Bottoms up!

The growlers are chilled, the mugs are frozen and The Machine is ready to live tweet the shit out of some NFL action!  Follow along…..https://twitter.com/BRSMachine

After taking a beating in College football over the weekend (thanks Notre Dame) The Machine is switching gears and putting on its political dunce cap.  Hey, we got to put that Political Science degree to some use.

Anywho, after being relentlessly bombarded with political ads over the past few months (did you know Democrats burn the Flag while aborting babies, and Republicans beat the homeless with Bibles?) it all comes down one night:  Election Night, baby!  Drama, intrigue, Wolf Blitzer!  What could be wrong with that?

A lot, actually.  Every four years, America gets reacquainted with the Electoral College, and reminded that we’re not really a democracy at all.  What is the Electoral College, you ask?  Well, you could log on to facebook and read a thrilling discourse on American politics posted by your friends, your ex, and the creepy people whose friend requests you were afraid not to accept, or you can bypass those losers and come right to The Machine.

The Electoral College is the most irrelevant College in the World, even more so than Bryant and Stratton.  The Electoral College is like the Anniversary BJ, except comes around less frequently, if that’s even possible.

Truth is, no one knows what the Electoral College actually is, not even the freaks on facebook.  Wikipedia tells you it’s designed to protect the rights of smaller states, however the smaller states have fewer electoral college votes, so how are they really protected?  Anyone catch that Presidential speech in Bismark?  No?  That’s because no one gives a shit about their 3 Electoral College votes.  And if there was no Electoral College…we still wouldn’t give a shit about North Dakota.

The Electoral College—unlike the Anniversary BJ—serves no good purpose.  Underscoring that is the fact that you never hear from the Electoral College.  Pull back the curtain and let us know what you’re all about.  Show us why you’re important and necessary to our presidential elections.  Instead, we get silence, and The Machine does not like people who won’t defend their honor.

Fact:  the Electoral College is as useful as that Hospitality Management degree from Bryant and Stratton (which only leads to a career in stripping btw).  Enjoy your Tuesday Teabag, Electoral College.

The Machine approves this message.

Hey, we’ll jump on any excuse to drink hard liquor during the week and gawk at milfs that reveal way too much skin for a cold October day!  Load the kiddies in the radio flyer, pour yourself an Apple Cider/Captain and watch the candy pile up!

The real fright fest is tomorrow night though, when the NFL trick-or-treats us to Norv Turner matching wits with Romeo Crennel! Yowza! Enjoy!

While Ginger King waived bye-bye to 30 a few years ago, The Machine’s younger half, Roid Rage, is now a proud member of Club 30!  Totally buying into the whole “30 is the new 20”, Roid Rage is no doubt face deep in a pitcher of cold, frost-brewed Coors Light (hopefully one day the official sponsor of The Machine).

Start making a bucket list, old man (and no, the Bills winning the Super Bowl should not be on it).

Happy birthday!!!

The weekend isn’t even over, and The Machine is already calling it a success.  The past 16 hours have consisted of the following activities:  Casino, sports book, Coors Light, and Chicken Wings.  And if that isn’t enough to satisfy any man, how about an epic, 12 inning Game 1 for the ages.  Let’s recap:

The Machine went international last night, traveling north to visit our friends in Canada in good old Niagara Falls.  Why, you ask, would you go to Canada when you already live in the best country ever (go ‘Merica!)?  Jonesing for a wax museum and funny accents?  No, friends.  It’s simple:  while there are many things to blame Canada for (Bryan Adams, Molson Golden, purple money with the Queen of England—seriously Canada, get your own fucking queen you hosers) there’s one thing they got right:  sports betting.  And since The Machine’s bookie is “taking some time off” we’re left with no choice but the head north.

But fear not.  The Machine’s ethnocentrism kicked in, so we crossed the border and used Canada like the cheap hooker that it is.  Total time spent in Canada:  45 minutes.

Upon crossing back over, The Machine quickly made its way to its favorite watering hole, hoping to catch the end of the Yanks/Tigers game.  We walked into the bar in the bottom of the ninth, Tigers up 4-0.  A noticeable amount of “fans” had already left Yankee Stadium (fickle bitches), and the bar smelled of dejection.  However, The Machine knew better.  One out, Jeter on second, and Papa Malo on the mound…and that’s when all hell broke loose.

The next 6 minutes were surreal.  Ichiro…bomb.  4-2.  Now there’s two outs, Tex with an 0-2 count, and The Machine (at least the part that’s a Tigers fan) was feeling better.  Until the following happened:  ball, ball, ball, ball…and up walks Raul Ibanez.  Was there any doubt he was hitting it out?  BOOM!!  4-4.  Tied ballgame.  At that point, Jim Leyland (clearly in need of a smoke) yanked Valverde (btw, if you need to know when to pull a pitcher, it’s right after the fucker gave up a 4 run lead in the bottom of the ninth).  Anyway, the Yanks luck ended right there, as the Tigers somehow persevered Papa Douchebag and wound up winning in 12…and Jeter snapped his ankle in the process.

While all that points to the Tigers having the upper hand in the series, don’t be so sure.  Unless the Tigers’ starting pitchers can go 9 innings every game (sure JV can but who else?) Valverde is going to go back on the mound…and with that, the Yankees are assured that they will always be in the game.  Don’t forget, Valverde blew a 3-1 ninth inning lead in Game 4 against the A’s…last night wasn’t an anomaly, it was a pattern.  For the Tigers to win this series, Leyland needs to show some Girardi-like stones and bench Valverde.  Sounds crazy, but so did benching A-Rod.

In any event, if the rest of this series can live up to Game 1, it’s going to be an epic battle.  The Yankees should be able to right the ship today against Anaibal Sanchez (no way he’s going the distance).  But they still have to face Verlander twice…got to love the Tigers chances there.

Anyway, the only way this weekend could get better is if The Machine hits on its 5-team parlay.  Here we go (Cleveland, Baltimore, Philly, St. Louis, Buffalo) here we go!!!

What is it with old people that causes them to believe all the problems in the world are the current generation’s fault and that, back in their day, none of these problems existed?  It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy:  the older you get, the more the current generation sucks.

Recently, The Machine was at a family function doing what The Machine does best (crushing beers and talking sports) and the subject turned to steroids and performance enhancing drugs.  Instantly, the old people started right in about how the integrity of sports has been ruined by these cheaters, that the records being broken (you know, the records that were set by their sports icons) should still be recognized as the real records, and that any awards should be taken away.

Case in point:  Melky Cabrera, the latest pill-popper and distinguished Tuesday Teabag recipient.  Melky recently won the MVP of the All-Star Game, and helped to secure home field advantage to the National League in the World Series [let’s put aside that fact that deciding home field advantage by the winning team in the All-Star Game is the Dumbest.  Thing.  Ever.]  Unanimously, the old timers agreed that Melky should be stripped of his MVP Award, that Barry Bonds should have an asterisk next to his home run total, and that Roger Clemens should not get in to the Hall of Fame.  Thank God The Machine was there to put these people in check.

The Machine:    “You know it was your generation that introduced steroids to sports, right?”

Old Person:        “Yeah, but not to the extent it’s being used now.”  Came the expected reply.

The Machine:    “So you want to make a big statement about cleaning up sports, right?”

Old Person:        “I don’t like where this is headed.”

The Machine:    “So let’s take away the Steelers four Super Bowls from the 70’s and Willie Mays’ two MVP awards.”

Old Person:        “What the fuck are you talking about young man!”

And therein lies the problem.  You can’t just set 2003 as the date by which you start taking away results.  And it’s just as stupid to go further back in time.  And you can’t just blame the last decade as defiling the integrity of sports.  What happened, happened.  Steroids weren’t illegal in the 1970’s (neither was HGH in baseball until 2005).  Perhaps they weren’t “illegal” but everyone knew it was wrong.  And please, can we stop with the notion that this is our fault?  The Machine’s willing to bet that more professional athletes used steroids in the 1970’s than today.  Steroids weren’t newsworthy then like they are now.  Nobody gave a shit…kind of like nobody gave a shit about wearing seatbelts or listening to good music (seriously, the Bee Gees?).

Look, The Machine gets that being old sucks but come on people, have some perspective.  Your sports idols and heroes were just as corrupt, meatheaded, and obsessed with getting an edge on the competition as ours are.  And, as long as we have professional sports in this country, there will always be people that will lie and cheat their way to the top.  However, The Machine’s convinced that the next generation will be worse than today’s.  Kids these days…

Olympic Gymnastic Parents

The Machine can’t help but be in awe when watching gymnastics (yes, the Machine has Olympic fever).  Whether it’s the men or women, what they do is simply unreal.  However, as impressive as these athletes are, there’s a little secret that’s bubbling to the surface during the Olympics:  their parents are crazy.  I mean bat shit crazy.  Take every article you’ve read about soccer moms fighting in the stands, dads getting thrown out of little league games (the Machine can’t wait to get tossed from his sons’ baseball games when they get older, btw), and throw it away.  Move aside, overbearing suburban parents, there’s a new crazy in town, and they’re on full display in London.  Anyone see the dad trying to get the crowd to join in his rhythmic clapping?  How about the parents having seizure-like convulsions in the stands during their kid’s routine?  We did.  After watching 2 days of gymnastics (our fever is starting to break) you have to ask yourself:  how many of these kids were pushed into gymnastics by domineering, highly critical, super intense parents?  Our answer:  100%.  Christ, John Orozco is from the Bronx.  How many kids in the Bronx—on their own—decide, “hmm, I think I’ll take up the pommel horse.”  Exactly.

Hey, we’re all about being proud of our kids.  Kevin Durant’s parents at Thunder games?  Heart-warming.  America’s newest sweetheart’s, Missy Franklin’s, parents at the swim meet?  Adorable.  But these parents drive straight past adorable to creepy.  Their screams pierce the arena, and their movements and actions scream “look at me” and “you’ve practiced this routine 8,000 times, I know because I uprooted our family and drove you to all your practices since you were 3 years old, so don’t mess it up for us, I mean me.”  These kids are treated like collectable dolls (well, they are doll-like in stature).  This isn’t Toddlers and Tiaras, although we get the vibe it’s a lot closer than it should be.

Listen up Olympic Gymnastic Parents, and listen good:  Your children, impressive athletes as they are, are relevant for about 15 minutes every four years (given the men’s epic collapse in the all-around, you can cut that down to about 5).  We get that you’re into it, that you’re excited to watch your kids compete at the Olympic level.  However, your excitement shows the worst in modern day parenting:  fanaticism.  You’ve sacrificed a normal childhood for a slavish devotion to gymnastics.  Fine, but tone down the antics.  The Olympics should be about the pure joy of sport, yet, when we see a gymnast nail the uneven bars, we don’t see joy.  We see relief.  Then, we see Ma and Pa Crazy Pants in the stands, and it all makes sense.

Congrats on the Tuesday Teabag award, Olympic Gymnastic Parents.  The way things are shaping up in London, it may be the only award you come home with.