The league gathered its soothsayers, ex-quarterbacks, and three dolphins from an analytics startup to declare the future. On cue, the cosmos coughed up a headline: Giants turn to Jaxson Dart early, Broncos win the AFC West, and causality files a grievance.

I cover systems and their breaking points, so naturally I brought a slide rule, a rosary, and a stopwatch calibrated to the pace of panic. The models said maybe; the vibes said absolutely; the schedule said lol good luck.

New York, ever practical, chose metaphysics. The Giants will start Jaxson Dart, an outcome mandated by nominative determinism and a franchise tradition of staring at a whiteboard until it blinks first. A ball will leave his hand, history will hold its breath, and somewhere a turnstile will earn a letterman jacket.

The Broncos, meanwhile, supposedly climb the AFC West like a sherpa with a Fitbit. Denver has discovered an offense that outruns oxygen and a defense that tackles entropy. Gravity remains questionable, altitude remains undefeated, and the Chiefs are told to bring a permission slip.

The secondary market rose 12% as fans panic-bought hope shaped like plastic. Searches spiked for Jaxson Dart rookie bobblehead with blinking playbook, because nothing says steady leadership like a spring-loaded neck agreeing with every hot take.

As camp opens, the Giants offense looks like an IKEA kitchen: elegant on the brochure, 4,000 screws in reality, and one mystery hex key labeled trust. They are running RPOs that sometimes become RPGs, because the safeties keep respawning where common sense used to be.

Denver’s plan is simpler. They will play keep away from math. Bo Nix will harvest intermediate routes like a veteran barista steaming milk to the exact temperature of sore feelings, and Sean Payton will fine-tune timeouts like he is tuning a piano with a sledgehammer made of confidence.

Box scores will whisper, as they should. They will say the difference was three third downs and the precise angle of a shoulder at contact. I will chart the milliseconds between hope and interception like a sommelier swirling fear in a glass.

Altitude merch is back too, because branding loves a barometer. One Broncos fan adjusted their orange crush throwback windbreaker and claimed it shaved two points off expected sadness per drive.

Out west, the Raiders bring chaos glitter, the Chargers bring extension cords and forget to plug in prime time, and the Chiefs arrive stuck in a Bluetooth pairing loop named Coverage Shells. You cannot win a division if your playbook is buffering.

Across conferences, prophecies spread like a bubble screen for rumors. The Jets are predicted to invent the bye week that heals the human condition, the Bears finally install an off switch for despair, and the Panthers hire a clock management consultant who is just a sundial with tenure.

And yet the punchline stays simple. The Giants will point at a kid named Dart and say throw it, the Broncos will ride a horse up a spreadsheet, and the score will whisper the truth so softly that only panic can hear it. When the season ends, we will gather around the dartboard, count the holes, and realize the horse ate the map again.