We couldn’t agree—all these lines,just dollars and cents—so we let you goto dance the dirty birdwhile we carouseledaround our next QB. They shuffledyou to new suitors;we foldeda great hand—bleeding our chips,a future uncertain—a few feathers ruffled. A new season,a tremendous start,but trouble brewingbeneath the surface:quiet grumblingsand coaching decisionsthat felt like treason. It’s hard to sustainelation… Read more: LXXXIX. Eight