We Might Actually Be Bad

Bro, the Miami Dolphins are bad. Like really bad.

Like how are we this bad, bad? We’re one game ahead of the Jets for the worst record in the league. One. Game. Ahead.

You could’ve told me back in August that things might be rocky — that the O-line was shaky, that the defense was paper-thin — but you couldn’t have told me it would be this.

This isn’t a football team anymore. It’s a group project where everyone’s failing.

TUA TIME IS TURNING INTO TOOTIME & THE DEFENSE COULDN’T STOP A TODDLER ON A SCOOTER

Let’s start with the obvious: Tua Tagovailoa looks lost.

The guy who used to be calm, accurate, and efficient now looks like he’s seeing ghosts — or at least linebackers in 4K slow motion. He’s up there in league leaders for picks. And it’s not the “bad luck” kind either; it’s the “bro, did you close your eyes before that throw?” kind.

I’ve been one of Tua’s biggest defenders. I was the “just give him time” guy. The “he just needs protection” guy. The “he’s the most accurate passer in football history” guy.

And now? I feel like I was completely wrong, I might’ve been giving clown vibes y’all.

Tua threw a pick last week and then blamed his teammates for showing up late to meetings as if that had anything to do with throwing to the other team.

Meetings?!

How do late meetings explain throwing into double coverage? What does being 10 minutes late have to do with you not seeing the safety? That’s not leadership — that’s your coworker showing up at 10 a.m. and asking why you didn’t print the PowerPoint.

And then there’s the defense.

Jesus Christ.

The Dolphins defense couldn’t stop a nosebleed right now. They let Justin Herbert — who’s playing with half a roster and a busted offensive line — look like prime John Elway in a Gatorade commercial.

Herbert literally shrugged off Jaelan Phillips on a game-winning play like he was trying to get lint off his hoodie. Then Ladd McConkey juked Dante Trader Jr. so hard he might still be spinning in circles at Hard Rock Stadium.

This defense doesn’t bend; it disintegrates. Fourth-quarter leads vanish like a South Beach rental deposit.

THE LOCKER ROOM IS FRACTURING

Remember when Mike McDaniel had “coolest coach in football” energy? The hoodie, the funny pressers, the genius play designs?

Yeah, that worked when we were 10–3. When you’re 1–5, “quirky” turns into “passive-aggressive substitute teacher.”

This team doesn’t need more vibes. It needs discipline. Accountability. A pulse.

If you’re going to preach “details matter,” maybe start by not letting the other team return a kickoff 40 yards with under a minute left.

Then there’s Tua’s “we have guys showing up late to player-only meetings” quote.

My brother in Christ, that’s not something you tell ESPN. That’s something you handle in-house.

Now the whole world knows the Dolphins locker room can’t even agree on a meeting time. We’re the NFL’s equivalent of a group chat that forgot to pick a restaurant.

And of course, Ryan Clark hopped on ESPN and said what we were all thinking: if you’re going to call people out, maybe start with yourself.

Because right now, this “leadership” looks more like finger-pointing with shoulder pads.

the sad truth

Every week it’s something different.

One week, it’s the offense throwing picks. Next week, it’s the defense melting in the final two minutes. Then it’s special teams deciding, “You know what? Let’s just let the other guys start in field-goal range.”

You can’t even script it. It’s like the Dolphins are running a masterclass on how to emotionally exhaust a fan base.

We lose close. We lose ugly. We lose beautifully. We lose artistically.

It’s not football. It’s performance art.

At this point, who’s honestly getting mad anymore? There’s no reason to. I just take another sip of the Heineken, stare at the TV, and whisper, “This team’s going to kill me.”

The Dolphins are the NFL’s best comedy show and I’m paying premium price for front-row trauma.

Tua’s overthinking. McDaniel’s over-talking. The defense is underperforming. And I’m over it.

But here’s the sick part — next week I’ll be right back on the couch, convincing myself maybe this time it’ll be different.

Because that’s what being a Dolphins fan is. It’s hope dressed up as insanity.

This isn’t a rebuild anymore. It’s a reboot of the same sad story.

Different year, same heartbreak. Different excuses, same result.

Bro, the Dolphins aren’t cursed. They’re just bad.

And somehow, that hurts worse.