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Ed Sheeran, perhaps best known for writing the kind of music that your second cousin chooses to play for the father-daughter dance at her wedding, cemented his status as a floppy-spine dummy this week by bending the knee to American billionaire idiot Robert Kraft. After rapper Macklemore's statement on Monday that he had been dropped from Sheeran's tour due to pressure from billionaire NFL owners over his vocal support for the Palestinian people, Sheeran further beclowned himself by opting to defer responsibility for the decision of who plays on his own tour. "I was also involved in direct talks with promoters along with activists on both sides to try and find a mutual resolution for all," Sheeran wrote in a multi-bulleted Instagram statementdefending his choice to allow rich guys to determine his line-up, "but the venue's and promoter's decision was final." There is no "mutual resolution for all" when you are being strong-armed like this. What's embarrassing about Sheeran's response here is that he does not seem to understand that his pants have been pulled down around his ankles. Instead of pulling them back up, or even saying that it's rude to have done this, he's tripping forward as if nothing has happened.

On Tuesday, Tottenham did something that has been out of character since the start of the 2026-27 season: It scored a goal. The goal came in the 69th minute of its third-round League Cup match against Liverpool, it came from a corner, and it ultimately didn't matter all that much. Connor Gallagher capitalized on a weak run-out from backup Pool Boys goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili and headed the ball in, giving Tottenham its first goal in any competition since its 5-1 pounding of Championship side Charlton Athletic in the previous round of the League Cup. Gallagher's header was a necessary tally, even if Tottenham eventually bowed out of the League Cup anyway by a score of 3-1, because the club has been afflicted with an offensive malaise in the Premier League never before seen in the 144-year history of Tottenham Hotspur. Maybe just seeing the ball hit the back of the net again will spark something for the club, and boy does it need a spark. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oG66a7VmfY Through four Premier League games, Tottenham has scored zero goals, and only by similarly impotent chance creation and finishing from Nottingham Forest and Everton does the North London side have any points domestically. Despite spending a lot of money this summer, Spurs are currently in exactly the same spot that they have finished the last two campaigns, 17th on the table and with more questions than answers. This is the first time in the club's history that it has started a season goalless across four games. It's a new low in the series of humiliations, postponed briefly by winning the 2024-25 Europa League, that has stricken Tottenham over the last two-plus seasons.

The operative fact is that the Mets were eliminated from the playoffs on Monday. Everything about Pete Alonso's return to Queens this week as an Oriole is inseparable from that, in time but also in causation, to a subset of Mets fans. They gave him four separate standing ovations on Monday not only because he was a well-liked former player—and go ask a WFAN call screener from 2024 to see how ahistorical it would be to say he was universally beloved at the time—but because of what his absence from New York represents: a team with a $340 million payroll, again, that missed the playoffs, again. By the end of Tuesday night, it was clearer that the Alonso lovefest wasn't entirely about Alonso. The big man homered off closer Kodai Senga in the ninth to tie the game, the 300th of his career, and he reacted by throwing his bat back toward the visitors' dugout like a Thracian peltast. And then, once Alonso had circled the bases, the real fun began. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltUtyx18bWM

Time for your weekly edition of the Defector Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. You can also read Drew over at SFGATE, and buy Drew’s books while you’re at it. Today, we're talking about college football, Reacher*, unsalted snacks, and more.* Your letters: Elliott:

In a time when the algorithmically determined social internet serves primarily to trick people into becoming hosts to various parasites or simply drive them mad, it might be perversely comforting to imagine that the people on the other side of the screen are knowing, cynical actors, free from the brain-shredding effects of life online. Noxious as it is, some sort of harmony or human logic would at least be familiar and capable of being understood. But no, those guys are the algorithm's subjects too. Two of those guys are Hunter Biden and YouTube personality Andrew Callaghan, presently involved in what I'll call a crypto scam email whoopsie perpetrated by the former with the unwitting help of the latter. I find it quite instructive. You can see in the odd anti-collaboration something like the algorithm talking to itself. There are no good proper nouns here, only two people driven to make the world a little worse by the incentives of their platforms. Presumably you know who Biden is. The son of former president Joe Biden was a fascination of right-wing media for years, both for the salacious details of his years of addiction and for the various sinecures his father hooked him up with. In October 2020, the New York Post published a bunch of supposedly damning emails from a laptop the younger Biden inexplicably brought into a Wilmington computer repair shop. The laptop scandal was less interesting for its particulars than for the way it turned him into a sort of hyperobject among right-wingers. To them, Hunter Biden was the neat personification of both the personal moral decay and corrupt dealings of their opposition.