Capítulo 179: The Biggest Winner
Missouri, Kansas City, Old Oak Tavern.
Without a doubt, this was the city's most loyal and lively hangout for Chiefs fans. On game days, the tavern was packed wall-to-wall with supporters, the camaraderie amplifying the thrill of every play. When the Chiefs were on the road, the tavern became a sea of red and gold.
Tonight, though it was only draft night, the fans came in full gear, ready to cheer for their team's future.
Yet, the atmosphere felt muted.
David Anderson, the owner of Old Oak Tavern, had run the place for decades. Though retirement was long overdue, Anderson loved the chatter, the passion, and the shared joys and frustrations of Chiefs fandom.
They'd all been waiting—waiting since 1969—for the Chiefs' second Super Bowl championship. Nearly half a century had passed, but Anderson still remembered that unforgettable night as an eight-year-old boy watching Kansas City defeat the Minnesota Vikings.
From that moment, football became a way of life.
"Hey! Come on, cheer up, all of you!" Anderson slammed the bar counter for emphasis, his voice booming over the crowd. "We made a solid pick, folks—a real cornerstone player. Trust Coach Reid's judgment!"
From the crowd:
"Yes, David, sure, Lance is a fantastic player…"
"But a running back?"
"Exactly. We used the third pick on a running back? It's not that we're disappointed, but was this necessary? And with such effort?"
"What about the salary cap? A third-overall rookie deal isn't cheap."
"Do we even need a running back? At least not at this level, not with a first-round pick, and not through a trade-up! Charles is gone, sure, but our other backs are more than serviceable."
The grumbling grew louder.
This was the prevailing sentiment among Chiefs fans: Lance was good—undeniably so—but did he warrant such a steep investment? Even though Veach had offloaded much of the cost to the Bears, the financial burden of a top-three rookie contract fell squarely on Kansas City. And drafting a running back wasn't even part of the team's blueprint during offseason discussions.
Now that the Chiefs were done drafting for the night, with no picks left in the first round, the decision sparked even more debate.
Anderson disagreed.
"Listen to me," he said, his tone firm. "This kid Lance is going to surprise you all. Have you seen his rookie camp performances—"
Before Anderson could finish, the TV buzzed with breaking news: "Kansas City Chiefs."
The tavern erupted into chaos.
What?
The Chiefs weren't supposed to have any more first-round picks tonight.
What were they up to now?
All eyes turned to the screen, curiosity ablaze.
Sure enough, Kansas City was making moves. They'd spotted an opportunity amid the chaos of the draft and seized it. Veach orchestrated another bold trade, a three-way deal with the San Francisco 49ers and the Buffalo Bills. The result? The Chiefs secured the 10th overall pick.
And this time, they selected—
"...Patrick Mahomes, quarterback, Texas Tech University."
The Old Oak Tavern fell silent.
A quarterback?
Why?
Alex Smith had performed admirably last season and was in good health. Why would the Chiefs suddenly prioritize drafting a quarterback? And with another trade-up, no less?
But when the details of the trade emerged, jaws dropped.
In the ESPN studio, analysts were equally stunned.
"Looking at the bigger picture, the Kansas City Chiefs used their 27th overall pick, a second-round pick, and a 2018 first-round pick to secure two top-10 selections in this draft, landing two high-potential players."
"Incredible!"
"Absolutely incredible!"
"Brett Veach is pulling off magic tricks like David Copperfield—pulling not one, but two rabbits out of his hat."
"Though we're only a third of the way into the first round, the Chiefs have already stolen the show. Their bold maneuvers and brilliant picks make every other team's war room look like a bunch of lifeless mannequins."
Kansas City had won. Big time.
Back at the tavern, realization finally set in.
Everything had been part of a master plan.
The Chiefs weren't just thinking about the present—they were building for the future, laying the foundation for a seamless transition centered around Lance and Mahomes.
With this newfound understanding, Lance's third-overall selection suddenly made perfect sense.
Anderson raised his beer high, his voice booming once again. "To Lance and Mahomes!"
The tavern roared to life, cheers and clinking glasses echoing through the room.
Meanwhile, in Baltimore, the Ravens' war room, John Harbaugh chuckled softly as he turned to Ozzie Newsome.
"Now it all makes sense," Harbaugh said. "Reid wasn't just looking at this year. He was planning the next decade."
They'd thought they might steal Lance later in the draft. Little did they know Kansas City's vision stretched much farther.
"Reid's still got it," Newsome admitted, rubbing his hands together.
"But Watson's still available," he added.
For a moment, the room fell quiet.
One draft strategy was to simply pick the best player available. And in terms of talent, Deshaun Watson was still on the board.
Harbaugh, however, shook his head.
"If the Chiefs skipped Watson to take Mahomes, I trust Reid's judgment. Even if Watson falls to us, we stick to our plan. And frankly…" Harbaugh allowed himself a sly smile. "I bet other teams are thrilled for the chance to grab Watson. Good luck to them."
Harbaugh was right.
At 12th overall, the Houston Texans finally selected Deshaun Watson, bringing his draft-day nightmare to an end. Before plunging further into the abyss, Watson was at last taken as the third quarterback off the board.
Yet even as he stepped onto the stage, Watson couldn't muster a smile. His expression remained dark and bitter, his shoulders slumped as though he were a puppet on strings. No matter how he spun it, he couldn't wrap his mind around why he'd fallen so far.
While Watson's plight dominated headlines, Stanford defensive end Solomon Thomas quietly became the draft's forgotten man.
Once projected as a top-three pick, Thomas now found himself overshadowed by the drama of quarterbacks and the unprecedented rise of running backs.
Thomas, bewildered and frustrated, could only mutter to himself: Even that rookie Lance got picked early. What about me? What about me!
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Powerstones?
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