Wait a minute, an NBA related Tuesday Teabag?  We thought you hated the NBA, Machine?  Well, all it took was a drink and dial from David Stern to get our attention.  And when our attention’s focused, no one’s safe.

But first things first.  Who are Tyrone Terrell and Ron Edwards?  Well, Tyrone Terrell is the Chairman of the Twin Cities (that’s Minneapolis and St. Paul) African American Leadership Council, and Ron Edwards is the former head of the Minnesota Civil Rights Commission, and now host of a local TV show focusing on black issues.

Recently, both men came out and spoke against the fact that there are a lot of white guys on the Timberwolves.  However, both men did a little more than just acknowledge their ability to state the obvious.  They claim that having so many whiteys is intentional (read: racist).  “How did we get to a roster that resembles the 1955 Lakers?” Terrell said in a statement in the Minneapolis Star Tribune. “I think everything is a strategy. Nothing happens by happenstance.”  Chimed Edwards, “I think, personally, that was calculated.  Is this an attempt to get fans back in the stands?  Minnesota, after all, is a pretty white state.”

Holy shit.  Where do we begin?  Let’s start with Minnesota is a pretty white state.  Ok, no argument there.  The Machine’s half-Italian and we’re pretty sure that qualifies as black in Minnesota.  But the rest is just crazy.  It’s more than crazy:  it’s inflammatory and irresponsible.

So the Timberwolves have 10 (out of 15) white guys.  In other words, 33% of the roster is black, far below the league average of 78%.  Is it weird to see four white guys on the court on the same team when that team is not Princeton?  Sure, it’s weird.  But racist?  Intentionally designed to mirror the fans?  What other facts do you have to back up your claims?  Oh, nothing.  That’s not only crazy talk, but simply ignorant and, dare we say, racist itself.

First, let’s stop pretending that the front office only recruits the white.  This past offseason, the T-wolves tried to sign Jordan Hill and Nicholas Batum, both black.  Hill re-signed with the Lakers (can you blame him?) and the Trailblazer’s matched Minnesota’s offer for Batum.  Somehow, that fact was lost on both Terrell and Edwards.

Second, if we’re merely playing the percentage game, blacks make up less than 13% of the U.S. population, but shockingly Terrell and Edwards have no problem that the average NBA team is 78% black, six times more than the national average.  Shit, the Timberwolves, at 33% black, are still well above the national average.  Of course it’s not just about percentages.  It’s about winning.

Third, it’s not like the T-Wolves asked Big Country to come out of retirement, and signed John Rocker to play the 2 spot.  Their white players, Kevin Love, Ricky Rubio, Andrei Kirilenko, Luke Ridnour, Nikola Pecovik (how many of those names sound Mid-western white?) are pretty good.

Fourth, lost in all this bullshit is the fact that the T-Wolves are a very diverse team.  Five of their ten whities are foreigners, double the league average.  They have players from Spain, Russia, Montenegro (sounds black), and Puerto Rico.  In fact, you can make a good argument that the T-Wolves are the most diverse team in the NBA.

But for Terrell and Edwards, it’s not enough to be diverse.  You have to be their kind of diverse.  And if you’re not, then obviously the only answer is you’re a racist.

Look, we get that being a civil rights activist in a state where there are no black people must be boring.  And are there enough black issues in Minnesota to have a TV show?  We highly doubt it, although The Machine would love to be a guest.  Hook it up!  Bottom line, before you start playing the race card, do your homework.  Because, when you don’t, and instead make bold, factually unsupported allegations of racism where clearly none exist, you sound absolutely moronic, and nothing more than a desperate and pathetic attempt to use race as a way to get attention for yourself.

Well, consider that goal achieved.  So while you’re well on your way to winning a Source Award, congrats on the only award that matters and is truly color blind.  A Tuesday Teabag.

Let’s move off of baseball and (gasp!) football for a second and focus on another professional sport, or, more accurately, a “professional” sport.  Why throw up dick fingers around professional, you ask?  Simple.

The NHL and its union are in the middle of another labor battle, the second in eight years.  The league has already canceled games through November, and, since the league and the union can’t even agree to meet with each other (each side has stated that they are willing to meet but blamed the other for not wanting to – how is that possible?) more games will certainly be canceled, possibly the entire season.

But here’s the problem:  Nobody gives a shit.  At least, nobody in America gives a shit, and that’s all The Machine cares about (suck it, Canada).  Seriously, no one cares.  The Machine’s willing to bet if you ask 10 regular Americans their thoughts on the NHL lockout, 6 will have no clue there is one, 2 won’t even know the season should’ve already started, and the other 2 will have heard about it, but still wouldn’t be able to tell you who won the Stanley Cup last year.

Complicating matters is the fact that players have other options.  Unlike the NFL, there are other professional leagues players can turn to.  There are over 140 NHL players currently playing in other professional leagues.  And not just scrub NHL players…names like Alexander Ovechkin, Evgeni Malkin, Patrick Kane, Daniel Briere, Zdeno Chara, Jaromir Jagr, the heavyweights of the NHL.  That poses a big problem.  Since the risk of injury is so high, these players run the risk of damaging their NHL careers by playing in smoked filled arenas in Moscow, which in turns runs the risk of watering down the competition when (read: if) the labor fight ends.

But I digress.  Another, perhaps bigger, problem is there is no pressure to get a deal done.  The owners, you know, the rich, old white guys that buy sports franchises for fun, are already rich as shit and thus will not sign a deal just to sign a deal.  The players, unlike the NFL, have other, good paying jobs to seek refuge to.  And, to top it off, the public by and large doesn’t care (contrast this with the NFL last year, when people went ape-shit after the Hall of Fame pre-season game was canceled).  All of this combined leads to no incentive to get back on the ice anytime soon.

Hey, if there’s any professional athlete that deserves to make bank, it’s an NHL player.  These guys risk their lives every game.  If you’ve ever been to an NHL game (watching it on TV doesn’t really do it justice) you see firsthand the speed, power, and bone-crushing hits that define the NHL.  It’s an amazing contrast of finesse and force.

However, that alone won’t get you paid.  Size matters, and in professional sports, the size that matters is the size of your TV deal, endorsements, merchandise sales, and ticket sales.  And, in these areas, the NHL is light years behind the rest.  The NHL ranks fifth in total revenue, behind the NFL, MLB, NBA, EPL (that’s English Premier League, America); just above perennial last place league the MLS).

Bottom line:  get your asses in a conference room and get a deal done.  Shit, go to any city in Canada where you will actually feel pressure from the public to end this.  Two lockouts in eight years is unacceptable for any sport, and even more so for a sport with fleeting public interest and low revenues.

And while the league and the union continue to blame each other, here’s something they both can take credit for.  A Tuesday Teabag.

Need I say more?!  Instead of wasting your time (and more importantly my time) on this no-good commie-sympathizing, red-lovin’, bay-of-pig-invadin’ Marxists (see Obama, some of us still relish the opportunity to stoke the Cold War flames), check out our World Series preview here.

What’s more annoying than a former professional athlete complaining about present ones?  Nothing, really.  But what makes it super annoying is when said former athlete is (a) on TV every Sunday, (b) generally obnoxious, and (c) has a hidden agenda.  Cue Terry Bradshaw.

Bradshaw recently complained about Drew Brees’ record breaking 48 straight games with a touchdown pass, and how he was “upset” with how Drew made such a spectable of the whole thing by lobbying to have Sean Payton in the stands to watch him break the record.  Fine.  You think it was over the top, self-serving, a little presumptuous, perhaps?  Possibly.  However, when Drew broke the record (hey Terry, since he did it 47 fucking times in a row, it was a pretty good presumption) there was no on field celebration.  They didn’t stop the game, or have a special celebration.  People clapped, and Fox went to commercial.  That’s it.  So what’s the big deal?  What’s really bugging Terry?

It seems what’s really bothering Terry is the fact that these records are being broken in the first place, thus pushing former players (ahem) deeper into obscurity.  And what better way to discredit the modern players than calling into question the institution of records.  Said Terry, “I’m not much on that stuff … I’m not into records, fellas.  I’m just into winning football games.”  The has been continued, “I’m not into records, I’m into winning Super Bowls … These things aren’t important.  We lose sight of why we play.  We play to win and to win championships, not to break records.”

Well, The Machine is here to call bullshit on good old Terry.  You see, two days after Terry made those remarks, Ben Roethlisberger set the Steelers all-time passing record.  Whose record did he break, you ask?  You betcha, Terry P. Bradshaw’s.  Coincidence?  Come on, son.  The transparency is laughable.

So, when your record is about to be broken, all of a sudden records don’t matter anymore?  And, instead of being humble and magnanimous like say…Johnny Unitas (who was an absolute pro and handled Brees breaking his record with a sense of class and professionalism that is beyond Terry), you undermine your record breaker, in a completely dickish way.

Hey Terry, The Machine will let you in on a little secret.  The Steelers won 4 Super Bowls in the 70’s despite you, not because of you.  Your 12.25 completions in those Super Bowls hardly made a difference (don’t worry, you don’t hold the record for worst performance by a Steelers QB in a Super Bowl…Big Ben beat you there as well).

No Terry, you’re just a sad, bitter man that won’t let go of the past, which is funny, seeing as how you have no problem letting go of your failed marriages (Super Bowls 4, ex-wives 3).  Records, like your marriages, are made to be broken.  Get over it.

But here’s a record that no one can take from you.  First Steelers Tuesday Teabag.  You deserve it.

We know, Rex Ryan is a weekly shoe-in for a Tuesday Teabag (don’t worry, you can be a multiple award winner).  As if you need another reason to hate the Jets, they have the most overrated, loud mouth, all talk no action Coach in the NFL…perhaps in all sports (Ozzie Guillen may have something to say about that).

Look, there’s no one that loves to talk shit more than The Machine.  If trash talking were an Olympic Sport, The Machine is Michael Phelps.  But listen, to succeed in the art of trash talking (and believe us, it is an art) you must back it up. And that’s what Rex fails to understand.

Rex n effect has been talking trash forever.  When he first arrived in NY, it was mildly entertaining.  He made it to back-to-back AFC Championship games, so he had some room to talk.  He wore a wig to poke fun at his (equally overrated) brother Rob.  Christ, he wrote a book about how the Jets are the real New York team.

Now, he’s all talk with no results (how long ago do those playoff appearances fee?).  All of his bold moves and pronouncements have been complete and utter failures.  Making Santonio Holmes a Captain?  Failure.  Tim Tebow?  Failure.  Foot-gate?  Jury’s still out on that one (The Machine has a slight cougar foot fetish).  Now, in his latest effort to bring relevancy to the Jets, he declared that Darrelle Revis would not go on IR because, if the Jets make it to the Super Bowl, he may be healthy enough to play.  That was right before the Jets got absolutely smoked at home to the Niners, 34-0.  For a man that prides himself on defense, you gave up 34 points at home to an Alex Smith led offense.   Horrible.

Sure, you’re in first place at 2-2, but not for long.  Your strategy of talking shit to take the heat off you’re your players has, like your use of the Wildcat, been a complete disaster.  Instead, your antics have caused derision and resentment to run rampant through the locker room.  However, do you think Rex will finally learn to shut up and just coach?  Of course not.  Instead, look for Jabba the Hut to find new ways to create attention.

What will Rex do, you ask?  It’s simple:  he’ll start Tim Tebow.  It’s the biggest attention-grabbing stunt he can pull (unless you want to release some more home movies starring Mrs. Ryan).  It’s his last trump card, and it will lead to a total clusterfuck.  Not only will he destroy the season (come on, no matter how many WWJD bracelets this guy wears, he’s not an NFL quarterback) but it will cause irreparable damage with Mark Sanchez.  However, it will get ESPN to have a full time, round the clock crew following the Jets.  And that’s the only thing Rex is good at.

As much as we’d love to carve the name ‘John Abraham’ into a freshly lacquered Tuesday Teabag Award for his double obstruction dandy last night, we can no longer endorse the 4 million pound gorilla hanging from our flat screen TV every Sunday, Monday and Thursday: The Replacement Referee’s.  These guys have run away, in Usian Bolt fashion, with the title of biggest idiots on TV; which is no small task considering the field includes ESPN’s First Takers, the Kardashian trainwreck, and The Peoples Court participants! 

Listen guys, we had your back, we really did.  It was but two weeks ago that we carpet bombed the NFL announcers for their relentless critique of every call/non-call.  And while the games didn’t have the same flow to them, by and large they were tolerable.  We can live with the ball being miss-spotted occasionally; or with defensive backs mugging receivers beyond 5 yards; or coaches getting extra timeouts and replay reviews; or a few unnoticed chop blocks; or receivers and quarterbacks getting their heads taken off without a flag.  Hell, it’s kind of like watching a game from the 70’s.  BUT we have to draw the line with last night’s game-deciding “simultaneous possession” horseshit!  What are you jackasses looking at?!  Okay, Golden Tate’s pass interference was overtly blatant, but I can see swallowing the whistle on that.  But how the hell can you tell me Jennings didn’t cleanly intercept that ball only to have Golden Taint throw an arm around him after he was down?! Get up off your knees, you guys blew this game.  Maybe this gig wasn’t all you thought it was be cracked up to be and you gave yourself an out.  Or maybe you just really are in over your heads and this was bound to happen and will continue to happen as long as you’re on the field. 

Bottom line, we need to go back to hating on the regular referees as soon as possible.  Roger, I know there are few things in life as thrilling and satisfying as crushing a union, but these ass clowns are turning the shield into a California dumpster fire.  End the insanity!  Until then, we can’t promise that these dickholes won’t win multiple Teabag Awards.

A weird thing happened to The Machine this weekend.  As The Machine held its weekly meeting at the Golden Clam, it discussed candidates for this week’s Tuesday Teabag.  Surrounded by bad techno and serious daddy issues, The Machine discussed the end of the Giants/Bucs game, and agreed the Teabag winner was there.  However, for the first time ever, The Machine was at odds with itself.  Ginger King felt that Greg Schiano was the clear douche bag, while Roid Rage felt that Tom Coughlin should take the crown.  A debate ensued which resulted in no resolution.  So, The Machine left the Clam a few dollars short and with a little less self-respect (but surprisingly feeling better about itself) and decided to take this argument to you, our loyal fans.  Enjoy.

Roid Rage:

Hey Tommy C., slide over those two Super Bowl trophies to make room for your newest piece of hardware, the Tuesday Teabag Award!  Thanks for the get-off-my-lawn moment this weekend old man; new school football is here to take names and kick ass.  Actually, this really isn’t a new approach at all; every coach on every level of every sport preaches hard, clean play until the game is over.  Hell Coach, you’ve got a sign in the Giants training facility that reads: “Play for 60 minutes”, not “Play for 59:55 minutes”, not “Play until the other team is going to kneel the ball”. Play. For. 60. Minutes. 

Tampa Bay, down by only ONE score, with 5 seconds left and the ball on their own 30 yard line, countered the Giants “victory formation” by lining up in what appeared to be a goal-line defense.  It was as clear as day that they were going to fire off the line in the hopes of causing a fumble, recovering said fumble and thereby giving themselves a shot at the endzone.  You can’t play the injury card in this case;Tampa’s defensive ailment indicated they were bringing the house; if the Giant offensive linemen weren’t ready that is on them (and the coaching staff).  In fact, Schiano has had a degree of success with this very play; recovering 4 fumbles during his tenure atRutgers.  Had the Bucs been successful he’d be considered a genius.  And if this play even has a success rate of 1% why wouldn’t you give it a try?! 

The forward pass. The flea-flicker. The fake punt. And now the Victory Formation Mad Dog Blitz!  Mr. Schiano, I commend your forward thinking approach! 

Ginger King:

Listen up.  Tom Coughlin (Coach Coughlin or sir to you) may be 20 years his senior, but there’s no doubt he’d whup the shit out of Greg Schiano…and then run a marathon and drink raw eggs and motor oil.  Remember when the G-Men won the Super Bowl in 2007, the NFC Championship Game in Green Bay.  Minus 24 with the wind chill, NFL players (the toughest men in sports) bundled up from head to toe.  What did Coach Coughlin have covering his face?  Nothing.  Nada.  Why?  Because covering up’s for pussies.  Tom Coughlin is the Chuck Norris of NFL Coaches.  Which reminds me, there once was a street named after Tom Coughlin, but it was quickly changed because nobody crosses Tom Coughlin and lives.

That includes you Greg Schiano.  Look, I get it.  Is there an actual rule that says you can’t dial up an all out blitz when the game is clearly over?  No, of course not.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not a dick thing to do.  In fact, it’s probably the most shameless, pathetic, low life move you could do.  And to sit there and try to defend it after a night’s sleep makes it even worse.

Make no mistake about it.  The.  Game.  Was.  Over.  The Giants, because they are a classy organization, lined up in Victory Formation (something Tampa isn’t used to doing so I can understand your confusion).  Take the loss like a man and go home.  Instead, you pull a classless move that had 0, yes 0, chance of success.  You say you had success with that atRutgers???  First, were any of those situations similar to Sunday and did they result in you winning the game (don’t bother looking up the answer…it’s no).  Second, you’re not playing Syracuse anymore.  You’re in the big leagues.  Act like you belong there.

Just like running up the score and bunting to break up a no hitter, the Bitch Blitz should be added to the list of dick moves in sports.  And if you still disagree with Coach Coughlin, please meet him in the parking lot at 5:00 (actually 4:55 if you want to be on time).  He’ll be sure to change your mind the old fashioned way. 

Enjoy the Teabag award.  It’s the only thing you’re going to win inTampa. 

Roid Rage:

I do believe the confusion is on your end.  First, you must be confusing Greg Schiano with a coach that gives a fuck about your “right way” approach.  Second, you must be confusing Mr. Schiano with some pussy ass coach that couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag (I’m looking at you Philbin!).  Schiano is the Ed Hochuli of head coaches! Hulk Hogan is jealous of Schaino’s pythons!  Coach C can’t even keep his offensive linemen from fucking his daughter; you think old red face would be able to man up against the New Jersey Bulldog?! Please!

Moving along.  Do you know what sucks about baseball (other than Bud Selig)?  The unwritten rules. Oh, you can’t steal third base in the 7^th inning if they just switched pitchers and the wind is blowing out to left field and your clean-up hitter is batting over .300 in the series.  What?!?  I watch football because there are no unwritten rules.  Line your ass up, play until the whistle blows and never give up.  Black and white.  No reason to throw a hissy fit because your million dollar Citzen Eco watch model fell on his ass! 

Lean your head back, open wide, insert teabag!

Ginger King:

Perhaps using a baseball analogy was, like Mitt Romney’s 47% speech, not elegantly stated.  Let me try again.  Have you ever seen this done in the NFL before?  Answer:  no.  Case closed.  And believe me, there is no shortage of d-bag head coaches in the NFL’s storied history (Bill Belichick, Rex Ryan, Steve Spurrier (hard to believe he was an NFL coach), any coach of the Cowboys or Raiders).  None of these ass clowns tried to pull a move like Schiano.  The only thing similar is back in 2010 when Sal Alosi, the Jets strength and conditioning coach, tripped a Miami Dolphin during a punt return.  Universally, that was regarded as a cheapshot.  Illegal?  No sir.  If you watch the replay, he was behind the white line, so technically he did not violate a rule.  However, what happened to our dear friend Sal?  He was suspended for the rest of the season for his classless, unsportsmanlike act.

Here, this is worse.  It’s not some meathead strength coach…it’s the head coach.  You’re the guy that’s supposed to be above all the petty, low brow, cheapshots.  You’re supposed to instill discipline, not encourage reckless behavior.  How can you teach a bunch of men respect when you yourself have none?

And you think being from Jersey scares Tom Coughlin?  Tom Coughlin doesn’t flush a toilet, he scares the shit out of it!  Ghosts sit around a campfire and tell Tom Coughlin stories. 

Open up and say ah, here comes your teabag!

And there you have it folks.  So, who deserves the Tuesday Teabag Award?!  Since we’re already covered in glitter and not getting anywhere with this debate, we’re heading back to The Clam to “clear our minds!”

NFL Announcers

Yes, this is the first teabag that goes to an entire group of people.  Why, do you ask?  First, stereotyping is fun.  Second, and arguably more important, if you watched any of the games on Sunday (for the record, if you didn’t watch at least 3 games while constantly checking your fantasy score(s), then you’re on the wrong website) you no doubt noticed the constant talking about replacement referees.

Look, we get it.  Nobody likes the replacement refs.  There’s actually talk that (gasp!) a female referee was among these scabs.  However, listening to the announcers on Sunday, plus all the pre and post game shows…yes, we watch those too, much to the amazement of Mrs. Machine (“you already watched and know the scores of every game, why do you need to see highlights set to music?”) every time a flag was thrown or a call was made, it was questioned in the booth as to whether it was legit or not.  None more annoying than the cut shot to Mike Pereira during the Seahawks/Cardinals game.  Ok, the Seahawks got an extra time out.  Big fucking deal, it didn’t affect the game at all.  Listening to Sam Rosen and Heath Evans (FYI there’s a reason these fuckers are calling the Seahawks/Cardinals game) you’d think the scab refs were running around clueless.

When did the regular referees get put on pedestals that can do no wrong?  Remember when the refs got the coin toss wrong on the Lions/Steelers Thanksgiving overtime game?  Pretty sure the scabs didn’t get that wrong over the weekend.  There are countless other times the “real” refs messed up.  In fact, instant replay was created to erase the human error made by the “real” refs.

Listen, nobody wants to see Ed Hochuli and his guns back on the field more than The Machine, but it’s such low hanging fruit for the announcers to complain and question every time the scab refs make a call, and equaling annoying when they patronize a correct call.  Just shut up and call the game.  If it’s going to be like this every week, then this labor dispute needs to end now.  Until then, The Machine will boil with rage every time Kenny and Moose dissect a holding call.

Melky Cabrera

The Machine was all ready to crown Chad Johnson our Tuesday Teabag award winner (seriously bro, who keeps the receipt from the grocery store, especially when said receipt lists a box of Magnums that clearly aren’t intended for your wife?).  But congrats Chad, there’s some good news coming your way.  Sure, you’ve been publicly humiliated, your football career is over, and your wife is divorcing you, but there’s always someone worse off than you.  It’s the Jerry Springer theory (just watch some Springer repeats and you’ll feel better in no time).

Who’s having a worse week than Ocho-crazy?  Melky Cabrera.  When word first hit that Melky tested positive for PEDs, this barely registered on The Machine’s radar.  A professional athlete on steroids?  Big deal.  The Machine actually gave Melky some credit when he stepped up and took full blame, instead of the usual “it was a prescription for ADHD or a sinus infection.”  However, when word hit that Melky was involved in a website and fictitious supplement, well now you have our attention.

As the story goes, Melky and his associates, apparently after watching an Oceans 13 marathon, came up with an elaborate ruse to fool the MLB.  They created a website selling a fake supplement, and that was somehow going to get the Melkman off the hook.  There’re about as many layers to this plan as the Davinci Code (seriously, The Machine, surrounded in a cloud of smoke on the third floor of his fraternity house with Bob Marley blaring, devised better hoaxes in college).  Of course you were going to get busted.  There’s not enough weed to go around to think that plan was going to work.

The cover-up is always worse than the crime.  But you’ve gone one step further (and believe me, it’s a big step further).  You attempted to lie your way out by fabricating evidence.  This is a direct attack to the MLB drug testing system.  From now on, any athlete who asserts innocence will be doubted.  In order to erase all doubt, the testing policy must be revised to make public the substance that resulted in the positive test.  This would remove from the equation the Adderall excuse if we knew you tested positive for Stanozolol and horse urine.  Not surprisingly, the MLBPA is vehemently against any public disclosure (shocker).

Melky…don’t worry, it’s not all bad.  It could be worse (think Springer).  Consider yourself lucky for trying this dumbass move in the MLB.  Can you imagine what the NFL would do if you tried to pull that shit on Goodell?  RGI would waterboard the shit out of you and beat your associates senseless.  Be thankful that your Commissioner really doesn’t give a shit about the integrity of his sport.  Also, be thankful for the Tuesday Teabag.

Dwight Howard

Oh Dwight.  Just two short years ago, you were the posterchild for the do right in the NBA.  Malcontent (nope), diva (no way), only one out of wedlock kid (that’s NBA speak for virgin).  You had it all.  While the rest of the world was pissed at Lebron for The Decision, no one was pissed at you.  You were carefree, effervescent…everyone loved your Superman ritual.  You were, in a word, unstoppable.

Today, you are unforgiveable.  Sure, you ended up with the Lakers.  Good for you.  But here Dwight, the end does not justify the means.  In the last season alone, you not only erased all of your good will, but you’ve proved that you are not only the most selfish, me-first individual in professional sports, but you also the dumbest.  Let’s recap:

You pissed and moaned to the Magic brass and demanded Van Gundy and Otis Smith get fired at the end of the season, all the while denying it.  In exchange, you signed a one-year extension to stay with the Magic for next season.  Now, that alone is pretty douchey, but hey, we’ve all tried to get the boss fired before.  But then, incredibly, you take it one step further.  The Magic, in good faith reliance on The Deal (which yes, is the douche bag version of The Decision), fire Van Gundy and Smith (thanks for taking us to the postseason five years in a row Stan, now pack up your shit and walk your doughy ass out the door).  You should’ve shut up then, played out your year in Orlando (maybe ask for a trade behind the scenes), all the while knowing that the summer of 2013 you’d be an unrestricted free agent.  But no, you then demanded a trade, reneging on The Deal.  And not only did you demand a trade, but you limited it to one Team:  the Nets.  You think that maybe affects the power negotiations for the Magic?

Did you not realize that you had all the leverage BEFORE you signed your one year extension, and, after that, you had NO leverage at all?  If you wanted to go to Brooklyn, you could’ve been there.  You could’ve become the cornerstone of bringing the game back to Brooklyn.  Superman back in Metropolis.  You easily would’ve been the best center in NYC since Ewing.  You could’ve owned NYC (sounds awesome, right)?  But instead, now you’re following Shaq’s footsteps to LA.  Please note that the comparisons between you and The Diesel end there.  Your antics over the past two seasons will ensure that you will never attain Shaq-status.  Even if you star in Kazaam 2.

Sure, you’ll probably win a title in LA (you do have Kobe, Gasol, and Steve Nash), and sure, the media will likely forgive you (we are a forgiving bunch).  But not The Machine.  The Machine’s Douche-dar is as good (if not better) than its Gay-dar, and our meter is off the charts.  Beware LA, Superdouche is already on full display.  Case in point:  Dwight’s already announced that he has no intention of signing a long term deal (or any extension) until after the season.  Translation:  if things don’t go his way, if the spotlight’s not completely on him (and guess what, it won’t be when you’re lacing up alongside Black Mamba), if the offense doesn’t run through him, if the Lakers don’t win a championship, if he doesn’t have a better parking space than Metta World Peace (you get the picture), then you can bet your ass he’ll high tail it out of LA, and then the Lakers will be left with nothing for The Deal.  Even if he does sign an extension, it’s just a matter of time before the fun-loving gives way to the malcontent.

Want some free advice from The Machine:  fire everyone that currently represents you.  Agents, managers, lawyers.  Everyone.  You’re management team has proved about as productive as Tim Tebow in a whore house (this goes where?).  And sign your extension with LA.  You may not know it, but your stock has dropped.  A lot.  There’s no way you could command the kind of coin you’re expecting (or your management team is telling you to expect), when every team knows that as soon as things don’t go your way, you’ll bitch, complain, and force your way out the door.  You can’t be trusted to build a franchise around; hence, you’ll never get paid like one.

Enjoy your Tuesday Teabag.