The Weight of Expectations: Patrick Mahomes Faces the Critics
Kansas City is a city that knows its football. On any given day, the airwaves hum with opinions, hot takes, and the kind of passion that only comes from living and dying with the Chiefs. But on a scorching July morning, the city’s most controversial voice, KCMO’s Kevin Kietzman, decided to take aim at its biggest star.
The segment started like any other, but soon, Kietzman’s tone sharpened. “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room,” he said, his words crackling through car speakers and kitchen radios across Missouri. “Patrick Mahomes is fat. He’s an embarrassment. Stop the fast food, do a sit up, do something. I don’t understand it. You can’t just run through your NFL career eating Taco Bell all the time and door dashing fried chicken. You’ve got a $500 million dollar contract, it’s your job. He’s done nothing but eat and drink this offseason.”
His co-hosts squirmed. The phone lines lit up. Some callers chuckled, others were outraged. But Kietzman doubled down, his voice rising. “Look, I’m not saying he isn’t talented. But this is about professionalism. About respect for the game. You don’t see Tom Brady showing up to camp with a gut. Mahomes owes it to the city, to the fans, to take care of himself. He’s not just any player—he’s the face of the league. And right now, he looks like he’s been living at the drive-thru.”
The clip went viral within hours. Social media exploded, hashtags like #MahomesBodyShame and #KietzmanOut trending nationwide. Some fans echoed Kietzman’s concerns, but most were furious. “He’s a three-time Super Bowl champion,” one tweet read. “Let the man live.” Others posted side-by-side photos of Mahomes in training, showing a quarterback in peak condition, not the fast-food caricature Kietzman described.
At the Chiefs’ facility, the noise was impossible to ignore. Reporters clustered around, eager for a reaction. Mahomes, as always, was calm. He’d been here before—criticized for his style, his voice, his family, his every move dissected and debated. But this felt different. This was personal.
After practice, he faced the media scrum. The questions came hard and fast.
“Patrick, have you heard what Kevin Kietzman said about your weight?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I heard it. I think everyone has by now.”
“How do you respond to those comments?”
Mahomes paused, choosing his words carefully. “Look, I get it. This is the NFL. People are going to have opinions. But I work my tail off every day. I take care of my body. I do what I need to do to be ready for my team, for this city. If people want to doubt me, that’s fine. But I’ll let my play speak for itself.”
The next day, Kietzman was back on the air, undeterred. “He didn’t deny it!” he crowed. “He just danced around it. That’s not leadership. That’s not accountability. Patrick Mahomes is the highest-paid player in the league. He should be in the best shape of his life, not making excuses.”
But behind the scenes, the Chiefs rallied around their quarterback. Andy Reid, never one to mince words, addressed the team before practice.
“Don’t let the noise get to you,” he said. “We know who we are. We know how hard Pat works. Let’s keep our focus where it belongs.”
Travis Kelce, always the locker room’s heartbeat, was more blunt. “Man, if Pat’s fat, I want some of that diet. He’s out here running circles around everybody. Let the haters hate.”
The players knew the truth. Mahomes had spent the offseason not just working out, but leading informal practices, mentoring young receivers, and studying film. He’d taken time for his family, sure—a few nights of takeout with his kids, a beer at a charity golf event. But when it came to his craft, his dedication was absolute.
Still, the criticism stung. At home, Mahomes talked it over with his wife, Brittany. “Should I say more?” he wondered aloud.
She shook her head. “You’ve already proved them wrong a hundred times. Just keep being you.”
The story took another turn when a video surfaced from Chiefs camp—a clip of Mahomes sprinting, dodging defenders, firing lasers downfield. His physique was unmistakable: strong, lean, powerful. The narrative began to shift. National media weighed in, with former players and analysts defending Mahomes.
On ESPN, Ryan Clark was incredulous. “This is nonsense. The guy’s a champion, a leader, a generational talent. If he wants Taco Bell, let him have Taco Bell. He’s earned it.”
But Kietzman refused to back down. “That’s the problem,” he insisted on air. “We coddle our stars. We make excuses. I’m old school. I believe in accountability.”
The city was divided—but at Arrowhead, the focus was sharper than ever. Mahomes used the slight as fuel. In interviews, he was direct:
“I’m not here to win a beauty contest. I’m here to win football games. I respect everyone’s opinion, but I know what I put into this game. I know what my teammates expect from me. And I know what I expect from myself.”
As training camp wore on, the Chiefs looked sharper than ever. The deep receiver corps that Mahomes had raved about was making highlight-reel catches. The offense hummed. And Mahomes, far from looking sluggish, was electric—breaking the pocket, launching deep balls, orchestrating the huddle with the confidence of a true champion.
By the time the first preseason game rolled around, the story had flipped. Mahomes led a flawless opening drive, capping it with a no-look touchdown pass that brought the crowd to its feet. The broadcasters couldn’t help but mention the controversy.
“He doesn’t look out of shape to me,” one quipped. “If this is fat, the rest of the league should be worried.”
After the game, Mahomes stood at the podium, sweat beading on his brow, a smile on his face.
“People are always going to talk,” he said. “That’s part of the job. But I love this city. I love this team. And I’m just getting started.”
The fans roared their approval, the stadium echoing with chants of “MVP! MVP!” In the end, the only weight that mattered was the weight of expectation—and Patrick Mahomes carried it, as always, with strength, grace, and the unshakeable heart of a champion.
