Offseason. Spring sunshine. Perfect time for lying flat, partying, spacing out, letting the brain go blank, wandering and exploring.
Definitely not a time for training or confrontation.
That much was certain.
Lance wasn't about to waste the beautiful season—life shouldn't be only tackles and collisions; there should also be poetry and distant lands. But after a brief vacation, he had other plans.
The just-finished 2017 season had brought him immense growth. Being named Super Bowl MVP was an unexpected bonus. More than that, it had widened his horizons and deepened his understanding.
On one hand, it had revealed his shortcomings.
For example: physicality.
The Marshawn Lynch template hadn't produced instant results. To avoid sacrificing his edge in agility and speed, Lance had reduced his use of the Lynch template in the latter half of the season, shifting his focus back to LaDainian Tomlinson.
But the deeper he went into the playoffs, the more intense the physical clashes became.
Lance didn't intend to alter his core playstyle—he'd never be a Derrick Henry or Marshawn Lynch type of back—but he couldn't ignore the need to build more physical resistance and impact tolerance.
This offseason was the perfect time to bring back the Lynch template.
On the other hand, Lance knew the upcoming season would bring even tougher challenges.
By the second half of the regular season, it was clear: opposing coaches had started to zero in on him. Even as they publicly claimed he still had to "prove himself," their game plans told another story.
He peaked on the Super Bowl stage—but that was just Year One.
Next season, teams would come prepared. Defenses would tighten up. He might even face double coverage.
But to Lance, that was an honor.
He welcomed it—enthusiastically.
Mentally, he was ready. Now he needed to bring his body and skills up to speed.
Improving physical strength was one thing. The other was to expand his toolkit—catching, passing, becoming a true multi-threat.
That's what made this offseason even more crucial than the last. As a rookie, he'd been an unknown. This year, the entire league was watching.
Would he be a shooting star, or a rising star that endures?
Which brings us to his most recent surprise: the Le'Veon Bell template.
From a technical standpoint, Bell was a unicorn.
He wasn't the fastest. Not the strongest. Not the best in contact. While solid in all areas, he wasn't elite in any single one.
But he had his own unique style.
"Pause, look, attack"—that was how fans described Bell's signature rhythm.
Professionally speaking, Bell was the epitome of a delayed-strike running back. Traditionally, the NFL preferred backs who attacked: either like Adrian Peterson, using explosive cuts and speed; or like Henry, bulldozing through with raw power.
Bell broke that mold.
He stayed patient. He stayed calm. He waited for the defenders to move, waited for a gap to form—and only then, using his own athleticism, would he make his move.
In short: Bell didn't create space. He waited for it.
Patience and composure—that was his magic.
Because of that, Bell had three elite seasons in a row without major injuries.
Sure, critics called him soft, claiming that avoiding contact betrayed the spirit of football.
But in truth, Bell had the confidence to wait. Because even from a delayed position, he could still accelerate and break through with a burst.
He might not have top marks in individual traits, but his overall game was elite.
Lance, too, had his own vision. He was observant, reading defenses, spotting holes. His style leaned closer to Peterson's—attacking space. In the playoffs, he experimented with Bell's delay-and-strike method, and quickly realized: it's really hard.
If he could master Bell's skillset, he'd add another weapon to his arsenal. And if he couldn't? He was still fascinated by Bell's field vision.
Peterson's vision was tight, detailed—focusing on defenders close by, using physical pressure to create seams.
But Bell?
Was he seeing wider formations? How did he find those fleeting gaps amid chaos? How did he make the right decision in a heartbeat?
And was Bell's approach more cerebral? Did it require more football IQ from a back—to reduce wear and tear and make smarter plays?
Sadly, Lance didn't know Bell's future. In his past life, he knew little about football. He didn't know if Bell would face injuries, if he'd reach the Hall of Fame.
Curiously, the system rated Bell as Grade A, just like Lynch. Only Peterson was S-tier.
Why hadn't Bell been rated higher?
Still, the Bell template was a fun new tool.
Outside of catching and throwing, Lance still had room to grow as a pure running back.
He hadn't forgotten what Coach Saban and Coach Burns said when he declared for the draft: dominating in college meant nothing. The pros were another world. He'd face countless challenges—and he'd have to evolve to survive.
In every way, this offseason promised to be a thrill.
Lance could already picture all the running backs, edge rushers, and linebackers using him as their target this offseason—grinding harder, training sharper.
But he wasn't resting either.
He looked forward to facing them on the field and seeing who would have the last laugh.
Of course, vacations were still essential. But he could start drafting his training plan.
Just as he closed the system and got ready for a morning jog to clear his head, the house phone rang.
He ignored it, heading to his room to change. Let the answering machine handle it—he'd check back after the run. It probably wasn't urgent.
Then came the voice—
"Hey, Lance, it's JJ. JJ Watt…"
Wait—who?
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Powerstones?
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