another quick short pass—this time to Hunt. Trying to match speed with speed.
But the Ravens' defensive line exploded. On the snap, they tripped Hunt near the line of scrimmage and stopped him cold.
From the sideline, Edwards roared in celebration, fired up that his teammates were hitting back hard.
Earlier, Chris Jones had made a similar stop. Now the Ravens were returning the favor under pressure.
Third and three.
Everyone expected the Chiefs to throw again.
But Reid went the opposite direction—surprise handoff to Lance.
Second straight ground play.
But Harbaugh was ready. The Ravens sent six. Amid the blitz, the edge rusher Urban landed a solid hit on Lance, and then Suggs, Morris, and Jefferson closed in for the surround.
Lance didn't hesitate. He charged forward, driving his legs, powering through. After two yards, he lowered his shoulder for the final push.
But—
In the clash of power, when neither side budged, Lance glimpsed a smirking face under a helmet beneath him.
Mosley.
Before Lance could react, he felt a force under his right arm. The ball was jarred loose.
"Fumble!"
"Oh my God, Lance just fumbled in a 1v3 pileup!"
"Suggs! Mosley!"
"Humphrey's closing in too!"
"Lance!"
"Wait—Lance!"
Disaster!
The moment he felt the ball slip, Lance snapped into action.
Just as the ball broke loose, he twisted free of Suggs and Jefferson, spun, and dove.
The football—battered by multiple impacts—bounced like a mischievous sprite across the green turf.
Shadows—blurs—came flying from all directions toward the red-brown shape.
Lance locked in. Hyper-focused. Eyes glued.
He dove. The ball skipped off his palm.
But his right hand reacted instantly—his elbow scooped underneath, swiping the oval into his chest, body following to secure it.
He held on.
Tight. With everything he had. His body curled like a hedgehog around it.
The next second—
BOOM. BOOM BOOM BOOM!
Bodies crashed down on him—three, four, five defenders stacked on top.
The world turned black.
The pressure, the weight, the impact—layer upon layer crushed down.
Air blasted from his lungs. The taste of iron rose in his mouth.
But Lance clenched his teeth.
"Fumble! Unbelievable!"
"In Lance's entire career, he's barely ever fumbled. Let me check the stats—if I'm not wrong, this is only his second fumble this season. In thirteen games."
"And it comes at the worst possible time."
"It's chaos down there—nobody knows who has the ball. The refs are pulling bodies off, searching…"
"Wait—the football—"
"Lance has it!"
"God—Lance! He recovered his own fumble! Self-redemption in the most clutch moment!"
RAHHHHH!
RAHHHHHHH!
Arrowhead Stadium erupted in an explosion of disbelief and relief.
One second in hell—one second in heaven.
Hearts whiplashed between despair and elation. When they saw the ball secured in Lance's arms, the tension finally broke.
Knees wobbled. The fear set in retroactively—that close to collapse. But the fans screamed anyway.
Insanity.
The kind of insane that goes beyond reason or thought.
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Powerstones?
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