MIAMI _ With all due respect to the deluge of advertisements coming your way Sunday, Super Bowl LIV actually is being brought to you in Kansas City by Chiefs coach Andy Reid, who resuscitated the gasping franchise he took over after the 2012 season.
This Super Bowl against San Francisco has been underwritten by owner Clark Hunt, who had the instinct and resolve to hire Reid. It's powered by Patrick Mahomes, the sort of irresistible force that comes along maybe once in a generation or, say, half-century and has emerged as the remarkably desirable face of Kansas City for all the world to see. (Talk about product placement.)
It's been sponsored by general manager Brett Veach, the key catalyst in the landmark drafting of Mahomes and the architect of retrofitting the defense as now promoted by Steve Spagnuolo.
Beyond all that, though, perhaps the Chiefs' first Super Bowl appearance in 50 years was most made possible by the offseason-signing of safety Tyrann Mathieu.
He has been crucial in changing the very brand of their defense from sagging to swaggering, from being their Kryptonite last season to giving up a total of 69 points in their final six regular-season games of 2019.
Mathieu's play and broader influence echo that of Mahomes' on the other side of the ball _ so profoundly that it's apparent he's the sort of person you build a team around.
So obvious it's mystifying that Arizona and then Houston didn't quite see that in him even as the Chiefs were identifying him as a potential pillar of a defense _ one that also has been fortified by the trade for Frank Clark and numerous other meaningful additions.
In fact, Mathieu's three-year, $42 million deal has shaped up as a bargain for the Chiefs, whose defense has come to reflect the zeal, smarts, resolve and camaraderie he exudes.
This is a guy who in a one-on-one chat earlier this season said "being a great teammate, it might be better than being the best player on the team."
His defensive colleagues gush about how he absolutely lives that, whether through having teammates over most Thursday nights or putting together video clips to show them how close they are to breakthrough plays, or providing constructive criticism any chance he gets.
For that matter, Mathieu's refreshing and contagious spirit reverberates around the locker room, where his station near the middle has become an inviting portal that's welcome to all.
"He affects everyone around him; he's that type of person," receiver Sammy Watkins said at his locker halfway across the room when we chatted one day during the regular season. "Before a game, he gets us right. It's something that you can feel. It's something that's not fake.
"It's just something he's been called to do. I can feel his energy everywhere."
Probably because it extends everywhere: from his on-field demeanor to his passions for charitable causes to his engagement with the media ("you need me?" he constantly asks) to such simple and mundane settings as meetings.
He's "always been a front-of-the-room guy," as Mathieu put it Thursday, smiling. Lately, though, he has been "inching my way closer."
"I think sitting in the front row of the room ... gives you an advantage (and) makes you feel like you're more involved in the process," he said, adding that when he does it he can see others "scooting up as well."
Tellingly, he added that he's motivated to do such things and put himself through a "vicious test" every day in practice because he seeks "to be a positive reflection, really, of all the guys who have tried their best to lead me (and) show me the right way."
For all the other sway he has, that brings us to something else particularly precious and appealing about Mathieu: his consciousness of all that's led to this point, the missteps and reboots and the adversities both overcome and appreciated and his awareness of his potential influence on anyone watching.
When he distinguishes between his "Honey Badger" football persona ("I'm just always mad when I'm on the field," he said Monday with a laugh) and his calmer alter-ego off the field, he sounds like he's channeling the relationship between the Hulk and Bruce Banner.
Or maybe it's more like Spider-Man/Peter Parker trying to live up to Uncle Ben's "with great power, comes great responsibility" slogan.
Mathieu's power resonates all the more because of his own journey, one that has included painful and unfair circumstances growing up in New Orleans but also featured plenty of his own mistakes (including being kicked off the football team at LSU after repeatedly failing tests for marijuana use) as he was being forged in that fire.
All leading to who he is today _ and now not wanting it to have been any other way.
Because these things made him observant and aware and resolute and appreciative, stuff he calls "everything I'm made up of."
Because they built him to be what he calls tough, accountable, respectful and responsible.
Because through all the hard times, he could see his way to "a better version of yourself" if only he would embrace the struggle and the grind and learn to be where his feet were.
So right here, right now is among the messages he sends. One that he expressed directly Thursday in Miami as he spoke of how "fragile" special moments like the Super Bowl are, and how all this has to be managed.
"When people cut the lights on," he said, by way of example, "you go where the lights aren't."
Lights the Chiefs and their fans might not be encountering without the special message brought to you by Mathieu.
"It's about," he said, "taking other people with me."
