Sports
Micah Parsons fumes after Packers-Cowboys thriller ends in a tie… “I’m pissed off, we let Jordan down”
In his emotional return to Dallas, the Green Bay linebacker sacked Dak Prescott but blasted his own defense for failing to complement Jordan Love’s big night.
The AT&T Stadium crowd witnessed one of the wildest NFL finishes of the season as the Green Bay Packers and the Dallas Cowboys played to a 40-40 tie — a game marked by seven lead changes, record-breaking drama, and the highly anticipated return of Micah Parsons.
Parsons, traded from Dallas to Green Bay just a month ago after a contract standoff with Cowboys owner Jerry Jones, made his mark with a clutch overtime sack on his former quarterback Dak Prescott. But despite his big play, Parsons left the field furious.
“I’m not even going to lie, I’m pissed off. I’m very disappointed, just overall how we performed,” Parsons told reporters.
Praising Jordan Love, criticizing defense
Parsons said the defense failed to match the effort of quarterback Jordan Love, who threw for 337 yards and three touchdowns.
“I even told Jordan, ‘Thank you for having our back today.’ Jordan played like the player he is, and we let him down. We didn’t live up to the expectation on defense.”
Prescott nearly matched Love’s numbers, posting 319 yards and three touchdowns while completing 10 of 13 passes under pressure. Parsons admitted Prescott’s poise impressed him:
“You look how precise No. 4 looked tonight… I think he played a better game than we played defense. Shout-out to Dak, he played a hell of a game.”

No reunion with Jerry Jones
Parsons, who has repeatedly criticized the Cowboys’ handling of his trade, revealed he hasn’t spoken with Jones in months.
“He couldn’t tell me as a man [about the trade]. So, to me, that emotion side was gone. It was more about respect at this point.”
Jones, for his part, told reporters he saw no need for pleasantries before the game: “What are we supposed to do when we’re getting ready to play each other? That’s not appropriate.”
Respect on the field
Despite the emotions, Parsons kept things professional. Prescott confirmed there was no trash talk during the game.
“Zero. Not at all. Until afterwards… it was fun competing against you. But no talks happened at all during the game,” Prescott said.
Even after Parsons sacked him in overtime, Prescott admitted he didn’t realize it was his former teammate on his back.
Cowboys coach Brian Schottenheimer praised the defensive star but credited his own line for holding Parsons at bay: “What a great player, man… and I hope to see Micah again, maybe in January.”

A tie with lingering emotions
The game, ending in a rare tie, leaves the Packers at 2-1-1 and the Cowboys at 1-2-1. For Parsons, the result felt hollow.
While he got his personal moment against Prescott, the linebacker’s frustration underscored just how much the Packers’ defense has to improve if they want to keep pace with elite offenses.
For Dallas, the draw was bittersweet — a reminder of what they lost in Parsons and a glimpse of what they still have in Prescott.
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Sports
Caleb Williams Impresses, but the Bears’ Late-Game Decisions Raise Eyebrows
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
Sports
A Strong Night for Caleb Williams Ends With Doubts About the Bears’ Late Decisions
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
Sports
Caleb Williams Did His Part But Did the Bears Overthink the Finish
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
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