Dominate the Super Bowl-Chapter 833 - 832 Sing to Your Hearts Content
Chapter 833: 832 Sing to Your Heart’s Content
Chapter 833: 832 Sing to Your Heart’s Content
Nantz was like he was drunk, face flushed, eyes red, his words firing with the rapidity of a machine gun, as his fast-moving brain continued to spew thoughts before adjusting its trajectory.
In one go, without stopping.
The redness in his cheeks growing deeper and deeper, seemingly ready to explode, yet the excitement and thrill continued to gush uncontrollably.
Beside him, Romo rubbed his eyes, hiding the tears welling up.
It is in such games, such moments, that Romo was constantly reminded of how much he loved this sport. Even though he had retired, he couldn’t help but miss those adrenaline-fueled moments, clashing with rivals, fighting alongside teammates, experiencing highs and lows, joy and bitterness, burning life between victory and defeat.
The charm of competitive sports is far more than just championships and victories.
Then, Nantz stammered, like a broken tape, spluttering. Romo took a deep breath, preparing to assist his partner, only to see Nantz staring wide-eyed at the front of the commentary box.
Romo looked over as well—
It was surging, magnificent, grand, spectacular.
The entire audience, standing together, shoulder to shoulder, standing tall and gazing at the field.
They sang loudly in unison.
“When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark.”
“At the end of the storm, there’s a golden sky, and the sweet silver song of the oriole.”
Resounded to the skies.
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Jenna couldn’t believe the scene in front of her, Li Wei standing in the end zone, standing upright with solemnity, quietly watching all the fans, that vast sea of red singing heartily, bonded together—
They were dedicating the victory to Annie.
Her Annie.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Jenna could no longer control herself, tears streaming down her face.
Berry stood on the sidelines, smiling broadly, happy watching this scene unfold. The stadium filled with eighty thousand people was so grand, it ironically made him look particularly small, but at that moment, a roaring gust of fervent enthusiasm enveloped him, as if he were standing atop the Himalayas.
Without warning, Berry began to weep.
He raised a hand to wipe away the tears, revealing a smile anew. It wasn’t a moment for sadness, but for happiness, for celebration. They should enjoy this moment, but the tears wouldn’t stop, flowing down like pearls from a broken string.
Sixteen months, a full sixteen months.
There were countless times he thought he might never make it back to the field again, countless times he considered just turning away and leaving gracefully.
But he ultimately found himself here, fighting alongside his teammates.
Not far away, Houston finally regained some composure and sat up cross-legged.
Feeling deeply moved, he quietly enjoyed the happiness and release of the moment, as if appreciating a world-famous painting.
Unintentionally, his peripheral vision noticed Berry.
Ha ha.
Houston burst out laughing, he understood, understood a hundred percent, because he was just like Berry, both body and age could no longer be ignored. If they wanted to step onto the field, to compete with those young players, it may require five or ten times the effort. It wasn’t easy.
Houston tried to stand up to comfort Berry, but found he still had no strength. His legs were simply noodles, unable to hold him up.
“Eric, Eric!”
Houston shouted loudly.
“Old man, come here to report, don’t block the party of the young guys.”
Berry didn’t move, just silently raised a middle finger towards Houston.
Jenna tearfully watched the scene before her, she saw Felix and Karen singing passionately, she saw West and Provo cheering and jumping, she saw Li Wei, Mahomes, and Kelsey standing side by side in the end zone.
In a daze, Jenna seemed to see Annie.
Wearing a number 23 jersey, running and laughing on the grass, her bell-like laughter ringing through the air, shouting “touchdown, touchdown” while raising her arms in celebration.
Life, blossoming proudly in Arrowhead Stadium.
Then, Jenna took a deep breath, looked at the tear-stricken Jeff, took his left hand tightly, joining the chorus with the crowd.
“March on, through the wind; March on, through the rain.
Perhaps, dreams will ultimately be let down.
March on, march on! With hope in your heart, you’ll never walk alone.”
Line after line, released with abandon.
The entire stadium, resounding.
Brady watched the scene quietly, a rage burning in his chest—
Not just because of the loss.
Indeed, losing was bitter and torturous. Brady felt it burning in every fiber of his being. Losing for the third time to the Kansas City Chiefs in four meetings over two seasons left him with no excuses, he could no longer ignore these young people. Li Wei was now Brady’s biggest enemy in the League.
Brady hated losing, always did. Every loss was a test, but such a degree of suffering and torment hadn’t been felt for a long time, not since Big Manning retired, seemingly.
Now, every cell in his body soaked in bitterness.
But what was more painful, more humiliating than the loss, was the scene unfolding before him.
A form of humiliation.
People often say that a vile person sees a world filled with hate and darkness, while a noble person sees a world filled with love and hope.
The same showdown, switching from Gillette Stadium to Arrowhead Stadium, ended with both home teams winning, yet at Gillette they displayed victory aggressively, while at Arrowhead they celebrated with song.
In the world of competitive sports, it’s tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye that is the norm, with debts paid in blood that’s repaid double, that is the truth. Here, there’s no concern for nobility or decorum, everything is like the gladiatorial arenas of ancient Rome, hand-to-hand combat with knives drawn, only the victors are seen.
Reality, that’s just how it is.
Meanwhile, in Indianapolis.
Roar!
When Li Wei completed the touchdown, Indianapolis erupted with a frenzy no less intense than Kansas City, with flames igniting throughout the city.
Andrew Luck stood up with a clenched fist and shouted with abandon, the deafening cheers coming from the streets outside.
“Beat the Pats!”
“Beat the Pats!”
Although the Kansas City Chiefs defeated the Indianapolis Colts, with no mercy; but likewise, they beat the New England Patriots, and that was enough.
Raucous celebration, party.
Indianapolis felt as if they had reached the Super Bowl, their season ended with a satisfying conclusion—that was enough.
Tonight, Indianapolis should sleep soundly.
Therefore, Brady knew well the significance of the game in front of him, what it would mean if the New England Patriots lost at Arrowhead Stadium.
Revenge. Retaliation.
Brady was mentally prepared, he knew Arrowhead would pay back double, with curses, with taunts, with attacks, he understood the storm he was about to face; but he wasn’t worried, wasn’t afraid, those voices wouldn’t hurt him. After so many years on the field, he was long used to all kinds of storms. He had seen it all. Kansas City’s revenge was still too young, too immature, to hurt him at all.
However, he was wrong.
Completely, utterly wrong, embarrassingly wrong.
Watching that scene unfold, Brady, for the first time, felt his own smallness and insignificance.
