Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Find more of his stuff at his Twitter feed.
Ah, Dick Stockton. A constant in the NFL universe. We may not have Pat Summerall anymore, but it's nice to know that announcers like Dick Stockton are still going strong. To think this man has had to call games for years with either Matt Millen or Tony Siragusa talking alongside him, yet his intellect and voice remains intact. A little miracle. And he gets to bone Lesley Visser! I've always wanted to do that. More for the sake of posterity these days, but still. VISSERPOON!
Stockton's like Verne Lundquist over at CBS doing college football. He's an old guy who's been around forever, who was gifted with a great voice and found the perfect medium in which to deploy it. He's always a welcome presence on any telecast, as far as I'm concerned. What's so odd is that Stockton and Lundquist appear to be the last of a dying breed. There are very few announcers left calling games that have great voices, and that makes no sense. It's not as if human voice boxes have evolved much over the past few decades (the Fat Boys being a notable exception, of course). There should be plenty of young assholes out there with strong, deep voices perfectly suited to an NFL broadcast. So where the hell are they? I really like Mike Tirico as an announcer, but his voice isn't a great, booming football voice. Jim Nantz has a good voice for golf, covering up war crimes ("And you can see just how much respect Hitler has for these Jews here today!"), and little else. And Joe Buck is still Joe Buck. Tons of these guys have voices that are reed thin. They should be Autotuned.
I think there's an obvious culprit here. I don't think our younger football announcers are smoking and drinking enough. Smoking and drinking will age your throat a solid five decades before you turn 30. I know chicks who smoked in college who sound like the fucking Budweiser frogs now. Lindsay Lohan sounds like a tuba when she opens her mouth. You need alcohol and all the tar and carbon monoxide in cigarettes to help strip the announcers' vocal chords raw, to make it sound like you spent the previous night sleeping under the grand piano in a hotel ballroom. THAT'S how Pat Summerall did it, and it worked! Pat Summerall sounded like he was announcing games from his own fucking GRAVEHOLE. And that ruled.
So all you young squirts out there looking to become the next Keith Jackson, I say SMOKE UP JOHNNY.
We'll get you good and leathery in no time flat.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Giants at Saints: They had Archie Manning doing studio analysis for CBS on Saturday night. Because I didn't have enough servings of Manning in my life before that. Jesus fucking Christ. I know this family better than the Kennedys. At least the Kennedys have the good sense to die tragically on occasion.
Broncos at Chargers: Pat Bowlen is so pleased with Brandon Marshall's turnaround that he thinks the wideout is in line for a significant raise. And what a happy ending to this little story. Turns out you can be a horrible wife-beater who pouts through training camp, and find yourself a multimillionaire just a scant five weeks later! Gary Smith is already penning a 25-page story on it that will make you cry.
Ravens at Vikings: If announcers aren't using the word "fun" in conjunction with Brett Favre, it's because they're too busy using the word "motor" when describing Jared Allen. THIS GUY HAS GOT A MOTOR! HIS MOTOR NEVER STOPS! LOOK AT THAT MOTOR! MOTOR MOTOR MOTOR! Easy, fellas. We get it. He's very energetic. It is most appreciated.
Bears at Falcons: I'm pronouncing Falcons "fawlkuns" from now on. Makes it sound like they could make the jump to hyperspace at any second.
Cardinals at Seahawks: I finished reading the Krakauer book about Pat Tillman (review here.) It's a fun read if you enjoy re-enacting the wall-punching scene from Raging Bull. I'm sure I'm not the first person to notice this, but all of Krakauer's books since "Into The Wild" have titles that are prepositional phrases: "Into Thin Air," "Under The Banner Of Heaven," etc. Now, who else is famous for creating works of art that have prepositional phrases as titles? You guessed it.
Coincidence? I think NOT. You know, if Steven dropped 360 lbs. and tossed on a blond wig, I think he could pull off the role of Tillman. In fact, I'm sure the US Army commissioned just such a project right after Tillman passed away. "al Qaeda, you're about to be a long way from okay-da."
Texans at Bengals: No one likes their cable provider. Ever. I've yet to meet anyone on earth who ever said, "God, I love my cable company so much. I wish I could WORK for them!" It just doesn't happen. They're like the phone company. If they haven't fucked you over yet, it's only because they're about to.
I had cable for the better part of my adulthood, until I finally moved somewhere that was eligible for DirecTV service. Obviously, the number one perk of having DirecTV is access to Sunday Ticket. DirecTV is also cheaper than cable, for the most part. And if you pay an extra $5 or so a month for service, their customer service isn't all that bad (if you don't pay that extra $5 a month, you are FUCKED).
Regardless, for all of DirecTV's nicer aspects, they're still a satellite service. And while they may tell you that rain doesn't fuck with their dish signal, it does. A lot. It happened to me during the games last week. (NOTE: White whine ahead. I regret nothing.) It happens just about any time there's heavy rain or snow. Then the screen goes blue. Then sometimes you have to reset the receiver. Then you have to wait while it receives the signal. How long does it take the bar to reach 100%? Fucking forever, that's how long.
I know the Comcasts and Time Warners of the world are evil, and I'd like nothing more than to watch them BURN. BURN DOWN TO FUCKING ASH AND CINDERS. Regardless, the fact that rain, fucking RAIN, can knock out a satellite signal pretty much trumps any other complaint about any other television provider ever. It automatically makes your shit second-rate. That's why DirecTV will do anything in the world to keep their monopoly on Sunday Ticket. Because they know damn well that if you were able to switch over to a service that didn't get ITS FUCKING SORRY ASS KICKED BY MILD PRECIPITATION, you would. In a second. No matter how awful the alternative is. No matter how many horrible ways Comcast fucks with you. The signal doesn't even have to go out when you have satellite. The mere fact that it begins raining during any game is enough to fuck with your head and cause you horrible, undue worry about it going out until the rain stops. It's agony, I tell you. It's like waiting for an AIDS test result. Cables repel rain, and giant satellite dishes do not. Cable wins. Fix your Amish technology, DirecTV.
Lions at Packers: I can't stress enough how awful David Wells was on TBS the other night. Networks really will throw any retard who used to play right in front of a camera with no formal training of any kind. And it's David Wells! Baseball's fat answer to Jeremy Shockey! Who asked for this? Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about being a terrible broadcaster. Watching David Wells talk on camera is like watching doctors remove John Kruk's other testicle.
Titans at Patriots: If you're gonna go 0-6, do it with Vince Young. No one wants to watch a losing team with Kerry Collins. But a losing team with Vince Young has all the potential in the world for PIZZAZZ! And shirtless dancing! And sudden disappearances!
Bills at Jets: Last week on Monday night Football, Gruden said he still thought Mark Sanchez should have stayed in school. Millions of dollars, untold amounts of poise, and free access to Hilary Rhoda's insanely hot ass beg to differ, Jon.
Browns at Steelers: Adam Schefter reported this week that Browns RB James Davis got a season-ending injury because he was allowed to practice without pads against teammates in full pads.
Each repeated the same details. Davis was injured during a pass blocking drill in what Cleveland calls a post-practice "opportunity period" when a Browns linebacker in pads "got frisky" and "trucked" Davis, who was not in pads.
Ah yes, the wonderful "opportunity period," in which you have the "opportunity" to destroy a fellow teammate's season. It's always a good rule of thumb to never work for any boss who labels anything an "opportunity period". That's an obvious Michael Scott idea. I bet Eric Mangini sends invites to view his LinkedIn profile at least 700 people a day. What a fuckhead.
In other news, Rashard Mendenhall! Every fantasy season seems to hinge on whether or not you find one of those backup running backs in the later rounds who takes over by October and blossoms into a full-fledged stud for the rest of the year. Like Larry Johnson did that one year. That one year centuries and centuries ago. God dammit, I hate Larry Johnson. Anyway, Rashard Mendenhall could very well be that emerging stud RB. I don't own him in any league. I never own the emerging stud. I always own the guy who was a stud seventeen years ago and now eats stuffed French toast for second breakfast.
Rams at Jaguars: I watched the Rams last week, and I've never seen any team fumble the way the Rams do. It's endemic. You don't even have to touch them. Just wait until they get inside the ten, and then, PARTY TIME! Holy Jesus. It's like they wash their hands with bacon.
Also, I did not know this, but the Rams have a defensive end named CJ Ah You. There is no doubt that every friend that guy has greets him by saying, "Ah. YOU!!!!" He has to be Antonio Banderas' favorite player. CJ hails from Rancho Cucamonga, CA. My God. It's like he was specifically engineered by a group of comedians.
Also, to the people in the Rams potential ownership group that dumped Limbaugh: Thanks, assholes. Thanks a fucking lot. YOU MADE A BIG FAT MARTYR OUT OF THAT MAN.
Panthers at Bucs: GAHHHHH! UPS GUY IS BACK! I saw him last week for the first time this season. AND he's got even longer hair! Oh, it's awful. Horrible. I bet you anything that guy bikes to work. What a dipshit.
Eagles at Raiders: I'm not sure things could have worked out better for the Eagles for the past five weeks. They came into the season loaded with hype, and with all the Michael Vick bullshit. Then McNabb got hurt, New Orleans crushed them, and the NFC limelight has shined on the Saints, Giants, and Vikings ever since. Now, the Eagles get to fly under the radar, stomp a mudhole in Oakland's ass, and spend the next ten weeks potentially turning into the best team in the conference. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Chiefs at Redskins: The Jauron/Zorn firing derby is really heating up. Supposedly, Zorn will be fired after the Redskins play the Eagles on MNF right before their bye week. But Jauron could edge Zorn out if he dies from tuberculosis right beforehand. DON'T COUNT OL' DICKIE OUT!
Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Electricity," by Spiritualized. When Jason Pierce's life goal is "Taking drugs to make music to take drugs to," you have little choice but to admire the man. And yes, I do believe I've taken drugs while listening to this song. A lot. With the right music, taking drugs kicks a whole lotta ass.
Embarassing Album I Own That Will Not Fire You Up
"Close Calls With Brick Walls," by Andrew WK. I love Andrew WK. But this album, which was released only in Japan, does a whole fucking lot to prove the rumor that Dave Grohl wrote the entirety of his first album. Man, this album is bad. It's almost impressive how bad it is.
Open Mailbag Tuesdays
Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Big bloody mayo poop, perhaps? Email me any question or observation you like.
Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Is it time to put TO here? I believe it is. Listen, I expected some drop in production with this little Buffalo excursion. But holy fuck TO, you eat hog. Oh, I know it's not your fault. Of course not. It's never your fault. You only drop every OTHER ball thrown to you. That's a .500 average! Awesome! Congratulations, fuckycakes. You are old, shitty, and irrelevant. Enjoy Dennis Rodman's retirement, throwing parties attended exclusively by scumbags you barely know, followed by boredom-induced alcoholism, followed by your own gay dating show on Logo. DIE. GET BURIED IN AN AVALANCHE OF SHIT.
Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of Minnesota was correct, making me 5-0 on the year. That puts the Vikings, Texans, Ravens, Saints and Skins off the board now. We once again pick a team for your suicide pool and something that makes you WANT to commit suicide. This week's pick? Philadelphia, and that thing kids do where they grab your skin as hard as they possibly can. My kid does the grappling hook move at least once a day on my face, and it makes me want to throw them across the room (NOTE: I do not actually end up doing this). Playtime turns to pain time on a dime. "Awww, who's such a sweet little girl, how would you like to AHHHHH HOLY FUCK THAT HURTS YOU LITTLE SHIT!" In a child's hands, a titty twister can be performed on ANY body part. They also dig in the nails for good measure. Leave my precious apple cheeks alone, you little miscreant!
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.
"This week, I like the Chiefs getting 6.5 points on the road against the Redskins. I hate choosing the less offensive of the two dirty injun mascots. But picking against the Skins is like taking candy from a baby. A little Sioux baby! They're so helpless, and their folks are way too drunk to stop you from doing it."
2009 Nazi Shark Record: 4-1(!)
This Week's Pants Party Winner
Last week's Pants Party winner was I'd Pee In Her Butt, who did not claim his prize. I sense a pattern here. I tell you what: you keep on picking, and at the end of the year, we'll crown a grand winner. And they'll get something. Something like… Ooh! A used Jon Krakauer book! PERFECT.
Great Moments In Poop History
Folks, the Great Moments in Poop History craze is quickly sweeping the nation. I've received so many poop stories from you that everything is now clogged. It could blow at any moment, possibly on my bedsheets. Thus, you get TWO delightful poop items this week. First, JB sends a perfect, concise poop observation:
The other day I went to the office bathroom to drop a deuce and decided to catch up on some sporting news on my iPhone while I did the deed. As feces left my body, the ESPN homepage popped up, it greeted me with the front page headline "Brown and Out" (re: Braylon getting traded to the Jets). I just thought it was fitting.
Not only that but I feel like it could become a good saying. For example, to politely declare your intentions to go shit ("Brown and Out, gentlemen!") or to maybe congratulate yourself on a quick and efficient loaf-pinching (*whispering* "Brown and Out, you magnificent bastard! Brown. And. Out.").
I agree. It's a fabulous addition to all my shit proclamations. I always begin any announcement that I'm about to take a shit with a staged wince. Like the thing will kill me if I don't go this instant. "OOF! I gotta take a shit!" The wife adores it.
Now for the thepaledragon's tale! Poop away, young scout!
I have a Great Moment in Poop History for you, and this one doesn't involve alcohol! I have never told anyone this story...until now:
This story takes place when I was about 12 years old, on one of the first campouts I was on in my first year of Boy Scouts. It was a long weekend campout, and on the Sunday morning, I woke up feeling pretty bound up. Probably from all the junk food that is consumed on a typical Boy Scout campout. The troop leaders call for us to wake up and get packed to go home.
Wait. No sex first? They've got some nerve.
I want to go to the toilet facility, but at the time I had a 30 year old A-frame tent, and taking this billion-piece structure down took all of my packing time. But while I was working, I started to feel better.
On the drive home, I was crammed in the middle of the back seat of my scoutmaster's station wagon (It sucks being the small kid). As we're going along I realize that while packing I had inadvertently shat myself. And I'm not just talking mudbutt here: I could actually feel a fully formed turd in my pants. If I had been wearing boxers, I would be screwed. To make matters worse, before leaving the campsite, the scoutmaster had given us a lecture on personal hygiene. I hoped to God no one could smell anything, and that no telltale stain would be left on the scoutmaster's upholstery.
I would have felt OK if I had been going straight home. Instead, the parents of the scouts were to meet us at church, where we would be attending mass. When we got to church, I bolted straight for the bathroom, and unloaded the escaped feces into the toilet, and cleaned myself up. As for the stained underwear, it seemed most prudent to destroy the evidence, so I dumped the tighty (formerly) whiteys in the trashcan in the bathroom and went commando to celebrate the Lord's sacrament.
Epilogue: I eventually achieved the rank of Eagle Scout, and developed an Inflamed Bowel Disorder.
You've earned your poop-hiding badge, good friend!
Fire This Asshole!
Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job? All year long, we'll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year's end or sooner. And now, your updated chopping block:
Jack Del Rio*
We're so, so close to our first mid-season firing, I can just taste the blood in the water. Tastes like licking a battery. HURRY UP AND FIRE COOCH ZORN, DANNY! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA DO IT. LET HIM HANG! HANGGGGGG!!!
Gametime Snack Of The Week
Sliders! Ah, very small hamburgers. I could kiss the man who invented you, and then wash my lips to prevent contracting E. coli. They're just like regular burgers, only you can eat 27 of them and delude yourself into thinking it's not so unhealthy!
The lovely Mister Ufford sent me this fantastic link a while back that detailed all American burger styles. It's got pub burgers, steakhouse burgers, Robert Hamburger, and everything. Oh man, I could so go for a burger right now if the meat used to make them didn't come from the killing floors of 37 different slaughterhouses manned by bare-handed immigrants with no access to soap or decent medical care. Anyway, Mr. Fancypancy at this site says not all sliders are mini burgers, and vice versa.
People, a slider is something very specific. It is not just a mini hamburger. It's a thin, thin slip of beef, cooked on a griddle with onions and pickles piled atop patty. The steam from the onions does as much cooking as the griddle. The buns are placed atop the onions, absorbing the pungent aroma and flavor.
A slider is at once a hamburger and, yet, something more. (Maybe because you eat a bunch of them at one sitting.)
You listen to me, Big Boy. It's MY very small hamburger, and if I want to call it by the adorable nickname of slider, I will. And if I want to use the top of the bun to wipe the sweat off my face and then eat it, I may also do so.
Gametime Beer Of The Week
People, I need recommendations. I'm not a beer snob. I just buy whatever the fuck is on sale. Got a beer you want showcased in this spot? Email me. I'll do right by your suds.
Robert Evans' MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who the leaders are for the NFL's MVP award. So every week, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.
"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP this year is still Peyton Manning of the Colts! A lot of people are getting down on my old friend David Letterman for sleeping with his co-workers, but Evans says that's what co-workers are for! How could you trust a casting director if you never mashed her face into the pillow? Sexy? You bet! Fosters loyalty? DAMN RIGHT."
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans
From the legendary ZODIAC MOTHERFUCKER of the Onion AV Club comes the very necessary video series GREAT MOMENTS IN OWNAGE. Nothing but clips of people getting their SHIT RUINED. Like this one from Thinner, featuring Joe Mantegna throwing acid into a woman's eyes. "ACID, BITCH." Now that's great cinema.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Don't be alarmed, Apu. Just go about your daily routine like I'm not wearing the hat."
Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: If you've seen it already, you know damn well once isn't enough: Susan Sarandon's daughter, Eva Amurri, naked as a stripper on Californication. I'm a big fan of any woman with large breasts opening a garment to reveal said large breasts. A bra. A corset. A shirt. It's like a jack in the box, only fantastic.
-For the gals: Logan from Project Runway. You know damn well he nailed Althea. It's not even a question.
Enjoy the games, everyone. BROWN AND OUT.