There are certain truisms The Machine lives by:  Only good things happen with Coors Light, snitches get stitches, and if she fucks on the first date, don’t marry her.  These well-tested foundational elements of life are true 100% of the time, unlike stereotypes, which are only true 90% of the time.  You can imagine our horror then, when these guarantees fail us.  It shakes us to our core, and causes us to question everything.

Up until last week, The Machine had another truism it swore by:  if you’re the #1 team in the country and lose, you’re no longer the #1 team in the country.  Sounds simple right?

Last week was a crazy week in College Basketball.  4 of the top 5 teams and 6 of the top 10 teams lost.  The Top 5 teams were (in order):  Indiana, Florida, Michigan, Duke, Kansas.  All of them lost, except Duke.  Not only did Indiana lose but they lost to unranked Illinois.

However, imagine our shock/horror/rage, when The Machine opened up Monday’s paper and saw the new top 5:  Indiana, Duke, Miami, Michigan, Gonzaga.  Indiana’s still #1?  How is that possible?  Did they get participation points?  How can you lose (to an unranked team no less) and still be considered the number one team in the country?  And, to make things even more ridiculous, how does Illinois not crack the top 25?  You’re telling me Colorado State, with that thrilling win over (unranked) Nevada, gets to break into the top 25 but not a team that beat #1?  It makes no sense.

These rankings are, to be professional about it, total horseshit.  They’re completely arbitrary, not like that infallible BCS computer ranking system.  Seriously, what purpose do they serve?  They’re no longer a barometer for placement in the NCAA tourney…RPI, BPI, conference tournaments, and Joe Lunardi have taken that over (seriously, he calls himself a Bracketologist).  So what, then?  National pride for your school?  Bragging rights?  Maybe.

Perhaps they do/did serve some purpose, but not anymore.  Being #1 in the country means nothing, other than you’re probably going to lose.  For the past six consecutive weeks, the #1 team lost, and for the first five weeks, that also (logically) meant they lost their #1 ranking.  Two weeks ago, when (then) #1 Michigan lost to (then) #3 Indiana it dropped Michigan to #3 and propelled Indiana to #1.  If losing to the #3 team in the country knocks you out of first place, how does losing to an unranked team not?

We’re either in an unprecedented year of basketball parity, or the people ranking these teams are clueless (“hey, which Big Ten/ACC team you want to make #1 this week?).

Point is, even with parity, if the rankings are to have any meaning, they have to have real consequences and rewards.  Thus, The Machine thinks the following should happen, ASAP:  if the #1 team loses, they automatically drop to (at least) #10, and there they can claw their way back to the top.  Falling to #3, or in Indiana’s case, remaining #1, has no real consequences at all.  Likewise, if you’re unranked and you beat a top 10 team, you’re in the top 25.  This gives hope to teams that pull off a huge upset, like Illinois, who also beat #18 Minnesota last week, yet are still on the outside looking in.

Rankings need to send a message, and that message shouldn’t be the “if you had fun you won” mantra that’s currently being taught to our children and ruining our sports culture (seriously how am I going to bet on my son’s little league games if they don’t keep score)?  By providing real rewards and consequences, the rankings would all of a sudden become relevant again.  The season’s long enough where a team that drops from #1 to #10 can still fight their way back to the top, and by rewarding teams more, it keeps the rankings fluid, allows more teams a chance to get in the top 25, and gives them momentum.

It makes so much sense, that it will never happen.

Yes, the worst day after the Super Bowl is Tuesday.  Not Monday…Monday you’re too hung over to care and still pissed that you were this close to winning the final numbers on your squares (was that safety really necessary?).  Yup, it’s Tuesday, when you’ve sobered up, stopped burping chicken wings and taco dip, that it hits you:  Football’s over.  It’s a horrible feeling…an empty void that can’t be replaced.  It’s like your favorite pet gets killed every February. 

Not to get too overdramatic, but what do you do with your life now?  Well, for starters, you can focus on other things…like the Draft (80 days and counting).  And, you still have us, and we’re not done with the Super Bro™ yet.  So, because we’re not ready to let go, here’s our analysis of the Super Bro™, Teabag-style.

Jim Harbaugh.  Dammit Jim, The Machine was pulling for you.  We knew the Ravens had that look of destiny to them, eerily reminiscent of last year’s New York Giants…they had an up and down regular season, were beset by injuries, had a quarterback many refused to call elite, and were underdogs throughout the playoffs.  We knew that, yet still picked the Niners to win (although did pick the Ravens ATS) because you had that crazy look to you.  On a scale of 1 to bat shit, you registered a solid bat shit.  So, we thought your bat shit crazy (what real journalists would call passion or tenacity) would trump destiny.  The balls of steel you displayed by starting C-Kap and taking the read option to the next level would be too much for Baltimore to handle.  You were the sexy pick…the Fifty Shades of Gray.  It felt right.  So good.  We wanted more…we needed more…give it to us (splashes cold water on genitals).  Umm…moving on.

So, imagine our disgust when, with the game on the line, first and goal at the 7, you shed your Fifty Shades zipper mask and go straight up missionary style:  First down, run LaMichael James (2 yards), second down, incomplete pass to Crabtree, third down, incomplete pass to Crabtree, fourth down, incomplete pass to Crabtree.  Worst of all:  no pistol formation.  No creativity.  In short:  no crazy.  This can only be chalked up to an epic failure on your part.  Forget the holding call…you lost when you lined up goal line formation.  Your crazy is a fine line:  when you win, you’re lauded as a hard-nosed fighter that coaches with his heart on his sleeve.  When you lose, those same antics turn you in to a whining, sniveling, little brother that runs to tattle tale on big brother and creates excuses why it wasn’t your fault.  Listen up little bro, that loss is on you.

Randy Moss.  The (self-proclaimed) greatest receiver ever had two receptions for 41 yards, no touchdowns, and is now 0-2 in Super Bowls.  FYI, Jerry went 5/77/1 in has last Super Bowl, and is the only player ever to catch a touchdown pass in 4 different Super Bowls. #respectJerry

Ray Lewis.  The Machine wasn’t so much rooting for the Niners as we were rooting against you.  Everything you (read: your PR people) have attempted to achieve in the past dozen years rebuilding your image is bullshit.  Sure, it’s going to get you a cushy network job at ESPN, but at the end of the day, you covered up the murder of two men, have 6 kids with 4 different women (#wrapitup), and allegedly used illegal PEDs.  You can’t hide from deer antler spray gate.  Despite your vehement denials, if it is your voice on tape, you will (finally) be exposed for the fraud you are.  We’ll give you 6 years (one year after you get in the HOF) to publish your tell all book, where you’ll finally come out and bare your soul.

Commercials. As a whole, the commercials sucked.  Despite what the left tells you, the Volkswagen commercial is not racist, it’s just not funny.  Bar Refaeli making out with the 30 year old virgin is weird, and is anyone going to drink Bud Black Crown? (no).  Best commercial goes to Taco Bell and the old people breaking out of the nursing home. 

Beyonce.  Despite what the right tells you, Beyonce nailed the halftime show.  #girlgotgame.  Although The Machine will continue to question the use of fireworks in a dome, her performance was by far the best in a long time.  Hopefully, the geriatric halftime shows of the past few years (Madonna, Paul McCartney, Tom Petty) are over, although The Machine is already starting a campaign for Jovi to play the halftime show next year in Giants stadium.

So there you have it…a collection of Super Bro™ teabags, with the exception of Bey, who we’d actually like to teabag.  But fear not.  Even though football’s over, there’s still plenty of teabags to go around, and we’ll be here to bring ‘em to you.

Of course The Machine has to add on to the ridiculousness that is Media Day at the Super Bowl.  So many overplayed and drawn out stories:  The last ride for Ray Lewis.  The emergence of the pistol.  Oh, and did you know that the coaches for each team are brothers?  They’re calling it the Har Bowl.  Come on media, you can do better than that.  The Machine prefers the Super Bro™. 

Yes folks, there’s really nothing else like the media coverage leading up to a Super Bowl.  With two weeks off, and only one game to report on, the media goes buck wild with Super Bowl coverage, and will do anything to draw attention to themselves and their networks.  It’s mostly all bullshit…except Inside Edition hiring Katherine Webb.  That’s totally legit.  With that much media coverage, it’s guaranteed to deliver some quality teabags.  Like giving money to a homeless person (you really think Shaky Joe used that buck for a McMuffin?) no good can come from intense media scrutiny.  And with that, The Machine presents to you a trio of Super Bro™ Media Day Teabags.

Joe Flacco.  When asked about his thoughts about next year’s Super Bowl in NYC, Flacco responded, “I think it’s retarded. I probably shouldn’t say that. I think it’s stupid.  If you want a Super Bowl, put a retractable dome on your stadium.  Then you can get one.”  He continued his whining, saying “I don’t really like the idea.  I don’t think people would react very well to it, or be glad to play anybody in that kind of weather.”  This response is retarded (Joe’s word not ours) for many reasons.

First, you expect lesser known players (see #2 below) to make some Teabag worthy comments.  But not your quarterback.  He’s supposed to be the one player that’s above the fray, who’s supposed to exhibit a resolve that never breaks.  Remember those inappropriate quotes from Tom Brady and Eli last year?  Exactly.  Hey Joe, you may not play like an elite quarterback, but you should at least act like one.

Second, that’s the question you choose to drop the R word on.  It’s the softest of softball question.  The obvious answer:  “I’m not concerned with that Super Bowl.  The only one I want to talk about is the one I’m playing in.”  Giving a controversial answer to an otherwise innocuous question is…well…you know what it is.

Third, way to show the world what a complete pussy you are.  The Super Bowl can only be in warm weather, particularly a dome to ensure a sterile, climate-controlled environment?  Why?  Is the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field only cool during the regular season?  Having a Super Bowl in NYC is actually (another) brilliant move by the NFL.  Your crying about a game being played in cold weather is not.

Update:  Joe, after he (read:  the Ravens PR staff) had a chance to reflect on his comments, folded like a two dollar whore.  “Obviously, it was a poor choice of words.  At home, I have a close relationship with Special Olympics.  I didn’t mean to offend anyone.  I definitely apologize for that.”  You know you screwed up royally when you have to resort to the “I have a lot of retarded friends” line. 

Bernard Pollard.  The Baltimore Ravens safety made some eye-raising comments when he declared that they NFL will not be in existence in 30 years because of all the rule changes to make the game safer.  The game will be so watered-down, he reasoned, that people won’t want to watch.  Interestingly, he then admitted that the players are bigger, faster, stronger, and hit harder than ever before, and that he’s waiting for a player to die on the field.

Ok, where to begin.  Well, nothing is the same today as it was 30 years ago.  Music today sucks and what the fuck is Pinterest?  Regarding football, do you remember the NFL of the 80’s?  Does the phrase “3 yards and a cloud of dust” ring a bell?  That NFL was boring and predictable, and there was zero emphasis on player safety (shake off the concussion boy, you’re fine).  How many episodes of Outside the Lines do you have to watch of former players suffering memory loss or other debilitating illnesses to know that something’s got to change?  And, despite these changes, the game’s never been more exciting than it is today.  You can still deliver knock out hits…similar to the (totally legal) beat down you laid on Stevan Ridley in the AFC Championship Game. 

Yes, the buzz word in the NFL today is safety.  The goal is to maintain the integrity of the game while making it safer…perhaps, in part, because today’s NFL player is bigger, faster, stronger, and hits harder than ever before.  Sure, some talked about changes are a bit much (The Machine has faith that the NFL will realize eliminating kickoffs is dumb) but saying that the NFL won’t exist because it will turn into two hand touch football is simply dumb.  And ending your anti-safety remarks with concern that someone may die on the field is slightly (sarcasm intended) contradictory.

People aren’t going stop watching football because you can’t lead with your head or form a wedge.  We live in a nanny state now, the average NFL fan is no doubt an overprotective parent whose (more) overprotective spouse insists on changing the channel if there’s too much violence on TV (it’s bad for the kids).  Right or wrong, gratuitous violence is not a part of mainstream culture anymore, despite The Machine’s appreciation of MMA and Bum Fighting. 

Ok, time to go and chew my son’s food and feed it to him mama bird/baby bird style (everyone’s doing it).  Be right back.

Randy Moss.  Moss declared himself to be the best WR to ever play the game.  This one’s easy. 

Randy Moss – 982/15,292/156

Jerry Rice – 1,549/22,895/197

It’s not even close.  Top 5?  Sure.  But GOAT?  Not a chance.  No one measures up to Jerry Rice.  You lose in every category, especially in the “being a good teammate and not a malcontent diva” category.  Need more convincing?  Ask yourself this:  Was Jerry Rice ever used as a decoy?

For the sake of Niners fans, let’s hope Randy’s not passing on his wisdom and football ethics to Vernon Davis and Michael Crabtree.

There you have it folks.  Good thing is, we only have to suffer through five more days of useless media coverage, Katherine Webb excluded, until the Super Bro™.

Somewhere along the line, probably in one of those father/son teaching moments, The Machine was told to never kick a man when they’re down.  Considering we spend one article a week completely trashing people for the dumb stuff they do and say, clearly that advice was well taken.  Papa Machine must be proud.

Anyway, we can’t help but pile the trash on top of Lance Armstrong.  While normally reserved to people with two functioning testicles (is it really a teabag with just one?), your actions over the past few days leave us with no other choice.  Confessing on Oprah?  Really, dude.  That’s so 1994.  Was Montell Williams booked? 

You know, it’s not so much that he used performance enhancing drugs and participated (read: orchestrated) the greatest blood-doping scheme ever.  Loyal readers of The Machine know that we really don’t care that much about athletes and doping.  It’s been going on forever and will continue to go on forever.  And, not to get too far off topic, but what’s the difference between steroids (illegal) and cortisone shots and painkillers (prescribed liberally by every team doctor)?  But I digress…

No Lance, the real reason you’re in our crosshairs is the way you went about it all.  You didn’t just issue denials.  You loudly proclaimed to the world that you never took drugs, were the most tested athlete ever, and that you past every drug test.  You went so far as to sue newspapers and (former) friends for claiming otherwise.  That takes stones, or, in your case, stone.  And, to top it all off, after your 7 Tour de France titles were stricken, you post a picture of yourself lounging in your house under your Tour de France jerseys.  FYI, nothing says “I’m the biggest d-bag of all-time” then posing in front of invalidated trophies.

Also let’s not forget your (soon to be defunct) Livestrong Foundation and the millions of cancer patients (including many children) that you defrauded.  You, probably more than any other athlete because of your battle with cancer, were a role model.  People were touched by your story and wanted to “live strong” because of it.  Not only did people look up to you, but people who desperately needed hope to stay alive looked up to you.  That has been irretrievably broken.

And, perhaps worst of all, you validated the French.  The Machine (and the rest of ‘Merica) took great pleasure in having a good old boy from the States (a rootin’, shootin’ Texan no less) travel to the land of the cowards time and time again and take home their most coveted trophy.  We (and by we I mean the Western Hemisphere) don’t give a shit about cycling.  All we know is that the French really like it and thus, we hate it. 

The Machine’s willing to bet that, in your warped sense of reality, you thought that, because of all the good you did with Livestrong, that that somehow balances out all the lies, and people should be able to separate the two and still think of you like a God.  The Machine’s also willing to bet that you’re one of these assholes that, after apologizing for egregious conduct, can’t understand why people won’t move on (“I said I’m sorry what more do you want?”) 

Yes folks, make no mistake about it.  Lance’s “apology” is as much of an orchestrated ploy as his doping scheme.  Unless you think it was mere coincidence that he chose now to come forward, think about this.  The statute of limitations for perjury is 7 years.  Care to guess when he testified under oath that he never used drugs?  That’s right, 2005.  This is (yet another) f-you move on your part.  Flipping the bird to the feds right after the expiration of the statute of limitations, while smart legally, is just another example of your dickishness, and how the only thing you’re really sorry for is getting caught.

Keep a close eye on our boy Lance.  He is slowly trying to transform himself into the victim.  Next, he’ll give some money back to sponsors (reportedly $5 million, note: it’s easy to give $5 million away when you have over $100 million) plus probably make amends by ratting out to the feds, and becoming a spokesperson against drugs (3-1 odds says he’s out in public wearing a DARE t-shirt by March). 

Hopefully, we don’t let you off the hook and re-establish yourself as America’s darling (see Ray Lewis).  Instead, The Machine hopes you get the Pete Rose treatment.  That you’ll be at a table next to the Arc de Triomphe signing autographs during the Tour de France, or in the parking lot outside the Cycling convention (if such a thing exists).  You deserve nothing more.

Enjoy your Tuesday Teabag.  Hopefully it’s the last thing you’ll ever win.

Wow, our first TT of 2013!  The Machine (and Mrs. Machine) was nursing a mega-hangover on New Year’s Day (and thus unable to type, let alone form coherent thoughts), but now The Machine’s (reasonably) sober, and ready to get back to doing our dream job!

2013’s not even a week old, and there are plenty of teabags to go around (we’re looking at you Mike Shanahan).  Surprisingly, Mike and his (career ending?) decision to leave RGIII in the game despite his noticeable (career ending?) knee injury gets a pass.  Instead, our focus is not on one individual, but an entire group of people (#stereotypingcanbefun).

Being from Central New York (an “Upstater”) The Machine couldn’t help but take notice of Doug Marrone, the former SU Football coach who left to become the head coach of the Buffalo Bills.  On its surface, it’s not that much of a story:  college coach becomes NFL coach.  Happens all the time, sometimes good (see Pete Carroll, 2012), sometimes not so good (see Pete Carroll, 1994).  But it wasn’t the fact that he left, but rather the reaction from the SU fans, that makes this story teabagable (2013 word of the year).

Indeed, The Machine’s inbox was flooded with angry messages from Cuse fans who felt betrayed that Marrone not only left them, but lied to them.  A casual perusing of The Machine’s facebook page saw dozens of angry posts, each one worse than the last, all with vitriol for Doug.

It seems that the majority of the fans’ ire is that Coach Marrone is leaving his “dream job”.  You see, when Marrone, a former player at SU, accepted the head coaching position at Syracuse four years ago, he called it his dream job, surprising considering the clusterfuck of a program he inherited.  In those four years, Marrone transformed Syracuse football from a complete joke into a respectable program that finished tied for first in the Big East this year, had two winning seasons, and was 2-0 in bowl games (inaugural winner of the Pinstripe bowl, bitches).  Without question, he improved the program, leaving it in better hands for his successor.

Because of his success, it’s natural for fans to be disappointed.  However, SU fans went right past disappointment and settled for shock and anger.  “He lied to us!” whined SU fans.  “Why would he leave his dream job?”

Let’s get a few things straight:

Number 1, no one’s dream job is in Syracuse, New York.

Number 2, of course he would call it his dream job when he was hired.  He played at Syracuse, and thus has a deep connection with the program and the University.  It’s called coach-speak.  When a coach (not named Gregg Williams), in pre-game warmups, says “we’re gonna slaughter them on the field” does he actually want his players to murder the opponent?  Let The Machine translate for you:  “This is my dream job” = “I’m excited as shit to be here.”

Number 3, every college coach wants to be an NFL coach.  The Machine learned that before learning to read.

Number 4, dreams change.  The Machine loves his job as a “sports journalist”, but if Axl Rose calls and says “your idea about a Ginger Hall of Fame (and your karaoke of Sweet Child) is incredible.  How about I fund it and you run it?”  The Machine would pack up his shit and go.  Simple as that.  The allure of the NFL will always be there.  More money, more power, and more control, three things that (a) are generally awesome and (b) are even more awesome for egotistical, power-craving football coaches.

Number 5, if there’s any outrage to go around, it should be directed at these “fans”.  Where were they during the dark days (Greg Robinson era)?  The 1-10 2005 Season—with that one win coming over Buffalo (oh sweet irony).  Were they at the Dome with their Perry Patterson jersey, cheering on their favorite team wondering where the hell the Dome Ranger is? (remember, in sickness and in health, yes, loving a sports team is like a marriage).  No.  Instead, you couldn’t give your tickets away fast enough, ashamed to even acknowledge the football team (“I really just watch basketball or (if you’re really hardcore) lacrosse”).  Now that you’ve had a little success, you come out of the woodwork with your (newly purchased) Orange football hoodie, and are somehow entitled to keeping your coach as long as you want him.

Point is:  coaches can be as fickle as their fans.  Don’t hate on Marrone because he took a better paying job, with more authority and control.  Granted, could the Buffalo Bills win the Pinstripe Bowl?  Debatable.  But remember the SU program he inherited:  they couldn’t win a goldfish at the County Fair (tossing that ping-pong ball in the bowl is pretty tough, btw) let alone a football game.

And him saying this was his “dream job” changes nothing.  Let.  It.  Go.  Does that somehow obligate him to a life long tenure?  Does he get to stay at his job regardless of how well or poor he does?  Of course not (he’s not a teacher).  You would gladly run him out of town if he didn’t perform to your expectations.

The local media, clearly not able to let the “dream job” thing go, raised this at his press conference in Buffalo, to which he responded:  “When I went in there and said it’s my dream job, I meant that. I really did.  I had the opportunity to restore that program.  That dream became a reality for me.  Now I’m moving forward with my next dream, which is to be an NFL coach.”  The Machine will gladly translate that for any SU fan still searching for answers:  “Dreams change, motherfucker.  I gave you four solid years, and built my resume…err, the program, to a respectable level.  Now this is my new dream job (until Jerry Jones calls in four years).”

The Machine says best of luck to Coach Marrone.  The Bills are an absolute mess, and they could definitely use your help (this is a not so subtle plug for you to hire The Machine as your draft scouts.  Guaranteed to deliver a solid class, certainly better than anything that’s been done in recent past (Aaron-fucking Maybin)).

Get over it SU fans.  Why he would trade one depressing Upstate New York city for another is a totally legitimate topic.  Claiming he lied to you is not.  Enjoy your teabag.

Bob Costas gets a reprieve this week (although, for the record, the complete 180 he did this past Sunday while commenting on the Josh Brent situation earns him the honor of being a total pussy…that, or he overcorrected because he fears The Machine, in which case, smart move).

No, this week we focus our attention on Brandon Jacobs, the suspended (soon to be former) 49ers RB.  Oh Brandon, 10 months ago you were on top of the world:  you just won your second Super Bowl with the G-Men, you became the Giants all-time leader in rushing touchdowns, and, even though you’re on the wrong side of 30, teaming up with Ahmad Bradshaw ensured some added longevity and a real shot at getting a third ring and a chance at football immortality.  But no, Brandon was disgruntled by his diminished playing time (note: you know someone’s a total d-bag when they’re on a championship team complaining about playing time) and it was apparent he was not coming back.

So, curiously, Brandon signed with the Niners in the offseason.  Yes, the same Niners that have the no doubt undisputed #1 RB in Frank Gore, quality backups in Kendall Hunter and Anthony Dixon, and rookie LaMichael James.  If he was pissed about sharing time with Bradshaw, how was he going to handle an orgy in the backfield?  Yes, this had train wreck written all over it.  The Machine snuggled in and waited for the crazy.

And so, 13 games into his first season that resulted in five carries for seven yards (a solid 1.4 yards per carry) the train made its final stop in Crazytown.  Brandon, clearly upset with his lack of opportunities and placement on the depth chart, did what any upstanding professional would do: he complained on social media, saying he was “rotting away” on the bench and calling this season his worst, and then, in total buyer’s remorse fashion, posted pictures of his Super Bowl ring and himself playing for the Giants.  This prompted the Niners to suspend Jacobs for the rest of the season (without pay), and it’s likely they won’t bring him back for the playoffs, and almost certainly he won’t be suiting up for them next year.  While normally you’d feel bad about someone losing their job, here, it feels so good for many reason.

First, complaining about your job on social media is a move reserved for teachers…it’s tough to garner sympathy for someone who’s made millions of dollars playing a game (it’s also hard for The Machine to have sympathy for people that work half the year and get summers off).

Second, this type of petulant, self-absorbed behavior has defined Brandon.  When the going gets tough, he quits.  A google search will tell you that Brandon went to college at Southern Illinois, not a traditional powerhouse program.  However, a beer with The Machine will tell you that he first started out at Auburn, which is a traditional powerhouse program.  In the backfield with him at Auburn were future NFL players Cadillac Williams and Ronnie Brown.  Instead of staying at Auburn, competing with Cadillac and Ronnie and working his way up the RB ladder, Brandon took his ball and goes to Southern Illinois, a Division I-AA (or whatever it’s called now) school.  It’s no wonder why Cadillac and Ronnie became first round draft picks and Jacobs fell to the fourth.

Third, and perhaps more importantly, you knew this was going to happen the moment you left the Giants.  Anyone that knows anything about the Giants (we dare you to test The Machine’s knowledge here) knows that, unless your name is Manning, you are a role player.  The recent list of former G-Men that left to seek richer pastures and have failed miserably is long and telling:  Kevin Boss, Derrick Ward, Steve Smith, Ryan Grant, even Mario Manningham.  All of these players left and have had little or no impact.  These players thought they were better than they really are, and failed to realize they had a pretty good gig in New York.  On the other hand, the Giants plug in players, Jake Ballard (now Martellus Bennent), Victor Cruz, David Wilson, Domenik Hixon) and they don’t miss a beat.  It’s as if Coach Coughlin and Jerry Reese know what they’re doing in building a roster with talent and depth.

So Brandon, while you file your inevitable appeal with the NFLPA and begin your quest for social media rehabilitation (look for a feel good story involving Brandon in the upcoming weeks) The Machine hopes you’ve banked away some cash, cause it looks like you’re playing days are over.  While some team may be dumb enough to sign you (you can’t teach 6’4”, 264) you’re never going to see the kind of cash you think you deserve.  You’re a 30 year old RB with bad knees and an even worse attitude problem.  Instead, you’ll see a one year, heavily incentive laden contract…typical for problem child athletes (see TO).

Bottom line:  you’re not worth the headache and distraction…but you are worth a Tuesday Teabag.  Enjoy.

No one has been more controversial this past week than Bob Costas.  Who knew such a small man could cause so much controversy.  For those living in bubble, let’s recap:  Over the weekend, the sports world was rocked with a horrible tragedy:  Chiefs linebacker Jovan Belcher shot and killed his girlfriend, and then headed to Arrowhead where he shot and killed himself.  The story gets even sadder, knowing that he left a 3 month old daughter behind and that his coaches were there when he shot himself.

That should be the story:  a horrible family tragedy that unfortunately unfolded in the public eye.  But no, apparently the story’s not sensational enough for the media.  Cue Mighty Mouse.

While the Machine was (re)checking its fantasy scores Sunday night (don’t worry, we made the playoffs) we listened to Costas deliver his halftime monologue.  And what we heard shocked us.

Instead of respectfully commentating on the tragedy, maybe advocating for more counseling and related services for players, Costas took a sharp left (pun intended) and felt it appropriate to go on a gun control rant.

Quoting Jason Whitlock, who really should share this Tuesday Teabag, Costas proclaimed:  “In the coming days, Jovan Belcher’s actions and their possible connection to football will be analyzed.  Who knows? But here…is what I believe.  If Jovan Belcher didn’t possess a gun, he and Kasandra Perkins would both be alive today.”  This is absurd and infuriating for several reasons.

First, let’s stop saying that crimes are committed because of accessibility to guns.  Banning guns won’t stop people from using them.  Drugs are illegal, but the last time we checked, by our unscientific method of attending a Dave Mathews Band concert, a lot of people smoke weed.  Legal or not, if someone wants to get a gun, just like if someone wants a blunt, they’ll find it.

Second, saying they’d both be alive if Jovan didn’t have a gun is sensationalism at its best.  You have no fucking clue what would happen.  OJ (or the real killer) didn’t have a gun.  The rush to blame everything except the actions of people says a lot about our society.  It’s not McDonald’s fault you’re fat…it’s your inability to lay off the fucking McNuggets and Mountain Dew.

Perhaps most infuriating is the blatant violation the “Know your role” rule.  Do you get financial advice from your garbage man?  How about culinary tips from your accountant?  Ever watch the weather for home improvement tips?  Of course not.  The Machine would have less of a problem if Chris Mathews got on a gun control soapbox on Hardball.  That’s his job, he knows his role, and that’s what really puts Costas in The Machine’s crosshairs.  You’re an elf-like man that appears on Sundays for football and every two years for the Olympics.  You’re pretty much a Gremlin (note: do not feed Costas after midnight), but you’re a sports Gremlin.  Don’t think you’re anything more than that (ask Keith Olberman).  Politics shouldn’t find its way into halftime.  Don’t push the leftist media agenda when all we want are highlights from the Jets game. 

Your ceiling, while actually shorter than most because you live in a dollhouse, is sitting fireside interviewing the gold medalist in the Women’s Freestyle.  Know.  Your.  Role.

Enjoy your teabag.

There were a lot of things to be thankful for over the past week:  an endless supply of stuffing, pie, and football.  Who cares if you have to spend it with family members (that’s what alcohol is for), you’re still coming out on top!  Even though the week was filled with thanks, there were still a healthy supply of teabags to go around.  Receiving HMTs (honorable mention teabags) this week (the first ever) are:

1. Ndamukung Suh for his junk kick to Matt Schaub.  The Machine saw it live and watched the replay over and over and there’s only one conclusion:  Of course it was intentional.  The Machine loves a good villain, but Suh is a straight up douche-star.  That the NFL didn’t suspend him is truly amazing.
2. Jim Schwartz for throwing the challenge flag on a scoring play, thus nullifying the automatic review.  If you’ve ever yelled at a player for committing a dumb penalty (like say, when your defense holds on third down only for the lineman that made the tackle to head-butt the opponent) now you know why:  emotions run high, and football players are not really smart people.  Well, add coaches to that list too.  You know the rule Jim.  Sure, the rule’s asinine, but it’s still the rule.  You’re the coach…you’re supposed to be in control of your emotions, but I guess we can’t expect much from the guy involved in Handshake Gate.  Note to self, do not go hunting with Jim Schwartz (“hey Jim, did you hear that sound over there?” [BAM, BAM, BAM…walking over to bushes] “nope not a deer…just another hunter.  Umm, let’s go.”)

While both Suh and Coach Schwartz are worthy choices, this weeks’ Tuesday Teabag goes to none other than Fireman Ed, the iconic Jets fan who leads the stadium in the very tough cheer that involves spelling the word Jets AND saying it three times (you try doing that without a spotter).

Anyway, Fireman Ed has decided to retire.  That’s right, the team’s number 1 fan has quit on them.  After the Thanksgiving massacre to the Patriots, Fireman Ed deleted his twitter account (note:  anyone over the age of 50 should not have a twitter account) and announced to the world he’s done.  It’s understandable to want to quit on the Jets…it’s apparent the players have already done so.  But what’s interesting is the reason behind him hanging up the Most. Annoying. Cheer. Ever.

Fireman Ed didn’t retire because he’s upset with the team, disgusted over the product the Jets put out while charging their fans ridiculous amounts of money (how do you like ‘dem PSL fees?).  Nope, Fireman Ed quit because other Jets fans are assholes.  “The stadium has become divided because of the quarterback controversy,” bemoans Fireman Ed.  “The fact that I chose to wear a Mark Sanchez jersey this year, and that fans think I am on the payroll — which is an outright lie — have made these confrontations more frequent. Whether it’s in the stands, the bathroom or the parking lot, these confrontations are happening on a consistent basis.”

This ranks right up there with Tebow and foot-gate on the Jets freakshow meter.  How bad are things for the Jets?  Their own fans are turning on each other.  You can’t really get more toxic than that.

But come on, Fireman Ed, don’t be such a pussy!  Man up.  Did you ever come upon a burning building and say “hey guys, that fire’s a little too hot, I’m gonna sit this one out.”  Of course not.  You wanted to be the center of attention and the leader of a bunch of drunk (and apparently spelling-challenged) Long Islanders.  With great power comes great responsibility.

What’s even worse, he’s still going to show up to the games, just not as Fireman Ed.  You think the fans won’t bust your balls for that?  Also, it’s going to lead to some awkward TV shots of a despondent plain clothes Ed, sans fireman helmet and dignity.

What are the Jets going to do now (besides implode and further rot away their fanbase)?  Who’s going to lead their fans?  The Machine votes for drunk Joe Namath…now that guy knows how to party, right Suzy?

Anyway, here’s to you Fireman Ed.  A Tuesday Teabag to add to your collection of worthless acknowledgments you’ve received over the years.  Also, The Machine’s calling total bullshit on you.  Guaranteed that you’ll pull a Favre and come out of retirement by next season.