The boos erupted.
Without warning, Gillette Stadium was engulfed in a tsunami of jeers, sweeping through the air with hurricane force. The tension made knees tremble.
Even Tom Brady, in the midst of his warm-up, flinched at the sudden uproar.
What's going on?
It's just a kickoff. Why the commotion?
Listening closely, Brady caught fragments of the crowd's taunts.
Rookie. Rookie…
This wasn't cheering; it was mockery. A jeering disdain.
Brady chuckled to himself, bemused but uninterested. He turned his attention back to his warm-up, exchanging casual banter with nearby teammates.
Clearly, it wasn't worth his focus.
After all, it was just special teams.
In football, the spotlight often lands on the offense or defense, while special teams are typically underestimated and overlooked.
Yet, for elite coaches like Bill Belichick and Andy Reid, special teams are fertile ground for tactical ingenuity. In tight games, the smallest detail can determine victory or defeat, and special teams often hold the key.
Take the current setup, for example.
Special teams usually consist of just three dedicated players:
Punter: Handles punts.Long snapper: Snaps the ball to the punter.Kicker: Handles kickoffs, field goals, and extra points.
Beyond these specialists, the rest of the unit comprises backup players, drafted into duty out of necessity.
For instance:
Holder: Holds the ball during extra points, often a backup quarterback.Returner: Fields kickoffs and punts, usually a backup running back or wide receiver.
But exceptions exist.
Tacticians like Belichick and Reid occasionally deploy starters as returners to exploit opportunities for a game-changing play.
And now?
A new season, a fresh game plan, and… Lance?
Was Lance a backup or a starter? What was Reid's strategy?
To Brady, it didn't matter.
He had no interest in paying attention to the rookie running back. Donald Yu, their shared agent, had never asked him for any favors, maintaining a strictly professional relationship—one of the reasons Brady respected and stuck with Yu for so long.
But to the Patriots' fans?
"Oh no, don't tell me..."
"Did Lance lose the battle for the starting spot? Is Reid using him on special teams instead?"
"This doesn't look good."
From the commentary booth, Al Michaels couldn't help but shake his head.
Chris Collinsworth refrained from piling on but noted objectively:
"Maybe this is for the best—giving him a chance to develop gradually. The right moment will come for his talent to shine."
Subtle pity tinged Collinsworth's words. The underlying message was clear: Lance's role on special teams felt like a demotion, a tacit admission that he wasn't living up to his draft position. Perhaps the third overall pick was a waste after all.
Thump.
Gillette Stadium erupted again, the collective mockery pouring down like a summer thunderstorm.
Yet, Lance was unfazed.
He jogged onto the field, his movements unhurried. With a slight tilt of his head, he cracked his neck, eliciting a faint popping sound. Then, standing tall in the Chiefs' end zone, he surveyed the field like a lion staking its territory, letting his gaze sweep across every inch of the turf before locking onto the horizon.
The sprawling green expanse stretched before him, framed by the roaring waves of fans and players clad in navy and white. Lance tilted his head back to take in the golden sunlight streaking the sky.
It was a good day for battle.
Tweet!
The whistle pierced the air.
The Patriots' kicker, Stephen Gostkowski, strode forward.
A four-time Pro Bowler and two-time All-Pro, Gostkowski was one of the league's elite kickers. Joining the Patriots in 2006, he'd helped them secure three Super Bowl championships. With five seasons as the NFL's leading scorer under his belt, his accuracy on field goals and extra points was unmatched.
By 2020, he would be named to the NFL's All-Decade Team for the 2010s—a testament to his mastery.
Now, it was Gostkowski's job to execute the opening kickoff.
A great kicker, like a skilled punter, prioritizes precision over brute force.
It's not about kicking as far as possible but about landing the ball exactly where it's needed.
Ideally, the kick should drop within the opponent's 5-yard line, just short of the end zone. This forces the return team to decide whether to risk a return or take the ball at the 25-yard line.The trajectory also matters. A high kick gives the coverage team time to race downfield and box in the returner, potentially stopping them deep in their own territory.
Perfect execution by a kicker can pin the opposing offense at its 1-yard line, giving the defense a significant advantage.
So, how would Gostkowski approach this kick?
With the whistle blown, he surged forward, planting his foot and unleashing a powerful kick.
The blue wave of Patriots special teamers surged forward in unison, rolling toward the Chiefs' end zone.
Lance's first instinct was to lift his head, tracking the ball's arc. In an instant, he analyzed its trajectory.
If the kick landed in the end zone, Lance would have to decide whether to attempt a return or accept a start at the 25-yard line.
The ball soared high.
Rising higher, it disappeared momentarily into the golden sunlight.
Go.
Lance took off.
His read was immediate: Gostkowski's kick had an unusually steep arc, indicating a shorter drop. The Patriots' special teams unit would have more time to converge.
This was a tactical kickoff.
Clearly, Belichick and Reid were locked in a chess match from the very first play, each trying to seize the upper hand.
Without hesitation, Lance accelerated.
Lowering his head slightly, he scanned the field from the corner of his eye. He didn't have time to pick out individual players, but he saw the larger shapes—a sea of blue surging toward him as his own white-clad teammates scrambled to form a protective shield.
Boom!
The first collision erupted like a thunderclap, shaking the field as the blue wave crashed into the white.
Gillette Stadium roared, the cacophony swelling into an ear-splitting crescendo.
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Powerstones?
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