As the runaway minds of starving Atlanta pro sports fans ponder the possibilities of a 16-0 season, a championship victory parade — how could we POSSIBLY squeeze that in? — and the secret intersection of the Quinn and Lombardi family blood lines, here’s a thought: None of this would be possible without a running game.
You remember a running game? It was last seen in Atlanta before Michael Turner wore down and ate one too many Ding Dongs, before every offfensive linemen started bruising and going bad like week-old bananas.
