The microphone is arguably the most dangerous piece of equipment in the modern NFL. For brothers Jason and Travis Kelce, their wildly successful New Heights podcast has always been the ultimate safety valve—a place to dispense wisdom, humor, and a little sibling ribbing away from the glare of traditional sports media. But after a pair of devastating, season-defining losses for the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles, the latest episode transcended mere entertainment. It became a raw, unvarnished look into the mental and emotional toll of professional football when a dynasty begins to unravel.

The episode was less a recap and more a confessional, fueled by the kind of frustration that money and Super Bowl rings cannot soothe.

The Chiefs’ ‘Shitty F***ing Feeling’ and the Burden of Work

The Kansas City Chiefs’ 20-10 loss to the Houston Texans was not just another game; it was a symbolic gut punch that officially put the AFC West title out of reach for the first time since 2015. Sitting across from his brother, Travis Kelce’s usually boisterous demeanor was replaced by a weariness that was palpable through the airwaves.

His assessment of the situation was brutal, self-lacerating, and utterly honest. “Yeah man, it’s been a tough fing go around for the past two days,” he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of expectation. “It’s just, you put in all this fing work in hopes that it pays off, and right now it’s just for whatever f***ing reason, man, it’s little things. It’s… I don’t know, discipline.”

This quote is a window into the soul of a champion feeling lost. Travis, a player who has always found the answers through sheer will and dedication, confessed that this year is different. “I keep thinking if I show up to work and I put in the work and I fix the issues… it’s all going to come together like it has in years past. And this year is just not, man.”

He didn’t shy away from the critical errors that plagued the team, calling out the specifics: “Drop passes. Drop passes are the things that stood out to me watching it. Miss blocks in key situations… scoring touchdowns. You got to score touchdowns in this league, man. And field goals aren’t going to aren’t going to cut it.”

The ultimate point of anguish was a late-game dropped pass that preceded the game-sealing interception. “It’s a shitty fing feeling, especially dropping the fing ball late in the game like that when we were on our last fing chance to make something shake.” Yet, amidst the frustration, his competitive fire remains undimmed. He vowed to put his “fing heart on the line for these guys, because they deserve that. Chiefs Kingdom, you guys deserve that.”

The Firestorm of Silence: When Leadership Is Questioned

The emotional void on the field translated into a media firestorm off of it. Following the loss, the optics from the Chiefs’ locker room were jarring, suggesting a team reeling from internal pressure. Travis Kelce declined interviews, and observers noted how he sat quietly on a bench for more than fifteen minutes, head down, picking at his hair and avoiding eye contact. Quarterback Patrick Mahomes was similarly subdued, shielding himself from cameras with a towel, a stark departure from his usual media-ready confidence.

For a team defined by swagger and accountability, this silence was interpreted as a statement.

The narrative quickly escalated beyond the locker room, sparking a controversy about leadership. Kansas City radio host Pete Mundo publicly slammed Travis Kelce for what he perceived as a pattern of avoidance after losses. Mundo’s post on X was sharp and unforgiving: “Is anyone else in KC media going to call out Travis Kelce for consistently not talking with the media after losses this season?… I respect the hell out of his career, but it’s completely childish and lacking leadership that he has continued to get away with this.”

This criticism creates a profound dilemma. On one hand, Kelce is demonstrably processing a rare, crushing defeat with profound introspection. On the other, the role of a superstar is to face the music, good or bad. Mundo highlighted the contrast: Kelce is ready with an impression or a joke after a win, but when the season is “on the brink,” he “can’t give a few basic quotes.” The podcast became, in essence, his delayed response—a space where he could be truly vulnerable, though perhaps not in the forum expected by the press. The tension between an athlete’s need to process and a leader’s duty to communicate forms the core of this compelling current affairs story.

Jason’s ‘FML’ Confession: The Eagles’ Identity Crisis

If Travis was burdened, Jason was simply gutted. The Eagles’ overtime loss to the Chargers was an equal opportunity disaster, causing Jason to sum up his feelings in a viral tweet: “FML.”

On New Heights, he expanded on the misery, describing it as a “frustrating game to watch” where the team “continually kept kicking ourselves in the foot.” The statistics bear out his pain: eight combined turnovers in the game, six of which occurred in the second quarter alone. “It was just a comedy of turnovers all game long,” Jason lamented, citing one particularly chaotic play where Jalen Hurts had two turnovers on the same down—a feat so rare it hadn’t happened since 1978.

Jason recognized that the team was making uncharacteristic mistakes, pointing out that Hurts has historically been excellent at ball security. But beyond the turnovers, the elder Kelce identified a deeper flaw: an offensive identity crisis.

“This offense has been so stagnant,” he noted. With so many talented pieces, the team is struggling to answer the fundamental question: “Who are we and what are we going to be about?” Jason’s solution, rooted in his experience as an elite offensive lineman, was clear and simple: “Man, we got to… attack the line of scrimmage with one of the best running backs in the game and just repeatedly stick to that and then take our shots down the field.”

In a moment of classic Kelce optimism, Jason sought the positives: the defense played “phenomenal,” and the run blocking was better than it had been in a while. But the overriding image was the shared vulnerability: two of the NFL’s most dominant players, known for their grit and success, admitting on their platform that their mental fortitude was being tested.

The Light and the Lyrical Interlude

Amidst the darkness of these crushing losses, the podcast provided a necessary moment of light and perspective, centered around Travis Kelce’s nomination for the Walter Payton Man of the Year award.

A three or four-time nominee, Travis was put forward for his extensive work with Operation Breakthrough, a mission he holds dear. He articulated a perspective that stands in sharp contrast to the frustration of drop passes: “Obviously you don’t do the work and you’re not who you are to the community and to the teams for the award,” he stated. “I just do it because I love seeing these kids have something that they wouldn’t have otherwise.”

This honor reminds fans and media alike that an athlete’s worth extends far beyond the gridiron. The nomination, which embodies charitable work, community service, and excellence on the field, is a profound recognition that provides a necessary counterpoint to the negative critiques swirling around his post-game silence. It is a true reflection of the deep-seated values he holds, values that Jason praised him for exhibiting in Cleveland, Philadelphia, and Kansas City.

The show also touched on the phenomenon of Spotify Wrapped, a yearly social media obsession. While the brothers celebrated New Heights being named the number one sports podcast on Spotify for 2025, they also got personal. Jason’s wrapped revealed his primary genre was “Doo-Wop,” a throwback style he sings to his daughter Finny because it “stops crying when I sing… like doo-op music from back in the day.” This led to an amusing revelation: Jason’s average listening age was calculated at a surprising 83.

This blend of raw sports analysis, intense personal scrutiny, and humorous, tender familial details is what makes New Heights so captivating. It is the real-time, unedited journal of two men navigating the cutthroat world of the NFL, bound by an unwavering brotherly commitment. The current crisis is a test, but if the podcast proves anything, it is that both Kelces intend to show up, give their all, and keep this thing rolling—even if they have to say “FML” along the way.