How sweet would it be to be the GM of an all-robot sports franchise?
No player salaries. No uniforms. No free agency. No strikes.
No first class charters…you could Fed-Ex your entire team and teach ‘em how to self-assemble.
All you need are electricity, batteries, spare parts, and a little WD-40.
And there’d be little of that tabloid junk…children out-of-wedlock, spousal abuse, club shootings, dog-fighting and gambling scandals, etc.
Probably have to keep guns/weapons out their shiny metal hands, though…there’s always the potential of developing a RoboCop ED-209-type software malfunction, or an inadvertent SkyNet-like superconsciousness.
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