I have a new kid, so I won't be going to any Super Bowl party this week. This doesn't bother me much, because all I truly need to enjoy the Super Bowl is the game, food, alcohol, and a spank break at the end of a quarter. I don't really need unwanted socializing awkwardly jammed into the mix. But if you, Good Spinners, are having a party this week, you'd best follow these guidelines:
If there are people at your party who don't know shit about football, they better fucking all be women. I don't actually mind having football newbies at a Super Bowl party. It helps make me look like I know way more about the game than I actually do. "You see that there, little lady? That's the cornerback. He mans up against the wide receiver to prevent him from catching the ball. By the way, my cock is so large, I can troll for marlin with it."
But I'll be damned if I'm explaining the game to some dipshit asshole fuckface GUY who doesn't know anything about what's going on. "The Steelers are usually pretty good, aren't they?" Yeah, asshole. They are. Now fuck off. I don't ask you stupid questions at your beat poetry reading.
You must have a high definition television. Guests are legally allowed to shoot the TV if you're subjecting them to standard definition.
You must have enough seating for all guests, and clear sightlines to the screen. And that seating has to be comfortable. The $10 plastic wok chair you bought at Ikea doesn't count.
Do not mix partisan guests and nonpartisan guests. Don't invite two diehard Steeler fans to a party with 40 other people. The other 38 guests will annoy the Steeler fans, and the Steeler fans will annoy the other 38 guests. Make it nothing but one team's fans, or make it an entirely neutral crowd.
Buy three times the amount of food and alcohol you need.
Make the volume of the TV loud enough to shut down any potential conversation. If people want to have a free range discussion during the game, they can do it in the fucking kitchen.
Buy a plunger. Especially if I'm at your party. When the game is over, my cargo bay doors fly right open.
Unless you are a fan of one of the teams, do not decorate your place for the occasion.
Mandatory food items: Wings, Nacho Cheese Doritos, Nachos, chips and salsa, chili (recipe below), guacamole, eight foot long italian sub, cookies, jar of frosting with spoon in it (for me only), hooker covered in barbecue sauce.
Have weed handy in case the game goes to shit. Hugely improved the Colts-Bears Super Bowl for me.
You must instantly give an capsule review of any ad that comes on during the telecast. "The fuck is EDS? That was retarded."
You must have Super Bowl boxes or some other sort of gambling pool ready to go. Because if the game sucks, and you DON'T have weed, then I better damn well be able to lose some money.
No spaghetti sauce orgies until the game is over
No fucking kids
No kids fucking
If you have a yard large enough to accommodate an out door boxing ring, you must rent one.
No ethnic food. What are those, samosas? Fuck you. If it's not featured on the appetizer menu at an Applebee's or some other purveyor of horrifyingly unhealthy American cuisine, it doesn't belong here.
Supporters of the winning team may fire guns in the air if they like.
Always keep a separate room to stage monkey fights in.
And finally, your Super Bowl party is not really a party. It's just you hosting a game. Stay the fuck out of the way of the game. No one cares if you threw a great social event or not. You're just the sap who made brownies, bought beer, and opened your door. Don't try and upstage the game. Or I'll brain you to death with your own remote.
All Super Bowls in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And, like last year, I'll be picking scores for every playoff game, something NO OTHER WRITER HAS EVER DONE IN HISTORY. It's a bold move, one I'm sure will end up landing me any number of honorary ribbons and engraved silver chalices.
Cardinals 27, Steelers 20: I don't really care to pick against the Cardinals when Kurt Warner has evidently returned to his 1999 form, getting off perfectly thrown deep balls just as he's about to get drilled in the chin. It's odd that Warner would enjoy a career renaissance now, after struggling for so many years. OR IS IT? Perhaps there's a more sinister explanation at work here. I recorded Warner having this exchange just after the end of the NFC Championship Game…
Warner: (to Suzy Kolber) My thing is, Suzy… I try not to get too high when things are going well, or too low when things aren't working. I've been here enough times to know you can't let those things affect you. You have to just keep focusing on making the next play. And if we end up winning when the game is over, great. But you can't worry about winning and losing until the clock has run out.
Suzy Kolber: Kurt, thanks so much for your time and good luck to you in the Super Bowl.
Warner: My pleasure, Suze.
(leaves stadium, drives to empty warehouse, drops to one knee)
What is thy bidding, Master?
Satan: (emerges from dark red portal in the ground) I see your team has advanced, my son.
Warner: Oh, it's true, my Dark Overlord! It's true! We did it!
Satan: Do you doubt now my ability to manipulate your destiny?
Warner: No, Your Lowness.
Satan: Are you pleased with the extension we have made of our arrangement?
Warner: Yes! Yes, absolutely. Best decision I ever made. But I must ask: what duties must I now fulfill, O Unholy One?
Satan: You must cause another 9/11 to happen.
Warner: But the first one was so perfectly executed! I don't know if I'll be able to pin it on the Muslims again. NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING EXCEPT FOR JOAQUIN PHOENIX.
Warner: Yes, sir.
Satan: You must stay with Brenda FOR ANOTHER DECADE.
Warner: Oh, man. That's rough. What else?
Satan: You must bring me cherries. GOOD CHERRIES. Get the Bings if you can. Also, my dry cleaning must be picked up every Thursday. No exceptions. Make sure the Korean lady gets ALL the consumed soul out of my collars. AND NO LIGHT STARCH. They say it's light starch, and then my shirts come back stiffer than my erection after a flood.
Warner: Anything else?
Satan: You must bring me more fresh dead babies to eat.
Warner: More fresh dead babies… got ya.
Satan: Hey, Kurt.
Warner: Yes, Satan?
Satan: What's the difference between a Cadillac and a pile of dead babies?
Warner: I don't know, Prince of Darkness. What?
Satan: I don't have a Cadillac in my garage.
Warner: HA HA HA
Satan: HA HA HA
Warner: HA HA HA
Satan: HA HA HA
Warner: HA HA HA
Satan: HA HA HA
It's true. I have it all on tape. Cards win.
Championship Week Picks: 1-1 (1-1 vs. the spread)
2008 Playoff Picks Record: 6-4 (6-4 vs. the spread)
Drew's Chili Recipe
Reprinted from last year. I like to eat chili until you can smell it through my pores.
FOR THE CHILI:
2 packs ground beef or turkey (I use one pack of ground chicken and one pack ground turkey)
1 onion, chopped
8 cloves garlic, chopped
1 shallot, chopped (optional)
1 jalapeno, chopped
1 large can crushed tomatoes
1 can tall red kidney beans, drained
1 can corn, drained
1 can beer
1 can chicken broth
1 tsp liquid smoke
1 tsp sugar
2 tbsp cumin (add more at end if necessary)
2 tbsp chili powder (add more at end if necessary)
The merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango, grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum (optional)
1/4 cup white vinegar
Salt & Pepper to taste
Ashes from a joint (optional)
Lotta Frank's Hot Sauce (Frank's is the fucking best.)
2 glugs olive oil
FOR THE SIDES:
Frank's hot sauce
1 bunch scallions, chopped (As always, don't skimp on the fucking scallions)
Put a big pot on the stove on medium. Pour in the oil. When it's hot, toss in the onions, garlic, jalapeno, and shallots and stir them around until soft. Toss in the ground meat. Salt and pepper the ground meat in the pot. Sautee the meat until it's good and brown. Drain the fat. Add the tomatoes, beans, corn, beer, broth, liquid smoke, sugar, cumin, chili powder, joint ashes, vinegar, and Frank's. Bring it to a simmer. Half cover the pot and leave it on low medium heat for 2-3 hours, stirring occasionally and always tasting. The liquid in the pot should reduce into a nice, thick stew. Dip in a chip to see if the chili sticks to it. If it does, it's ready to serve. Now teabag the pot. TEABAG IT, CHILI BALLS!
Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Hangar 18," by Megadeth. Accompanied here by what might possibly be the most ludicrous heavy metal video of all time. I had no idea Vic Rattlehead ran the all of the Black Ops for the US government. Or that many of the sinister aliens we keep in New Mexico look just like the gay alien from Mac And Me. Did you know this video was the inspiration for the entire plot of Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull? True story.
It's hard to take in all that this video has to offer in just one viewing. It's got Dave Mustaine dressed like a pirate. It has hot chick lab researchers. It has over 500 examples of unconvincing alien puppetry. It has an abducted alien that is clearly just a stripper wearing a mask. The song itself has a time signature change halfway through that's more abrupt than a fart during intercourse. All it needs is Gamera to come flying in at the end for it to be an all-out masterpiece.
I really wish Dave Mustaine had set his ego aside and hired someone else to be lead vocalist for Megadeth. This man is a horrible, horrible singer. He sounds like a ferret being sexually abused. And that's annoying, because Megadeth has riffs that will pummel your fucking balls. Dave Mustaine is the guy who helped write "Ride The Lightning" and "Call Of The Ktulu". He knows how to write songs that will DESTROY YOUR SHIT, but he sure as fuck can't sing any of them.
BONUS Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Smoke Machine," by The Giraffes. Special thanks to the handful of readers who recommended this band. Not only do they kick ass, but they also have a crazy as shit backstory. According to the Wiki, lead guitarist Damien Paris was once shot in the leg at a White Castle by a fire marshal (I'm assuming the chain's "What You Crave" tagline does not refer to gaping bullet wounds). Lead singer Aaron Lazar "suffered two heart attacks in early 2005, for which he is in six figures of debt and is now outfitted with an implanted defibrillator". Holy shit. Get this man a gold album and a decent PPO immediately.
BONUS Helloween Song Of The Week
"Gorgar" by Helloween! I love foreign 80's speed metal bands, and Helloween was among the most ridiculous. And if you think the name Helloween is kinda gay, keep in mind that the band was formed out of the ashes of two other bands named Iron Fist and Powerfool. Outside of Scorpions, Germans don't name their heavy metal bands terribly well. Anyway, I always thought "Gorgar" was about some evil fantasy world demon and shit, because the chorus goes…
GORGAR WILL EAT YOU… GORGAR… (long German scream)
Not so. The song is about pinball. To the lyrics:
You're runnin' around in the gamblin' hall
Every night it's the same
You're lookin' for something new to play
To win and have fun is your aim
Oh, this was so written by Germans.
A pinball speaks to you
His metal voice is knockin' in your head
"I'm a pinball! Play me! SEE IF YOU CAN GET THE MATCH AT THE END! NO ONE EVER DOES!"
You can't resist you'll have to play
You're just another victim caught in the trap
The deadly trap… of pinball! GORGAR WILL EAT YOUR QUARTERS! HE'S THE REAL GAMBLOR!
Embarassing Mixtape Track I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up
"Wild World," by Maxi Priest. It's lame enough if you like the Cat Stevens version of "Wild World". But to enjoy the soft reggae version of it probably earns me a full ticket to Douchetown.
We had to move a bunch of shit in our place this week, and one of the things I unearthed was a 15-year-old Caselogic of mine that had about 60 of my old tapes from high school, including all the shitty mixtapes I made. This song was on one of the mixes. The name of that mix? "Nuclear Summer, Volume 1". Sadly, there was never a Volume 2 in that series. Other titles for my mixtapes included "Metal Mix" (very creative), and "Mr. Softee's Mix" (Mr. Softee was my nickname for my penis in high school). I am not good at naming mixtapes. Or penises.
I used to make mixtapes for girls and give to them, hoping they'd want to hook up with me for it. I can't think of a less effective way to score chicks. It only works in dipshit Cameron Crowe films. I may as well have given those girls a Frankie Goes To Hollywood album and picture of my balls being sawed off.
Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark.
"For the Super Bowl, I like Arizona getting 7 points against the Steelers. I saw The Boy In The Striped Pajamas this week at the Sharkplex. BEST MOVIE EVER. That'll teach you, little Bruno."
2008 Nazi Shark Record: 6-12 (2-1 playoffs)
Great Moments In Sports Poop History
Reader REM sends in this wrestling poop story.
"So, I'm covering a wrestling dual between a local city team and an out of area team. The local city team's 112-pound wrestler is state ranked and facing a decent, but not outstanding wrestler from the visiting school.
"From the beginning, the ranked wrestler looks uncomfortable and not at all like himself. He falls behind early and at each stoppage appears to be favoring his right leg or knee, taking his time to get up.
"The small gymnasium is kept dark except for one spotlight lowered over the center of the mat. At one point during the second period, my eyes start telling me that there is some sort of dark stain towards the rear of this young wrestler wearing a white singlet who is struggling with an opponent he should dominate. I quickly tell my eyes to stop lying to me.
"The match continues with the home wrestler struggling until he is turned to his back and pinned late in the third period. Having been defeated, the freshman quickly disappears, and I lose sight of him.
"The dual does not continue, however, and the home coach is forced to a nearby supply closet. He begins spraying the mat with a chemical and mopping up. Turns out that stain was not a figment of my imagination. This young freshman had shat himself — liquid shat — into his white singlet during the match.
"I don't know who I felt worse for — the kid who shat himself in front of the home crowd as a freshman in a white garment or the kid who won the match against a superior opponent but probably left with another's fecal matter on his person."
I don't get it. If this kid was such a great wrestler, then WHY didn't he use his diarrhea to his advantage? That's Grappling 101 right there, to use all available elements at your disposal. If you have beard stubble, you grind it into your opponent's skin. If you have persistent body odor, you NEVER shower for at least three days prior to the match. And if you've got a doodie shake in your back pocket, YOU ATTACK.
There are any number of shit-related wrestling moves out there this young man could have employed, such as the Cross Arm Smear, the Corn Nelson, the Caca Cradle, the True Rikishi Stinkface, and the dreaded Mud Pie. Dan Gable used to poop before every match. That's how they do it in Iowa. One whiff, and your opponent will pin himself!
Fire This Asshole!
Here's who has been fired or retired so far:
That Edwards firing was weeks overdue. And I still think we have at least one more surprise firing in store before all is said and done. I mean, look at this list of future goners:
Jack Del Rio
I'll go ahead right now and predict at least seven of those losers will be out before the end of next season. So really, owners, why wait? Quit delaying the inevitable and fire these men. It's not fair to the 50,000 people who lost their jobs this week at places like Intel and GM to see that Brad Childress still receives a salary and health benefits for his wife and children. He should be laid off, and forced to attend mandatory weekly job-hunting seminars just so he can continue to collect unemployment. Ever go to one of those seminars? Holy shit. Those things are more depressing than dog cancer.
Super Bowl Snack Of The Week
Wings. Always wings for the Super Bowl Jamboroo. Have you ever been to a Super Bowl party where they order wings, only they order wings that are just completely fucking wrong? "Well, we got teriyaki wings and zesty Cajun wings!" Excuse me? You WHAT? Those are not wings. Those are an abortion. Get the classic buffalo style wings or go sit on a railroad spike.
Super Bowl Beer Of The Week
Tecate! I'm going to tell you a story about drinking in Mexico. My gay prep school had a senior year program where a group of students were allowed to live for 10 weeks abroad in Cuernavaca, Mexico during the winter. I got into this program. This made me very happy.
The only problem with the Cuernavaca trip was that we, as students, were still subject to all of the draconian rules that applied back on campus. That meant getting caught drinking risked immediate expulsion. Of course, we all got drunk every night anyway.
The city of Cuernavaca is laid out in such a way that all of the houses are located behind very tall fences. So, to access the house where we were staying (all of us stayed with various Mexican families), we needed both a key for the fence door and a key for the house door.
One night, my friend and I got shitfaced and staggered back home from a discoteca (In 1994, Mexican discotecas were required by law to only play two songs: "Rhythm Is A Dancer" by Snap and a cover of the Village People's "Go West" by The Pet Shop Boys). We had a key to our fence, but when we got to the house door, we realized we had no house key.
We spent hours trying to break into our own house when, out of the clear fucking blue, a dark figure walked through the fence door. We thought it was our Mexican Daddy with the house key. YAY, MEXICAN DADDY. But when the figure stepped into the light, it turned out to be the nefarious "DINGO" DON FOSTER, Exeter's program director.
Dingo Don pinned my friend against the outside of the house and smelled his breath. This led to my favorite drunken exchange of all time.
DINGO DON: Have you been drinking?
MY FRIEND: Uh… no.
DINGO DON: No?
MY FRIEND: No, I HAVE been drinking.
We got probation. The rest of our group spent the night at a discoteca called Babyrock, where Harrison Ford showed up. DAMN YOU, DINGO DON!
Random FKS-Style Tidbit
Two inches of snow fell in DC on Tuesday. My kid's school was cancelled as a result. For two fucking inches. Hey DC, GO FUCK YOURSELF WITH A TIRE IRON. We are the most powerful nation on Earth, and yet a fucking dusting of snow causes our entire Federal government to shut down? THAT IS SHIT. "Oh no! Look at all this snow! IT'S THE BLIZZARD OF AUGHT NINE! WE'VE BEEN WHITED OUT!" Pathetic.
Schools in our nation's capital have been known to close for fucking RAIN on occasion. No joke. Local DC and Maryland officials are the biggest fucking bunch of weather pussies ever produced by mankind. God forbid you actually send kids to school in mildly inclement weather. No, no, that would make you liable! Well then, why send kids to fucking school at all, you spineless sacks of fuck? I NEED THAT KID IN SCHOOL. I HAVE SHIT TO DO. DID THAT EVER CROSS YOUR FUCKING MINDS, OR WERE YOU TOO BUSY LISTENING TO SOME BREATHLESS FUCKSTAIN WEATHERCOCK FROM CHANNEL 5 TO NOTICE? THE PREZ SAYS YOU PEOPLE ARE GAY.
Fuck DC. Fuck weathermen. Fuck the government. Fuck it all.
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Lions Fans
Fire In The Sky. Note to Megadeth: THIS is how you do creepy alien shit. God damn, this movie freaked me out. I don't really believe in ghosts, or aliens, or any of that shit. But I so very badly would like to believe in them. And movies like this help make it see, that much more plausible. Because if you can't trust an alien abduction story from a drunken redneck, what CAN you trust?
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Hi. I'm Troy McClure, you might remember me from such public service videos as Designated Drivers, the Lifesaving Nerds and Phony Tornado Alarms Reduce Readiness."
Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: The web's finest compendium of Alyssa Milano photos. Teen Steam… you gotta let it out. GOTTA LET IT OUT!
-For the gals: Actor Jesse Metcalfe. Is it me, or are Jesse's jeans about seven sizes too large in that photo?
Your Motivational Pregame Quote For The Weekend
"I'm gonna hit ya… AND YOU'RE GONNA FALL."
Enjoy the Super Bowl, everyone. I'll be back with a season ending Jamboroo next week.