Up 30-14, everything wrapped in a bow – a punt return, a missed field goal, an overtime dagger. By sunrise, the only gift left for Chase Blackburn was a pink slip.
WOODLAND HILLS — The scoreboard glowed 30-14, Rams, and the neon numbers hummed like a lullaby sung too soon.
Ethan Evans — a punting prodigy, the hidden scalpel in Sean McVay's arsenal of weaponry — sent a spiraling punt sailing toward the Seattle night.
Rashid Shaheed gathered it at the 42, tilted his hips, and in seven seconds of sideline deftness, flipped the field, flipped the game, flipped the entire narrative arc of a season.
Fifty-eight yards. One seismic score. Lumen Field exhaled four quarters of pent-up thunder.
2:11 streaked on the clock when Harrison Mevis — rookie leg, spotless slate, ice in his cleats and fire in his gut — planted his left foot and swung his right.
Forty-eight yards stood between the Rams and the division title, between certainty and chaos.
A crisp snap, a hold perfect, a swing pure. Yet, the ball sailed right, kept sailing, kissed nothing but Seattle air. Wide right. The scoreboard blinked, unchanged, unforgiving. The division, the fast track, the dream — all of it suspended in that moment like a snowflake that never lands.
The flight home was a coffin with wings. As the engines droned a funeral dirge, few people spoke; there was even less laughter.
Chase Blackburn sat in his seat, looking at film, searching for answers.
But, film don't lie — punts don't either.
But people do. People lie to themselves about control, about certainty, about positions in the NFL, and the unwrapping of gifts that are never guaranteed.
Saturday morning arrived like a creditor.
Blackburn was relieved of his duties as the Rams' special teams coordinator.
Three losses. Three kicks — blocked, missed, shanked.
One unit, one blade, one Achilles heel, debilitating the whole body.
The pink slip hits Blackburn like a preverbial lump of coal, the blackest lump any man could find in his stocking three days before the holiday.
One punt. One miss. One pink slip. Christmas ruined.
It's the business of the NFL. You produce, or you're replaced.
Examine Evans' 53-yard punt.
Four-second hang time. Perfect placement. And yet, one play erased 16 weeks of execution.
The numbers tell a crueller tale. Three of the Rams' four losses wore special-teams fingerprints.
Week 1: Eagles, 33-26, two blocked kicks in the final six minutes.
Week 10: Saints, victory despite Joshua Karty's missed extra point and a 39-yard chip shot.
Week 15: Seahawks, 38-37 overtime, the punt return and the push wide.
"The issues can't continue like this," McVay said in October. They continued.
Now the accountability arrived, wrapped in red tape instead of ribbon.
Ben Kotwica inherits the special teams' wreckage.
Christmas came early this year — came without boxes, without bows, came with a box of pink and a bunch of blame.
The Grinch didn't climb down a chimney; he strode through glass doors in Woodland Hills, whistled "You're a Mean One" and left behind only the echo of a disheveled unit.
One man lost his job. Eleven other men lost their certainty. A team lost its foothold on the NFC West. The Seahawks (12-3) now own the division; the Rams (11-4) own the mess.
What was meant to seal the game instead sealed a fate — a bevy of missed kicks and costly decisions.
Mevis was perfect until perfection mattered.
As the season rolls forward — Green Bay's snow, Philadelphia's cold, the Chicago frigid January air looms like judgment.
The ball will launch again, and the Rams must decide who writes the next chapter — the leg, the fall guy or their internal fire.
Blackburn will awaken tomorrow without a whistle, without a meeting, without a team.
Christmas morning will unwrap empty for his family, the tree lit but the presents missing one paycheck, one purpose, one profession.
For him, the Grinch stole Christmas. The Rams stole it back — and in its wake, left a pink slip.
Category: General Sports
