Executive Order Atonement, $57 FAAB Nukes, and Midnight Jets Shopping
While my venerable colleague Marty Sullivan spent his Tuesday morning staring into a mug of diner coffee lukewarm enough to grow sludge and grumbling about how analytics ruined the lead fullback, the real bloodsport of Season VI was taking place on the digital wire at 12:11 AM. Marty can wax poetic about 1980s mud bowls all he wants, but fantasy ti...



