"We still need a leader…"
To be precise, Lance and Hunt shared the same stance—only their emphasis differed slightly:
Running backs needed to unite, to use their collective performance to overturn the league's biases, and they also needed a vocal leader to step up and challenge teams and the league head-on.
Only by doing both could they change the disadvantaged position of running backs in today's pass-heavy football era, and even reshape offensive strategy.
One could not exist without the other.
The difference was, Lance believed in first building momentum through group performance, then pushing a leader forward to speak. Hunt believed the moment was now—they should seize the opportunity to support Bell immediately and apply pressure on the team.
In truth, they were both right—it was just a matter of different approaches.
Lance tried to reason with Hunt, but Hunt was visibly agitated.
"Now."
"It has to be now!"
His voice rose slightly, then Hunt quickly looked around and leaned in closer, his words firing like a machine gun, faster and more urgent with each breath.
"We have to support Bell. We need to stand behind him. We have to seize this moment."
"The league doesn't care about running backs. For ratings, they keep pushing the narrative—pass, pass, pass. They're trying to eliminate the run game, glamorize passing, glorify quarterbacks. Not just running backs—even defense gets ignored."
"Running backs?"
"They don't exist."
"This offseason, everyone focused on Smith, Cousins, Rodgers. But Bell? All the coverage accused him of being greedy. For what? For not wanting to be slapped with the exclusive tag two years in a row. Pittsburgh treats him like a dog—makes him do all the dirty work, then dangles a bone."
"No one cares. Get it?"
"No one!"
"If we don't speak up for him, he'll be left to face the league's fire alone."
"We're surrounded. Teams won't support us. Other positions compete with us for cap space, so they won't back us either. The elite quarterbacks? They won't lift a finger."
"We only have each other."
"Bell needs us. We need to stand up against those devils in Pittsburgh."
"You've basked in the spotlight, soaked in the applause. Now it's time to give back."
Smack.
Hunt dropped that torrent of emotion on Lance without pause or room for reply. Then he turned and walked away.
Lance: …
To a large extent, Hunt was right. His words were sharp, even extreme—but they rang true.
Running backs were indeed isolated. And things were only getting worse.
In a profit-driven league, teams were no allies to running backs.
Still—lashing out at the league and owners wouldn't solve anything. After all, it was the teams who signed the checks.
Upsetting Pittsburgh? Sure. There were 31 other teams. But if they attacked the whole league indiscriminately, they'd only find themselves even more alone.
Anyone could rant like Hunt. But that wouldn't help Bell—or any other running back—get a better deal.
Just look at Cousins. Quietly making big moves. That's how you get things done.
Lance wanted to have a real conversation with Hunt. Running backs needed to rally every ounce of strength.
And Lance understood Hunt. The urgency, the passion—it wasn't baseless. Hunt had burst onto the scene last season too. Even after Lance took the league by storm, Hunt still earned praise from experts and fans. That gave him hope—
Hope for a big contract.
Whether staying in Kansas City or signing elsewhere, Hunt had a shot at something substantial.
But there was a difference.
Lance and Hunt were competitors on the same team—and they were drafted in different rounds.
That mattered.
Draft round directly impacted contracts.
First-round picks—"golden boys"—usually received fully guaranteed contracts.
From the second round on, guarantees dropped fast.
A second-rounder might get 50% guaranteed in year one, but only 25% by year four. Loaded with performance clauses, a slip-up could cost them dearly.
Third and fourth-rounders? Even worse.
Which meant teams could easily cut them by year three or four with little salary cap concern.
But first-rounders? Their guaranteed contracts took up cap space—so teams treaded more carefully.
This year, Lamar Jackson was taken with the final pick of the first round. That jump mattered.
Lance was a first-rounder.
Hunt was a third-rounder.
Their career risks were not the same.
So it made sense that Hunt was already feeling anxious in year two. He had to plan ahead.
Lance understood Hunt's fears.
But the dialogue had failed. Hunt had dropped his views like a bomb and walked off.
Lance sighed.
Maybe it was better this way. Hunt could go his way, Lance would go his. No one would convince the other.
Sure enough—
After the first day of training camp, a crowd of reporters swarmed outside the Missouri Western State University facilities in Saint Joseph.
The players were surprised. Even Houston cracked a rare joke, "Looks like defending champs really do get special treatment."
Laughter echoed—until reporters started shouting for Hunt and Lance.
Some players quickly caught on.
Hunt glanced back at Lance with a deep look, then strode toward the reporters, chin up. Mahomes and Kelce turned to Lance, confused—but now wasn't the time to explain.
Hunt unleashed a storm—no filters.
He slammed the league for marginalizing running backs. He accused teams of underappreciating them. He called it a disgrace that elite backs like Gurley and Bell had to beg for contracts worth half what Cousins made.
Bold. Blunt. Brazen. Furious.
Just like he said—Hunt had seized his moment.