Royalty exists in America in the unconventional form of the sports dynasty.

Once this designation has been conferred upon a team, its legitimacy as a sports dynasty cannot be challenged because no formal criteria has been established for qualification.

The effort to define a sports dynasty brings to mind an observation by the late Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart, who conceded that he wasn’t able to articulate what constitutes hard-core pornography, but emphasized, “I know it when I see it.”

At the moment when Kansas City advanced to Super Bowl LVIII, the debate began raging as to whether the Chiefs deserved to be called a dynasty if they captured a third title in five years.

For many, the presentation of the Vince Lombardi Trophy to Andy Reid provided conclusive visual evidence in the affirmative.

It seems logical that back-to-back championships or three titles within even a six-year span should be enough to merit consensus acclimation of a team’s stature as a dynasty. Comparing dynasties is like selecting a piece of Tiffany jewelry. Is there really a bad one in the bunch?

Still, there are periodic attempts to elevate one dynasty over others in the historical record.

It’s possible that our collective zeal for debating sports topics originated with the founding fathers.

They are renowned to this day for passionately and exhaustively discussing all aspects of democratic rule.

Except term limits.

Halls of Fame have gotten it right. They make no effort to categorize inductees based on levels of greatness.

Otherwise, would this year’s Baseball Hall of Fame class of Adrian Beltre, Todd Helton and Joe Mauer measure up to Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig and Ted Williams?

In some quarters, there is a belief that all the talk about whether Patrick Mahomes is the greatest quarterback of all-time slights seven-time Super Bowl champion Tom Brady.

That’s the problem with labels like GOAT. They are routinely assigned prematurely or without a legitimate basis for comparison.

And sometimes, stats, accolades and championships are not enough to create distinction among exceptional athletic talent.

Barry Sanders and Emmitt Smith were contemporaries in the NFL for nine years. Some regard Sanders as the better running back on style points, but Smith played the longest, set the NFL’s all-time rushing record and won three Super Bowl rings.

Like Jim Brown, Sanders walked away from the game in his prime. So, an enduring mystery surrounds both of them pertaining to the exact nature of the destiny that they left unfulfilled.

Where there is triumph or achievement in sport, you can be certain that criticism and negative spins are loitering nearby.

After the UCLA men’s basketball team recently secured its sixth straight win in front of a home crowd that was just over 50 percent of capacity, Bruins head coach Mick Cronin was asked to comment on the attendance.

“I appreciate the people that come, and I focus on them,” he said. “I think the problem in the world is the squeaky wheel gets the oil way too much.”

Like attention paid to empty seats, the post-Super Bowl clamor about dynasties and GOATs is a subject of conversation without benefit.

The Chiefs and Mahomes are not supplanting any team or individual atop the pinnacle of success in their sport.

They are simply joining others in a realm where there is always room for one more.

Jim Caltagirone writes a monthly column for the Mirror.