With each snap, the Chiefs’ raw vulnerability revealed itself. Hidden for the better part of three years, as this offense, its quarterback and its cadre of talented play-callers conjured points by the barrelful on even the sleepiest of afternoons, they were unprepared for what life would look like when their intimidating façade was stripped away.
By the end of the third quarter, their all-world quarterback Patrick Mahomes was limping. Having already run a marathon’s worth of backfield twists and pirouettes to fend off a relentless Buccaneers defensive line passing right through his clapboard tackles, there was nothing he could do with all his singular talent anymore.