In a shocking development that absolutely no one saw coming except literally every human with functioning eyes, the NFL MVP race has taken shape, and tragically for the Jacksonville Jaguars, it still includes Trevor Lawrence. The man who throws a football with the raw precision of a catapult built by drunken medieval peasants is somehow considered an “elite quarterback” by analysts who we can only assume are watching games through a fogged-up shower door.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the league, we have Justin Herbert, the walking embodiment of “franchise quarterback” and the only man in the NFL who could make a checkdown pass look like Oscar-winning cinema. Herbert’s game is so smooth, so majestic, that scientists are reportedly studying his throwing motion to determine whether he is, in fact, a genetically perfected arm-based lifeform sent here to show us true beauty.

And let’s talk lifestyle. While Lawrence radiates the overall aura of a youth pastor who wandered onto a football field by mistake, Herbert rolls in with a superstar-level aesthetic ecosystem that simply outclasses anything Jacksonville has produced since… well, ever. His whole personal-brand vibe is “Quarterback of the Future,” while Lawrence’s is more “Guy Who Brings a Bagged Lunch to a Wedding.”

But let’s get to the moment when the universe itself proved who the better quarterback truly is: the infamous Chargers-Jaguars playoff game. A game in which the Chargers built a lead so massive, so commanding, so absolutely insurmountable that you could’ve handed play-calling duties to a Magic 8-Ball and still closed it out.

Enter Brandon Staley.

If blowing historic leads were an Olympic sport, Staley would not only take gold, he’d also take silver, bronze, and several consolation medals for “Commitment to the Bit.” Herbert played out of his mind, throwing lasers, dimes, and possibly actual pieces of the sun. Lawrence threw approximately four interceptions before halftime, each one more artistically chaotic than the last. The man was essentially speed-running a meltdown.

And yet… the Chargers lost.

Not because of Herbert. Not because of the defense. Not because of divine intervention or the ghost of Philip Rivers demanding karmic repayment.

No, this is on One Man, a football visionary whose vision unfortunately appears to be whatever is written on the ceiling directly above him during games. Brandon Staley single-handedly coached so aggressively, so recklessly, so reality-defyingly poorly that the universe folded itself into a shape where Trevor Lawrence looked like a hero.

Trevor. Lawrence.

Herbert didn’t lose that game. Staley defeated Herbert. A true tactical masterpiece of self-sabotage.

And yet, here we are, pretending Lawrence belongs in the same breath as Herbert. Pretending the MVP conversation shouldn’t already be over. Pretending the man with the most disappointing playoff collapse forced upon him isn’t the league’s most valuable player.

Justin Herbert is the MVP. Trevor Lawrence is tall.

One of these things matters.