KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI - DECEMBER 13: (EDITORS NOTE: This image has been converted to black and white) Quarterback Patrick Mahomes #15 and tight end Travis Kelce #87 of the Kansas City Chiefs prepare to run onto the field during player introductions prior to the game against the Los Angeles Chargers at Arrowhead Stadium on December 13, 2018 in Kansas City, Missouri. (Photo by Jamie Squire/Getty Images)

The Kansas City Chiefs need to let a real fear—the fear of death—lead them in the postseason, and they finally have the quarterback to do it.

When the Kansas City Chiefs beat the Oakland Raiders on Sunday, their 2018 losses will cease to matter. They’ll lock up the #1 AFC playoff seed, the postseason will run though Arrowhead Stadium, and every team will be back to 0-0. All that will matter for the 2018 Chiefs is the ending.

For nearly five decades, and especially over the last three, the Chiefs’ playoff story feels as though it’s been the football equivalent of A Series of Unfortunate Events. Indeed, it would have been fitting if Lemony Snicket had provided narration before, during, and at the heartbreaking conclusion of each K.C. playoff run—morose words to remind the desperately hopeful Chiefs fans that there are no happy endings for this franchise. That no matter how soul-crushing a defeat was, it would only get worse next season. That losses don’t make you stronger, they just mean you lost.

But A Series of Unfortunate Events is a franchise that lays out explicitly from the beginning that there will be no happy endings. The Chiefs aren’t so lucky. The Chiefs are somewhere closer to Bane’s prison pit from The Dark Knight Rises, poisoned by the hope of escape the open sky above provides. Every year, the Chiefs are just good enough to instill the hope that this will be the year they get over the hump. Every single year they send their fanbase crashing back down to reality.

False hope is more torturous than knowing an unhappy ending is coming. It’s what makes being a fan of franchises like the Chiefs arguably even more miserable than franchises like the Cleveland Browns.

But perhaps the Chiefs have found their Bruce Wayne—the man able to finally claw this franchise out of the pit and into the light above.

In The Dark Knight Rises, Bruce wasn’t able to climb out of the pit until he found his will to live, and in turn, regained his fear of death (fear of death as a uniquely human trait is a frequent theme in Christopher Nolan’s films). Without the fear of falling to his death, Bruce didn’t have the drive to make the final leap to freedom. The Chiefs have spent far too long being OK with just being OK, and themselves have lost their fear of (playoff) death.

Perhaps the most frustrating quality of the Alex Smith Chiefs was the lack of urgency in both close wins and close loses. There’s a fine line between cool under pressure and apathy. Too often, the Chiefs felt apathetic after playoff losses. Outside forces—be it injuries, refs, etc.—were given more blame than a team with the talent to get it done that simply never did. There are only so many “Aw, shucks, we just need to get better.” press conferences one fan base can be expected to swallow.

With Patrick Mahomes, that all changes. Like Bruce Wayne, he fears death, and he plays like it.

Fear being a negative trait is a particularly overused cliche in sports—yet another instance in which the violent machismo of football shoots itself in the foot. Bill Walsh and Joe Montana. Bill Belichick and Tom Brady. It’s always the most cerebral coaches and players who win out. You know what that “intangible” thing that separates the most clutch players from the rest of the league actually is? It’s the fear of losing. It’s not “wanting to win more”, since everyone wants to win. It’s about channeling that fear and using it to stay alive for one final drive.

Embracing fear and “playing scared” are two different things. I’m not talking about high-strung, anxious, scattershot play. I’m talking about a deep, fundamental core of losing feeling like death. It’s no mistake that most of the all-time greats in any sport seem to hate losing even more than they love winning. Your fear of losing has to be nearly pathological to manifest a constant winning atmosphere. Is there any organization that despises losing as much as Belichick, Brady, and the Patriots? That’s fear. We don’t like to call it fear, but it’s fear, and the Patriots use it to their advantage.

Mahomes plays like a quarterback who also embraces that fear. We’ve already seen it, over and over. In every close game late, including those where the Chiefs came up short, Mahomes played like a man possessed. He’s got that little something extra in his game that kicks in at crunch time and inspires the entire team, even the entire stadium. It’s like watching someone cornered, staring death in the face, and making one final wild attempt at survival. Even the most surgical game-winning drives have a manic aura about them.

Which is why, even with their regular season losses, this season feels different for the Chiefs. Mahomes has yet to face a real do-or-die situation and has already revealed himself as one of the most exciting and impactful players in the clutch. Every game, without fail, he makes plays that he is legitimately the only human on the planet making. None of it is flash without substance, and none of it is in service of himself. He’s only interested in lifting his team above their status as the NFL’s master choke artists. He’s not going to let them die without a fight, even if it means ending his own pursuit with a late interception.

But that drive is also what has the Chiefs as the most exciting team in football. That drive is why they’ve never been out of a game this season. That drive is what creates a 40-yard, cross-body throw on 4th and 9 against the Baltimore Ravens to keep the Chiefs alive.

It’s the fear of death, and it’s what’s going to win the Chiefs a Super Bowl.