All along, Lance firmly believed that fans are the soul of any sport.
Take soccer, for example.
The passion and loyalty of fans—their cheers and unwavering support—transformed what was once a simple game into the world's number one sport. It's intertwined with community, life, and culture, becoming a spiritual pillar for countless ordinary people.
Football is no different.
From Tuscaloosa to Kansas City, Lance deeply felt how this sport is inseparably woven into the fabric of the city and the lives of its people.
He always believed that the relationship between a team and its fans is one of mutual support and elevation.
If possible, Lance wanted to do something for these honest, sincere people.
Truly, from the heart.
West was overwhelmed with emotion, unsure how to express what he felt in that moment—
He wished he'd read more books.
Lacking eloquence, he found himself stuck on the one word that could carry it all: "Thanks." Nothing else came close to showing the fire in his chest or the gratitude he wanted to pour out.
"Ah, right—there's one thing!"
West finally remembered.
"Old Anderson!"
"God, he should still be at the bar—hasn't left yet. He'd be thrilled to see you. Really, really thrilled."
"Though… I'm not sure he'll recognize you."
"I mean, he might not recognize anyone. He doesn't even recognize David sometimes…"
As soon as the words left his mouth, West regretted it.
His intentions were good, but he'd forgotten—Alzheimer's.
No one knew when it might strike or what shape it would take. In those moments, Anderson recognized no one. Ask him about the Chiefs' 1998 lineup and he could go on for hours, but anything recent? Spotty at best.
And this rookie…
Wouldn't it be awkward if he didn't recognize him?
Lance, however, didn't mind.
"It's okay if he doesn't. It'd still be an honor to speak with someone who loves football. There's still so much I need to learn."
He said this with the calm of someone completely at ease—even as a Super Bowl MVP, he admitted he was still a student of the game.
Then, with a pat on West's shoulder, Lance pushed open the bar door without hesitation.
ROAR!
A gust of night air swept into the room—and someone called out. The call surged like wildfire.
Roar. Roar. Roar.
Not a scream, but a low, rumbling war chant—like a tribal rhythm from Iceland. It echoed as one, releasing a wave of power like a volcanic eruption. You could feel the floor tremble underfoot, shaking the world.
Even from the doorway, the madness inside the bar was palpable.
West stood frozen, heart pounding, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotion.
He looked down at the trash bin at his feet, then up at the Kansas City sky. A clear moon hung above, the stars glittered like the Milky Way, and suddenly his mind cleared.
Dreams made life bearable.
So this was what it felt like—to look forward to tomorrow once the night settled in.
He chuckled quietly, bent down, and picked up the trash bin. Back to work.
...
The 2018 season had officially begun.
The opening game—Chiefs vs. Steelers—dominated headlines and quietly broke a record.
Since 2002, when the NFL introduced the idea of a "season opener" hosted by the defending champions, the goal had always been to boost viewership.
But the opening game never really stood out.
Fans stayed loyal to their own teams. Casual viewers picked based on the buzz.
Opening game? So what?
Ratings varied year to year, depending entirely on the matchup.
Until now, the most-watched opener had been in 2010: Saints vs. Vikings, with 27 million viewers.
Last season's Chiefs vs. Patriots opener drew 25 million, thanks to the rookie-vs-GOAT hype.
This year, despite a solid build-up, most expected ratings to fall—after all, the Steelers didn't carry the same weight as the Patriots, and Bell's holdout wasn't as hot as Brady facing a young challenger.
Most experts predicted a drop.
Instead, they got a shock—
Viewership exceeded 30 million.
A historic first: the NFL's first September game to surpass that mark.
Stunning. Surreal. Unbelievable.
No one saw it coming.
The reasons were varied. But judging from social media chatter afterward, one factor was clear:
The Kansas City Chiefs.
Youthful. Energetic. Full of life.
A roster built on second- and third-year players had taken the league by storm. Fearless against traditional powerhouses like the Patriots and Steelers, they were undefeated and had become instant fan favorites.
And Lance and Mahomes—rookies from the same class—stole the show.
Their first-ever touchdown connection? Legendary.
Running back? Quarterback? Labels meant nothing to this duo. They defied positions, logic, and expectations—"Chiefs exclusive" was trending again, just like it had after the Super Bowl.
The "Kansas City Twins" legend had begun.
The defending champs' opening win was more spectacular than anyone imagined.
As the buzz reached fever pitch, Brady found himself caught in the crossfire—again.
This time, it wasn't even the media's fault. Every star player was being interviewed, and everyone was talking about it. Naturally, Brady couldn't be skipped.
But the question?
"Tom, the Chiefs didn't use the 'Chiefs Exclusive' against New England. Why do you think that is?"
Translation: "They didn't bother. Not worth it."
Brady immediately heard the jab in the question. His forced smile nearly cracked.
"I don't know. Maybe they were too nervous or scared and forgot?"
Ha. A velvet punch.
But the reporters weren't finished.
"After two straight losses to Lance, do you have a psychological block against him now?"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates