scanner's got me in the far aisle again tonight, coach's call, zero explanation given, which is its own kind of message. i've asked why three separate times and gotten three separate silences. best theory going around the truck is that i talk too much during red zone, which, fair, but also unconfirmed, also unfalsifiable, also apparently a permanent sentence now. thirty two production trucks, thirty two versions of a guy who got moved to the corner for reasons he'll never be told. you learn to love the aisle. the aisle doesn't care either way