In truth, the treatment Lance received upon his return to New York said it all. Even though he had never played a single game for a New York team, people still cheered and celebrated him—because he had knocked out Brady and the New England Patriots.
As it turns out, it wasn't just New York.
The entire league had been waiting—waiting for a new face, a new icon, a new superhero to burst onto the scene like Captain America, to shatter the Patriots' reign and rewrite the NFL's power structure.
That's the beauty and brilliance of the NFL.
People weren't just ready.
They were desperate.
They had waited long enough.
And now, that moment had finally arrived.
So—
This wasn't a disaster. Quite the opposite. It was a celebration. A turning point. A long-awaited rainstorm after years of drought.
Brady: "Is that respectful?"
But at this point, nobody cared about Brady, Belichick, or the Patriots anymore.
It was time to take off the masks, laugh out loud, and celebrate freely.
As soon as Pro Bowl weekend ended—still a full week before the Super Bowl kickoff—journalists and fans from across North America and around the world rushed en masse to Minneapolis, this year's Super Bowl host city.
Any slower, and you'd be lucky to find even a roadside motel, let alone share in the wild, unifying joy with thousands of fellow fans. That's what really mattered.
This year, the NFL brought the Super Bowl to Minneapolis, Minnesota—
An experiment.
Typically, the NFL prefers southern cities near the equator for hosting the Super Bowl: New Orleans, Miami, Atlanta, Los Angeles, etc.
The reason? Pure economics.
The Super Bowl takes place in late January or early February—deep winter in the Northern Hemisphere. The cold, biting temperatures can make football difficult, and if it rains or snows, fluid passing attacks suffer, making for less exciting games.
Which directly impacts ratings.
And ratings matter when every 30 seconds of ad time during Super Bowl LII cost a record-breaking $5 million. A slight drop in viewership could mean losses in the tens of millions.
Nobody wants that.
That's why the league traditionally favors warm-weather cities.
But the downside? Northern cities are effectively shut out. Cities like Green Bay, Buffalo, and Fort Wayne are ignored entirely—never getting a shot to host.
And that matters.
Hosting the Super Bowl, like the World Cup or Olympics, draws in massive tourist revenue.
Normally, short-duration sporting events don't attract far-traveling fans. But the Super Bowl is the exception.
The game lasts just four hours. But its draw is unmatched.
Take last year as an example.
Super Bowl LI in Houston brought in 1.5 million visitors in just five days and generated $700 million in revenue.
That's tangible proof. Hosting cities, hotels, restaurants, retailers, transportation services—all see a massive boost. Even state governments push to win bids, knowing it could revitalize the local economy.
Think of it like China's Spring Festival Gala.
Love it or hate it, people tune in out of tradition. Watching it—and mocking it—has become a cultural ritual. The show itself barely matters anymore.
The Super Bowl has evolved the same way.
Last year, the Patriots were not fan favorites. Neither were the Falcons.
But it didn't matter.
The game set new records for viewership and online buzz.
An ESPN post-game survey showed that 39% of viewers watched for the ads and movie trailers. Only 28% said they watched for the game itself.
More than 40% said they didn't even care who won.
In other words, the Super Bowl has become a cultural event.
And its surrounding economic impact is massive.
So when the league kept picking Southern host cities year after year, the North protested loudly.
And finally—
The NFL sought balance.
"All the world clamors for profit."
So fans celebrated the Eagles and Chiefs for reaching the Super Bowl.
"All the world hustles for gain."
So this year's Super Bowl came to Minneapolis.
That, right there, is the core truth of professional sports.
Wait, but what about the weather?
No worries—U.S. Bank Stadium, opened in 2016, is an indoor venue.
So while the Eagles and Chiefs didn't get to play on the warm Caribbean coast, they'll still face off in a controlled, comfortable environment. The weather factor, common in playoff games, is officially removed from the equation.
Will that benefit one team more than the other?
That remains to be seen.
It's U.S. Bank Stadium's first time hosting a Super Bowl.
But who knows? Maybe Minneapolis will join the likes of Phoenix, New Orleans, and Miami as a regular host in the future.
For the city, it's a win—an economic boom, a festival, a celebration.
But for the Minnesota Vikings?
Not so much.
Because of one very strange NFL tradition—
The Home Field Curse.
In the Super Bowl's 50+ year history, no team has ever made it to the championship game in the same season their home stadium hosted it.
Not once.
And this year was no different.
Despite a breakout season and heavy favorites status, the Vikings were crushed by the Eagles in the NFC Championship. Once again, the home team failed to make it to their own Super Bowl.
So—
By NFL tradition, in even-numbered years, the AFC team is the home team; in odd-numbered years, the NFC team is.
That means this year's Super Bowl "home field" advantage belongs to—
The Kansas City Chiefs.
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Powerstones?
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