After the field goal went through, after the idea of the third-largest comeback in postseason history became real, Trevor Lawrence wheeled around in circles with his head leaned forward, running toward his Jaguars teammates like a child who finally got clearance to join friends at recess.
This moment of celebration, this expression, this aura, this vibe, this smile, would have seemed notable had it not been plastered across his face for almost the entirety of the night. Sure, Lawrence seemed displeased with each of the four interceptions he threw in the first half. He would pucker up his lips into that strange, Peyton Manning–like smile-frown that we all do after polishing off a bag of Sour Patch Kids. After the third one, he looked at the video board as if it might contain some sort of basics-of-quarterbacking PowerPoint he could utilize for the second half.
But, he also kept walking back to the sideline like he owned the place, like having to slog through quarterbacking hell and spot one of the best opposing quarterbacks, best pass-rushing tandems and most expensive secondaries in the league 27 points was all part of the plan. And, amid a season where players seemed to be better than ever at sniffing out sham confidence, sham personality and sham talent in their own quarterbacks, no one seemed to blink. His teammates trusted him. Plenty of fans didn’t turn off their televisions. Somehow, everyone knew this was at least possible. Somehow, Lawrence had everyone roped in together.
