In a bold medical diagnosis, sources confirmed Micah Parsons was limited Thursday, which in football terms means he only terrified three zip codes instead of the entire Great Lakes region. The Packers reacted by lighting a candle, a cheese curd, and whatever counts as hope in Wisconsin.

As a man who charts chaos until it forms a pattern, I ran the numbers. Limited Parsons still equals exponential dread, but the slope is friendlier, like a roller coaster that only ruins your afternoon instead of your childhood.

Cowboys staff insist he’s day-to-day, which is doctor-speak for “he keeps outrunning the MRI.” One trainer described his speed as “concerning,” then added he was referring to how quickly the media questions multiplied like rabbits with a publicity agent.

Meanwhile, the Packers announced they remain hopeful for Sunday, a phrase usually reserved for weather forecasts and reunions with emotionally distant uncles. Translated: they’re praying the calendar develops a hamstring.

The equipment room in Green Bay pivoted to a containment strategy, reportedly ordering compression calf sleeves for linebackers with the ambition of dressing hope like it’s orthopedic. If they can’t stop him, perhaps they can accessorize his menace.

Play designers in Green Bay installed a new motion called “Get Over There Where He Isn’t,” which is less a route and more a philosophy. It’s the triangle offense if the triangle is all the spots Micah isn’t occupying at light speed.

Meteorologists were brought in to explain wind shear, because the only way to slow Parsons seems to be turning Lambeau into a jet stream. The field crew was last seen consulting a barometer and whispering “gusts to the weak side.”

Fans prepared accordingly, investing in winter sideline heated bench pad as if they could lure Parsons into sitting through the raw power of Midwestern comfort. If the pass rush won’t chill, perhaps the seat will.

Numbers update: Parsons’ expected pressure added is still loud enough to make a left tackle write a memoir. But his grimace-per-snap dipped from operatic to indie folk, which analytics people call “a vibe improvement.”

The Cowboys labeled practice “limited,” which feels like calling a tornado “diet weather.” You can put a cap on reps, but the chaos leaks out the sides and bull-rushes your carefully curated serenity.

Green Bay’s game plan now resembles a Rube Goldberg machine where a motion man trips a puller who launches a screen that distracts a linebacker with the promise of seven-to-nine business days of recovery. It’s football, but make it bureaucracy.

Ultimately, Sunday may come, or Thursday may stick around pretending to be Sunday in a trench coat. Either way, I’ll bring the narrative and the box score, then let the score whisper: if hope had pads, it would be limited too.