As a Brooklyn-born son of Jamaican grit and Irish-American discipline, I watched Blackout defy every stat on 6/23/25 — not with stars, but with sweat. In a 1-0 nail-biter against Damarotola, they didn’t just win; they rewrote the script. This wasn’t about stats. It was about soul. I’ve seen it: zero shots, zero mercy, zero excuses — and one heartbeat that echoed through Morant Crown’s concrete. This is what happens when culture meets chaos.