The silence on the flight back from Oklahoma City was a physical presence, a thick, suffocating fog that filled the cabin of the team plane. It wasn't the quiet of fatigue or the focused hush before a storm. This was the silence of shame, of a profound and collective embarrassment. The hum of the engines was a dull, mocking drone. No one spoke. No one looked at each other. Players were isolated in their own pods of misery, headphones on but likely hearing nothing, staring at blank screens or the endless blackness outside the window.