Dominate the Super Bowl

"Touchdown!"

Bart couldn't restrain himself. He clenched his fists, suddenly stood up, and shouted with fierce passion, as if a slumbering lion had just awoken.

In the ESPN studio, all eyes turned to him as if they were watching a gibbon playing with a ball:

Here, in the back-end studio, they did not broadcast live in sync with the game. Pash was handling the live broadcast at Arrowhead Stadium, so their job was to quietly watch the live feed and take notes, not yet their turn to perform.

But what on earth was Bart doing, acting as if he had never seen the world before?

Even Bart himself had not anticipated—

How did he, just, suddenly, have a blackout?

Bart had no grudge against Li Wei, nor did he intend to target him, but in the past five weeks, one misstep led to another. By the time he realized what was happening, he was already stuck in the mire, with no return on the path of being a "Li Wei Hater," repeatedly getting slapped in the face, and stubbornly persisting with a thick skin.

Bart simply didn't realize how much he hoped Li Wei would lose just once, how much he hoped he could be right for once; otherwise, he truly might have bled out and perished.

Finally.

Finally!

The Pittsburgh Steelers had not just brought intensity but had shown their mettle, finally suppressing the Kansas City Chiefs. With Roethlisberger and Brown's 51-yard long pass connection, Tomlin's team took the most crucial step—

General.

"19:10", not only ahead in the score but also with three minutes and twenty-four seconds remaining in the game. The Kansas City Chiefs would need to control the ball twice to overturn the score, and they must achieve a touchdown at least once.

Throughout the game, the Kansas City Chiefs only managed to score a touchdown by relying on Li Wei.

Looking at it from every angle, the Pittsburgh Steelers had taken control of the victory, holding at least a 90% grip on the win, on the brink of repeating the scene from last season's playoffs at Arrowhead Stadium.

So loud, so close.

This time, Bart didn't suppress himself, but faced everyone's gaze with an open smile.

"That was a brilliant touchdown."

"I don't want to come across as arrogant, but I've said that Pittsburgh could win, I've said they were ready, I've said that Kansas were just paper tigers..."

Bart finally let out a huge sigh of relief; his tense shoulders relaxed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the ease and comfort of being in control. The dark clouds lingering above his head finally dissipated, and the sky cleared after the rain.

His results, however, were interrupted—
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"The game isn't over yet."

Bart choked, "What?"

Lawson gestured towards the TV screen, "I said, the game isn't over yet. Look at Kansas."

Eyes turned to the live broadcast—

The atmosphere at Arrowhead Stadium was slightly insane, with a tragic grandeur; they were neither discouraged nor had they given up. They still cheered in unity, but the unease and apprehension on each face couldn't lie.

Could the Kansas City Chiefs really turn the tide?

Not just last season, but over the past decade, even twenty years, the habit of failing at critical moments seemed to be ingrained deeply, as if branded in their bones—even as they tried to stand tall and brave the storm. However, they still lacked a certain confidence, even though they had ended up victorious more than once in the fourth quarter clashes this season. None of the previous games' crises were as severe as the one before them.

It was really too difficult.

The so-called resilience, the so-called spirit of a champion, couldn't be obtained just by shouting slogans. It's a team character, forged through relentless trials and tribulations.

Just like the Pittsburgh Steelers, whose past experiences and confidence allowed Roethlisberger to connect with Brown for a touchdown.

Although Arrowhead Stadium did not shrink back, the tragic and fierce air still spread through the atmosphere.

"Offense!"

"Offense!"

The sky was filled with shouts that circled over the stadium.

Dangling by a thread, teetering on the brink.

Yet.

On the field, Li Wei was telling stories to the offensive group.

Yes, you read that right. Despite Bart's strong doubts about his own eyes, the live broadcast showed Li Wei indeed engaging in cheerful conversation.

In the studio, a sea of question marks.

"What?" Kelsey doubted his own ears, looking at Li Wei with a confused face.

Li Wei, "I said, 'the fat lady hasn't sung yet.'"

Kelsey, "I know what you said, but what does that mean? What about the fat lady?"

Li Wei, "In London's West End, there was once such a classic play. Because the play was lengthy and people didn't have watches, they couldn't tell time or know when it would end."

"But the play had one characteristic: near the conclusion, a fat lady would come on stage to sing. As soon as her song ended, the play would be over."

"Thus, people began to spread the word that seeing the fat lady take the stage meant the end was near."

"However, the fat lady has not sung yet."

Li Wei noticed that the atmosphere throughout the team was tense—

the Pittsburgh Steelers' heavy and solid style of play had brought great pressure, to the point where the Kansas City Chiefs were unable to find their rhythm on either offense or defense. Frustration, gloom, and struggle—it was an unpleasant taste indeed.

The pressure of the score, the connection between Roethlisberger and Brown, and the dwindling game time were all relentlessly constricting the Chiefs' space to maneuver, like a heart being squeezed into a ball and thrown into a pressure cooker.

They could hardly catch their breath.

Li Wei himself was no exception.

But Li Wei was not ready to give up, not ready to surrender. The game was not over, and the most exciting and thrilling moments of competitive sports had just begun.

Nervous?

What was that?

Li Wei's lips gently curved upward, revealing a hint of a smile.

"No, sorry, actually the fat lady is already singing."

"Tick tock, tick tock."

Li Wei even made the sound of a ticking second hand with his mouth, which made all his teammates unable to hold back light laughter, slightly easing the atmosphere.

"But as long as the song hasn't ended—

Hey, guys, do you hear it?

The fat lady hasn't finished her song, so none of this is over."

One by one, Li Wei looked at his comrades in the offensive group, ready to fight side by side.

"Listen, the fat lady is singing right now."

Having said that, his smile bloomed fully.

Li Wei turned and walked toward the twenty-five-yard kickoff line, ready for action.

All eyes were on Li Wei's number 23 jersey, with no slogans, no shouting, but taut heartstrings relaxed as teammates turned one by one to follow him, forming up step by step.

The situation was very, very critical—

Li Wei admitted the game was extremely tough. Now, he finally understood what a professional-level defense felt like, and it was hard to imagine that the Steelers' defensive group wasn't even at its peak yet. What would the peak defensive groups of the Baltimore Ravens, Seattle Seahawks, and Buffalo Bills be like?

However, he was ready to continue the fight.

For the first time, Li Wei didn't have the conviction of certain victory because victory and defeat were not the issues to consider at the moment. The Chiefs might lose, the Steelers might win, Zhu Zhu could rant after the game, and Bell could be dismissive of the Chiefs' ground attack, but it didn't matter. There was no need to obsess over the outcome of one game; he needed to fight.

And he was ready to fight.

Let them battle to the end, regardless of the outcome. He wouldn't regret standing tall and leaving the field with pride, no regrets, focused on the present—

Fight!