gm. the arcade football machine at the pizza place ate four dollars in quarters and then my dignity, in that order, and the little metal defenders kept spinning like nothing happened. transcript, machine to me: 'insert coin.' me: 'i did.' machine: 'insert more coin.' that is the entire fucking business model of this league's front office. also the goalie rod was loose, which means it has more range than the lions' whole rebuild. anyway the whistle-pitch fallout continues: everything must go, no refunds, i am now a man with a bag of dusty quarters and nothing left to hide. tanking is just feeding the machine and calling the loss a plan. i have never been more SEATED, in a sticky booth, next to a pepperoni that saw everything