Andy Reid surrenders to Patrick Mahomes: The reason for my success

This coach and quarterback combination has won three Super Bowls

The Kansas City Chiefs are the toast of the NFL. The league’s newest model organization is also its newest dynasty after its victory in Super Bowl LVIII earlier this month — and if the Chiefs are fully healthy in 2024, they will have every opportunity to become the first team ever to win the Super Bowl in three consecutive seasons.

Everyone around the NFL envies this level of success. But to hear Chiefs coach Andy Reid talk about it, the 65-year-old is only too eager to credit one of his team’s transcendent superstars for all the winning over the past five years, a stretch that has seen Kansas City win three Super Bowls after a five-decade drought.

Patrick Mahomes destroys defender in pick-up basketball game as throwback video goes viral again

Reid reveals his “secret”

Speaking at the NFL Scouting Combine in Indianapolis, Reid credited Patrick Mahomes for much of his success as the Chiefs’ coach. Reid did not directly name Mahomes as the prime reason for Kansas City’s emergence as a juggernaut, but he did say that in order to compete for championships, a team has to have a “good quarterback.” Mahomes is certainly that.

Since taking over the Chiefs’ starting quarterback job in 2018, Mahomes has won two regular-season MVP awards and three Super Bowl MVPs. He can make plays — with his feet as well as his cannon arm — that no other quarterback in the NFL can make, especially out of the general offensive structure. Reid said that in response, all he’s tried to do is “teach” Mahomes how to win, seeing as the 28-year-old seems to have everything else just about figured out.

Mahomes eyeing more greatness

Mahomes does not turn 30 years old until early in the 2025 NFL season, leaving fans — especially those rooting for the Chiefs — salivating as to what else he can achieve in his career.

Mahomes could make a serious run at Tom Brady‘s record of seven Super Bowl victories, and three more MVP awards would tie him with Peyton Manning for the most in league history. If he wins another Offensive Player of the Year award, Mahomes would become only the ninth player ever to win the honor in multiple seasons. These accolades and more all feel possible if the former Texas Tech standout stays healthy in the coming seasons.

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THE KNOCKING IN THE CASCADESSeptember 2013 – Cascade Mountains, Pacific Northwest By the time the sun slid behind the jagged spine of the Cascade Mountains, the forest had begun to change its voice. Cicadas quieted. Birds vanished into shadow. Even the wind seemed to pull its breath inward. I shouldn’t be telling this story. For years, I promised myself I wouldn’t. But time has a way of eroding silence, and some truths grow heavier the longer you carry them alone. That evening, my logging crew and I had just finished clearing a small patch of forest—routine work, nothing unusual. Five men. Good men. Tough, experienced, reliable. We were packing up when we heard it. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound was deliberate. Wood striking wood. Like someone knocking on a tree with a heavy stick. At first, we laughed it off. Figured one of the guys was messing around. But then it came again—closer this time. Louder. And with it came a smell. Musky. Wet. Like soaked fur and something older, something wrong. I should have told the crew to pack up and leave. I didn’t. And that mistake followed me for the rest of my life. A Logger’s Life I’d been working these mountains for twenty-three years by then. Started logging at nineteen, fresh out of high school. The forest raised me as much as any parent ever did. You learn its moods. Its warnings. You learn when to listen. That season, my crew was small. Jimmy was the youngest—twenty-two, eager, still learning the trade. Carl was the oldest, a hunter who could read tracks like a book. Torres and Mike rounded us out—steady hands, quiet strength. We set up camp near an abandoned service road, forty miles from the nearest town. No cell service. Just canvas tents, a cooking tarp, and trees stretching endlessly in every direction. The morning of September 18th began like any other. Coffee from a thermos. Cold eggs reheated on a camp stove. Chainsaws humming to life. But beneath the noise, beneath the routine, something felt wrong. The forest felt like it was watching us. The First Warning By lunch, Carl kept glancing toward the treeline. “You good?” I asked. “Thought I heard something,” he said. “Bear,” I replied. “They’re getting ready for winter.” He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. That night, after dinner, we sat around the fire. Someone turned on a radio, but all we got was static. Then—three knocks. Clear. Evenly spaced. Knock. Knock. Knock. No birds. No insects. Just silence. “That wasn’t a branch,” Carl said quietly. None of us argued. When the smell hit—strong and animal—I felt something inside me tighten. I went to bed telling myself it was nothing. I didn’t sleep. Footprints The next morning, Jimmy found the print. It was massive. Eighteen inches long. Five toes. Deep in the mud. “Bear?” Torres asked. Carl shook his head. “Not even close.” No one said the word out loud. But it hung between us. Bigfoot. We went back to work anyway. That was mistake number one. The Knocking Returns Rain moved in that afternoon. A steady drizzle. Then the knocking came again—this time in patterns. Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks. Pause. Three knocks. It was circling us. Then came the sound. Low. Guttural. Not a roar. Not a growl. Something else. Something that vibrated in your bones. “Pack it up,” I said. By the time we reached camp, fear sat openly among us. We built a larger fire. Stayed close. Listened to the knocking echo through the dark. Jimmy Disappears September 20th. Clear skies. Birds singing. Almost peaceful. We were nearly done when Jimmy vanished. One second he was cutting a Douglas fir. The next, his chainsaw lay running on the ground—alone. We found drag marks. Deep. Leading into the forest. Something had taken him. Search and rescue arrived that night. Dogs. Helicopters. Spotlights. Sheriff Martinez herself. The trail ended after a quarter mile. Jimmy was gone. The Truth Emerges Two days later, my phone rang. “We found him,” Martinez said. “Alive.” Jimmy had been sitting by a creek three miles away. No injuries. No explanation. At the hospital, he finally spoke. “It took me,” he whispered. “What did?” “Bigfoot.” He described it—eight feet tall. Covered in dark hair. Eyes disturbingly human. It carried him through the forest and set him down unharmed. Then it left. The Choice The official report said Jimmy got lost. Shock. Hypothermia. But Martinez pulled me aside. “My grandfather warned me about this,” she said. “Leave it alone.” I had proof. A video. Fifteen seconds. A shape at the treeline. I deleted it. Some things aren’t meant to be proven. Years Later I left logging. Became a safety inspector. Whenever reports came in—knocking, footprints, smells—I warned crews away. Jimmy moved on. Carl passed away. The knocking stayed with us all. Sometimes, late at night, I still hear it. Three soft knocks. A reminder. Some mysteries protect us by staying hidden. And some forests are not meant to be conquered—only respected.

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