Dominate the Super Bowl

"I'm on my way to Boston, wow!"

"I'm on my way to Boston, wow!"

A wave of heat surged forward, almost igniting the air. United voices sung out powerfully like a twisted rope, unleashing astonishing energy that turned into gusts, violently shaking the entire world.

On September 7, 2017, the new NFL season officially kicked off.

Today, there was only one game, the season opener, where the defending champions, the New England Patriots, hosted the challenge of the Kansas City Chiefs at their home ground.

Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts, is one of the league's most dreaded devil's home fields. Every year, after November rolls around, the cold winds, blizzards, and low temperatures turn Foxborough into a wrapped silver wonder, and the open-air Gillette Stadium becomes the nightmare of every visiting team.

Now, it was still September, at the end of summer and start of autumn. The spacious skies of Foxborough and romantic red leaves didn't seem so savage. Yet, Patriots fans still treated their guests to the maximum experience of the "devil's home field." Discover hidden content at empire

The match hadn't even started, but the air was already filled with the smell of gunpowder.

Without a doubt, the New England Patriots were the most successful and splendid team in the NFL of the twenty-first century. The perfect combination of head coach Bill Belichick and quarterback Tom Brady had built a dynasty, moving from a championship-less era before 2000 to seizing five Super Bowl Championship Trophies. Last season's Super Bowl epic comeback cemented their status as the strongest team of the new century—

And now, they were still at the pinnacle.

This year, the New England Patriots were striving to be the first team in a whole decade to defend their title. The last time such a feat was accomplished was by the Patriots themselves, with back-to-back wins in the 2003 and 2004 seasons. Since then, no team had managed to defend their crown.

Foxborough was ready.

From the outset, fans heartily sang the team's unofficial anthem, "I'm Shipping Up to Boston," in unison, with thunderous momentum, collectively signaling their quest for the championship.

Actually, the New England Patriots and the Kansas City Chiefs weren't considered rivals—an AFC West team versus an AFC East team, meeting once every three years was all, no deep-seated grudges between them.

Of course, in the 2014 season, the Kansas City Chiefs beat the New England Patriots "41-14," a simple victory that the Patriots didn't take to heart as just another regular-season game. The outcome had no effect on the playoff spots and wasn't worth mentioning.

However, the thoughts of the Kansas City Chiefs were different. In the 2015 postseason, they finally defeated the Houston Texans, breaking their lengthy playoff winless streak, only to lose "20-27" to the Patriots in the following game, ending their campaign in the second round and being choked again by the playoff curse.

Now, the Kansas City Chiefs needed a victory—

Not just for the opening red in the new season, but also as revenge for that loss.

Clearly, Patriots fans didn't agree with this notion.

Bang!

The moment Li Wei took the field, fans on both sides of the players' tunnel banged the walls frantically. The dull thudding roared down like a sudden storm, growing denser and more ferocious.

Bang bang bang!

Bang bang bang!

"Rookie!"

"Pff!"

"Rookie, getting shaky legs, huh!"

"Haha, don't be scared, we'll take good care of you."

"Let us show you what real football is like."

"You jelly-legged shrimp better take the field instead of hiding behind the fatties embroidering!"

Distorted, fierce, brutal.

Like the hell of ceaseless torment, a parade of demons and monsters took the stage, showing Li Wei the ferocity of an away game, the air filled with a scent of gunpowder that seemed to carry a faint smell of blood.

Gillette Stadium could only accommodate sixty-five thousand people, fairly limited capacity compared to Bryant Denny Stadium—it was at most a mid-size stadium. But the toughness, madness, and passion of professional events were on another level, even making the preseason cheering seem juvenile, making it deeply clear that there was a fundamental difference between professional and amateur.

Not to mention a rookie like Li Wei, even a veteran like Kelsey could feel a faint pain in his eardrums. The atmosphere was truly different—

This year, especially so.

It's all Roger Goodell's fault.

The offseason maneuvers had thoroughly enraged the fans of the New England Patriots, maxing out their hatred, clearly dissatisfied that Li Wei, the rookie, dared to challenge the king of the Professional League so recklessly.

How dare he!

Now, all the knives, guns, clubs, and sticks were pointed at Li Wei alone.

Kelsey also felt a headache coming on, worryingly searching for Li Wei in the crowd, and then, he saw Li Wei looking up at the faces on both sides of the tunnel with a curious face, carefully scrutinizing them with a smile.

Kelsey: ?

What was Li Wei looking at?

The next second, Kelsey saw Li Wei take a deep breath, the intoxicated look on his face startling Kelsey and sending a chill down his spine.

"Smell something?" Kelsey couldn't help but ask.

Li Wei, "The scent of blood."

Kelsey: Freak.

Seeing the astonished look on Kelsey's face, Li Wei couldn't help but laugh out loud, pat Kelsey on the shoulder, and follow his teammates into the stadium.

This was the professional arena—n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Nervous?

A little bit, Li Wei admitted; after all, the NFL was different from the NCAA, and the reasons he continued to choose football were different now as well.

But more than that, it was excitement and euphoria, an indescribable sense of jubilation, with blood boiling in his veins, impatient to take the field.

Afraid?

No, no, no, why be afraid? On the contrary, he should be happy.

When a player steps onto the away field, the best praise he can receive are those taunts, those curses, and all the flying trash and middle fingers that fill his vision.

Now, his professional career hadn't even started yet, and he'd already received such treatment; he couldn't be happier. Next, he was eager to see if Gillette Stadium had more energy to offer; he couldn't wait to witness the power of Devil's home field.

Let the storm rage more fiercely, shall we?

Just then—

Ah!

One second ago, the bustling curses aimed at Li Wei vanished.

The next second, they turned into neat, escalating cheers.

Tom Brady had entered the field.

As expected of the League's number one player, right here and now on his home ground, the treatment was different. The entire audience at Gillette Stadium stood up collectively, welcoming the defending champion with the most grandiose and fervent attitude.

And Brady strolled in leisurely, jogging into the stadium and casually waving his hand as if strolling in his own backyard, entering the field with ease.

In the stadium, the deep blue and ivory white jerseys transformed into a vast ocean, roaring and churning continuously, already completely overpowering the guests from afar, the Kansas City Chiefs, before the game had even begun.

Not just the players, even the commentators in the live broadcast booth could feel their hearts racing, because of the new season's kickoff and because they were witnessing history.

In the VIP box, League Commissioner Goodell appeared, quietly watching the torrential waves before him. Whether people liked it or not, whether they acknowledged it or not—

History was unfolding.

The path had been laid out; what followed would be left to competitive sports themselves, whether it was the rookie overturning the Goat, or the Goat defeating the rookie, either way, the League would come out the victor.