After the crushing Giants loss, Brian Burns finally spoke, appearing in front of microphones like a weather alert with biceps. The tunnel went viral; the offense didn’t.

He said he wasn’t mad, just conducting a peer-reviewed study in human disappointment efficiency. The control group was the entire fourth quarter.

The video shows him moving through the tunnel the way a tax return moves through an audit: loudly, outnumbered, and accompanied by a lot of sighing. A wall briefly auditioned for Pro Bowl, and made the roster.

As a man who respects both math and memory, allow me to chart it. Expected Tunnel Rage (ETR) peaked at 0.86 when the scoreboard began reading in passive-aggressive haikus; Sighs Per Minute hit a career high.

Burns clarified he was not storming off but fast-walking his emotions to the nearest recycling bin. He said he wanted quiet, ideally provided by a noise-cancelling locker room fan, because destiny hums at an annoying frequency.

Coaches backed him, explaining the tunnel is basically a Greek myth with cleats. Navigate it wrong and you face the Minotaur; navigate it right and you still face the Minotaur, except he punts.

The Giants, meanwhile, obeyed the ancient laws of slapstick—banana peels, anvils, and a secondary that appears from behind a curtain with a top hat and two interceptions. Physics called to say momentum no longer returns its emails.

Burns insisted the gestures were leadership, just written in a dialect known as ‘all caps.’ He promised an offseason of mindfulness, maybe even a team-issued mindfulness mouthguard, so his next meditation doesn’t leave fingerprints.

Teammates agreed, offering that what looked like frustration was actually a TED Talk on accountability where the only slide was the scoreboard. Their brand mission statement now includes fewer dramatic exits, more boring first downs.

Fans demanded answers, then posted angles of the tunnel acoustics so crisp you could hear hope clatter. We analyzed the waveform; it spells ‘why’ in cursive.

Systems matter. One busted blocking assignment is a butterfly flapping its wings, and twelve drives later you’re explaining your vibes to a camera that blinks like a lie detector with season tickets.

In the end, Burns spoke, the tunnel echoed, and the box score whispered its punchline: Giants 24, Poetry 0. Next week, we’ll test our ETR again—unless the tunnel files a restraining order.