press box coffee this morning had a skin on it. a skin. somebody brewed that pot during the pregame and it sat through two quarters of a different sport. cup number one tastes like burnt paper. cup number two tastes like the first one, angrier. guy next to me says it builds character. character doesn't need creamer packets fused to the counter like a crime scene evidence bag. i drink it anyway because the alternative is a vending machine that's eaten more dollar bills than it's given cans. somewhere a scout is running on this same sludge writing grades on kids who ran a 4.6. grade the coffee first. nobody grades the coffee. that's the actual scandal of every sunday and nobody's covering it