Tyler Loop Missed the Kick. Then He Showed Us How to Move On.

What the rookie can teach us about recovery time, past mistakes, and the loop in your head.

On Sunday night, one of the best football games of the season unfolded between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Baltimore Ravens. I knew what was on the line—a close friend had broken down how the NFL playoffs work and how this game would determine the winner of the AFC North and home-field advantage. I was fighting sleep, not wanting my staying up to disrupt my morning routine, but the game was too good to miss. And it delivered.

In the fourth quarter, both teams traded points in record time. With the clock winding down, it all came down to the Ravens and a definitive field goal to win the most important game of their season. The man responsible for performing under the pressure of this moment was rookie kicker Tyler Loop. As I sat up in bed in those final seconds, heart racing along with the rest of America—whichever team you were rooting for—I watched as Tyler… missed.

It was unbelievable. Crushing, in some sense. I went to bed and woke up to discourse around the moment. Hate from disappointed Ravens fans whose playoff hopes had ended. Surprising support from other NFL athletes who understood the pressure of one play determining the course of a game, a season, a conference—especially for a rookie. And then I came across a response from Tyler himself.

When the media asked him about the moment—with a sense of manufactured curiosity, looking for a statement to further show how the rookie missed his moment or might be drowning in shame—Tyler was honest about the miss but convicted about his recovery. He talked about the 1-minute rule—the team’s standard for how long players allow themselves to dwell on a play before moving forward. He acknowledged that this one might hurt a little longer. Then he continued: “Ultimately I’m here to love on the guys around me and try and have their back, be a good teammate, be a good representative of the organization and steward the gifts I’ve been given… it’s such a fortunate thing to be here. Being placed in Baltimore with this team has been the biggest blessing of my life and I’m super grateful for it. Reminding myself that God’s got my back even when stuff sucks.”

Athletes have to face the media immediately after failure, but most of us face something worse—the relentless interrogation inside our own heads. We replay the moment, dissect the mistake, ask ourselves the same manufactured questions over and over: “How could you miss that? What’s wrong with you? What if you’d done it differently?” We become the discourse. We pile on ourselves worse than any comment section ever could. This is the internal loop—the one that keeps us hostage to past mistakes long after everyone else has moved on.

In my own life, the pressure isn’t on a stadium field, but the internal loop is just as real. What if I had picked a different career? What if I had stood up to that boss earlier? What if I had stopped being so passive about what I needed and spoken up for myself in that relationship? These aren’t public failures, but they’ve held me hostage in the same way—replaying the moment, questioning my choices, doubting my present authority because of past mistakes.

Tyler took that moment—one that could have been used as leverage to pile on shame from the world and from himself—and instead used it to clarify his purpose, his assignment, and express gratitude. He focused on his real work with the team and his responsibility to the unit. He affirmed the gifts he’s been stewarding. And he anchored himself in a higher authority. When he said “the next time I get on the field to kick a ball, it’s time to move on,” he was modeling what the Ravens’ 1-minute rule looks like in practice, not denying the pain, but refusing to let it become a prison.

Tyler’s response wasn’t just mature, it was spiritually disciplined. He had clarity about his real assignment: love his teammates, steward his gifts, represent the organization. He operated from community: his focus was on serving the unit, not protecting his reputation. And he maintained alignment with a higher authority: “God’s got my back even when stuff sucks.” This is what recovery looks like. Our capacity isn’t measured by perfection, it’s measured by our recovery time. How quickly can we return to our assignment after we stumble? How long do we let the mistake define us before we remember whose we are?

Your recovery time may not be 1 minute, or even 1 day right now. But how long will you let yourself stay hostage to past mistakes? 1 month? 1 year? Let the 1-minute rule be a challenge to the internal loop playing in your head: It’s time to move on, friend. Not because the mistake didn’t matter, but because dwelling on it doesn’t change it - and it keeps you from the assignment in front of you.