After the field goal went through, after the idea of the third-largest comeback in postseason history became real, Trevor Lawrence wheeled around in circles with his head leaned forward, running toward his Jaguars teammates like a child who finally got clearance to join friends at recess.
This moment of celebration, this expression, this aura, this vibe, this smile, would have seemed notable had it not been plastered across his face for almost the entirety of the night. Sure, Lawrence seemed displeased with each of the four interceptions he threw in the first half. He would pucker up his lips into that strange, Peyton Manning–like smile-frown that we all do after polishing off a bag of Sour Patch Kids.