I’m writing this in the days before Super Bowl XVIII (that’s 58 for those non-sports ball fans and anyone who hasn’t deciphered Roman Numerals since third grade), and the hype is inescapable. Because we have a dear friend who is a Chiefs Superfan, our family is more invested in the game than usual. Plus, if I’m honest, I’m also cheering for Taylor’s boyfriend.

As an advertising agency alum, the commercials are usually my thing, but this year, I’ve climbed on board the Chiefs Train, in no small part because of their quarterback, Patrick Mahomes.

Recently, my boys and I have watched the Netflix series Quarterback, which follows the 2022-23 season with three NFL QBs: Atlanta Falcons’ Marcus Mariota, Minnesota Vikings’ Kirk Cousins, and the Kansas City Chiefs’ Mahomes. It’s a fascinating journey through family life, training, team meetings, pre-game rituals, and game days.

The series offers a compelling trinity of storylines in a sports-documentary style, with just enough reality show moments to keep things interesting. Mariota starts strong but struggles mid-season with a series of losses that results in his demotion from his starting position to a rookie backup the same week his cool-under-pressure wife, Kiyomi, gives birth to their first child. Kirk Cousins, who might be the nicest person and one of the hardest-working athletes in the world, is also a doting husband and father and a man of sincere and public Christian faith. His season is strong despite nagging rib injuries. A miked-up Cousins’ groans of agony, despite insisting, ‘I got the wind knocked out of me!’, are painful even as outsiders, and we experience them through the eyes of his adorable wife, Julie, who winces for all of us. Ultimately, the Vikings were eliminated earlier than expected in the playoffs, leaving that space in his trophy room reserved for the Lombardi trophy open for another year.

One featured player goes all the way. Kansas City’s field general Mahomes trains like the elite athlete he is, working to ‘armor’ himself against injury and improve his strength and speed so, in the words of his trainer, ‘The game will feel slow,’ compared to his training regimen. It must have worked because they ultimately prevailed despite a high ankle sprain in a late playoff game that he hobbled on his way to the Super Bowl. His joy in celebrating on the field with his little girl (and vivacious wife, Brittany) is heartwarming.

Even though I knew the outcome of the season, I was still fascinated by watching their process and leadership styles.

Mahomes’ energy is infectious, and clearly, this is a talented team, but he’s cultivated an incredible leadership culture. He speaks to every player on offense and defense as they come off the field. He repeats, “Good job, Dog!” ten or more times, giving high-fives or patting shoulder pads. He makes a connection with every player, personally recognizing their contributions. Sure, he swears and, from time to time, slams his helmet on the ground or holds his head in his hands in agony, but mostly, he keeps his cool and reminds the team, sometimes with an f-bomb or two sprinkled in: This is what we do; we got this.

The quarterback’s job is complicated, but they make it look easy. Their prep work, training, and process are all behind the scenes except for about 3 hours on any given Sunday. After that game, the success or failure weighs heavy on this role, and while the series shows the physical pain, we can only guess about the internal suffering they must go through.

I couldn’t help but see parallels between the quarterback role and motherhood. The work that happens by both QBs and mothers is often invisible, except when it’s not. To make matters worse, social media makes it all seem effortless. The curated life is not an accurate picture; it’s a screenshot taken out of context, the trading card image of a much more complicated life.

Sometimes, our patience runs low, the team members are hungry, and we miss signals. Friendships aren’t cultivated, self-care suffers, and we beat ourselves for daily failures. Many days, we call audibles because, despite our best efforts, the planned play goes awry.

Even the most skilled athletes occasionally make mistakes – big, public ones - and we forgive them (eventually). So why is it so hard for moms to let themselves off the hook?

The stakes seem impossibly high for moms, the field generals of many families. We hold our teams together through sickness and health, significant challenges, and minor turf imperfections. But we might have something to learn from the leaders profiled in Quarterback: Life goes on, and when the day is done, your family is everything, and all you can do is your best on any day.

This is what we do.