The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

Drew Magary’s Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Our own Katie Baker is filling in for him this week.

I love conflict. I'm naturally drawn to it, like moth to flame, like middle schooler to Sun-In. I'll stop dead in my tracks in the middle of the street if it means I can better eavesdrop on the sweet symphony of a couple breaking up. Six Flags Great Adventure is one of my favorite places to visit because the aggravated-outburst-to-normal-civilized-interaction ratio is off the charts. On the subway I try to silently will frazzled mothers to smack their children around, just a little, so that I can observe the horrified looks of passersby.

The way my voyeurism manifests itself in football is that, other than wanting the Giants to win, I'm generally just rooting for whatever outcome will piss the greatest number of people off. Bonus points if those people all happen to be sanctimonious pricks. So it's a pretty great time for me right now, what with all the "disgraced" players out there who are casually kicking, or are at least poised to kick, some hacky, judgmental ass.

I wouldn't hate it if Michael Vick won the Super Bowl, narrowly defeating Ben Roethlisberger, is all I'm saying. And I hope Randy Moss opens up a successful Italian joint in Nashville.

We're on the brink of a wonderful situation in which all the no-funs who vowed to forfeit the game eternally rather than, say, tolerate Vick now find themselves on the brink of sad obsolescence. It's like at a party when some girl gets offended because someone tried to cop a feel or something and she's all "come on, Jenny, we're leaving" to her tagalong friend and stomps on out the door. Then she waits a few seconds, scoffs audibly, pulls out her phone, studies it, calls Jenny, gets voicemail, scoffs again, glares at the door, shakes her head, marches back in, and finds Jenny sitting on some dude's lap and snorting a line off the table. ("It's just Ritalin!" Jenny says nervously, before straightening up and flipping her hair. "You don't have to wait for me. Christian said he'd give me a ride.")

The Games

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




Five Throwgasms

Ravens at Falcons: Don't forget, everyone, this game is TONIGHT. Make your picks or trades or whatever it is you people do, lest you be that guy who moans all weekend long that he didn't knowww about Thursdaaaay. You now know about Thursday. Don't fuck this one up.

Titans at Dolphins: It's been a confusing week for me because I grew up in a town called Pennington and I get excited any time it becomes relevant. As far as I know, the last time it was relevant was when our police chief (who represented 50 percent of the entire town police force) had an affair with his next door neighbor, then tried to kill his wife by putting a bomb in her car. I think it was a BMW. Except he did it in winter, meaning that she went out to warm up the car and then came back inside as it blew up in the driveway. The wife went to our church. Sadly, this all happened pre-Google. But I SWEAR IT HAPPENED. Anyway, yeah. Fuck you, Chad Pennington!

Pats at Steelers: Sorry, that last entry was meant for the Boring Bag.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




Four Throwgasms

Vikings at Bears: I'm torn here. Normally I'd be wishing Favre some contrarian success. But in this case, that actually plays into the hands of people like Bob Costas, who I'm pretty sure referred to Favre as "heroic" last week during the Sunday Night Football halftime show. On the other hand, the Vikings are like the world's most delicate ecosystem right now. If Favre tanks, Childress will get fired, and then we'll all be deprived of one of the most openly contentious and unintentionally magnificent player-coach dynamics of all time. So, I don't know.

Jets at Browns: F/M/K: Rex Ryan, Rob Ryan, Eric Mangini? Discuss.

Eagles at Redskins: When the Redskins played in Philly a month or so ago I went down to the game to test out some newfangled device called "FanVision." While we at Deadspin had harbored high hopes that FanVision was some sort of goggle situation — AJ originally wanted to send a blind person to try it out — it turned out to be, basically, a Sega Game Gear with various camera angles and the Red Zone Channel.

The trip was an odd one. I was all amped to see Michael Vick and I was even more psyched that I had "credentials," which I assumed meant a cushy seat in a cushy press box with unobstructed views of the field and free booze. This was not what it meant. It meant that I was greeted by a bitchy lady ("You must be the blogger," she said by way of introduction, her mouth curling in contempt) who directed me to my "seat": a bleak room filled with tables, chairs, and the aromas from a buffet spread of various meats, cheeses, and cheese-covered meats. There was a view, all right, of the parking lot, and also of a bunch of TVs on the wall. At that moment I was just glad I had cheapskated for the Chinatown bus and not, like, the Acela.

It was a wasteland. I would have rather walked among the zombies from The Walking Dead. In this ghetto for unimportant press, people did not so much sit in their chairs as they just flopped various limbs all across them, like A.C. Slater but without the cool. In the ladies room I watched as a freakish looking clown-lady applied lipstick over and over in the hypnotic manner of the woman in the "Black Hole Sun" music video. Have you ever seen a beauty pageant contestant outside of her natural habitat? It can be pretty frightening, and it was like that.

The good news was that I discovered that when you're walking around with a big credentials tag dangling from your wrist and a ridiculously nerdy-looking handheld contraption the likes of which the world has not seen since the mid-'90s, you actually look prettttty prettttty official, as far as stadium staffers go. So I hung out in the stands, occasionally creeping lower and lower toward the field. Guards at various checkpoints didn't give me a second glance.

At one point, when I'd snuck as far down in the stadium as I could figure out to go, a guy wandered over as I stood in a tunnel. I figured the jig was up.

"Hey, what is that thing?" he asked.

"FanVision," I said. "You can look at any camera angle in real time, and it has the Red Zone Channel."

"Huh. It looks like one of those, one of those... Sonic the Hedgehog things," he said, and wandered away. A few minutes later, some assistant coaches jogged by and nearly knocked me over. I would have been cool with it. Some of them were kinda hot.

In conclusion: thumbs up for FanVision!

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




Three Throwgasms

Cowboys at Giants: If you know a Giants fan who thinks the Giants are actually one of the league's best teams, then you, my friend, don't know a Giants fan. I bet they don't even cover the spread.

Texans at Jaguars: After reading this article, I now think of "throwgasm" as a man faking his. It's like throwing your voice, you know?

Chiefs at Broncos: This Vanity Fair piece about some mountain climbers who died is really sad, but I do have to point out how much the writer nailed it with this line: "Tourists tend toward Chamonix, with its 'rustic' five-star hotels and Michelin-grade restaurants: Euro-Telluride." So true!

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




Two Throwgasms

Seahawks at Cardinals: Here is a video that shows how I feel about some of these games:

There there, poor kid in the hoodie. It gets better.

Bengals at Colts: They should switch quarterbacks or something. Hockey shouldn't be the only sport that gets to grab fleeting attention with gimmicks!

Rams at Niners: Thanks for tolerating me as substitute teacher, by the way. I have a friend who always said that there's only two things women can do better than men: have babies, and make gingerbread. (He also declared that there were three things he'd never wear: sunscreen, seatbelts, and condoms, which must be how he knows so much about the babies.)

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




One Throwgasm

Lions at Bills: I'm going to the Rangers-Sabres game tonight. Hope we destroy what remaining shreds of hope the city of Buffalo has left!

Panthers at Bucs: Sometimes a game is so bad that it loops back around and becomes actually good. I do not think this will be one of those games.

Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

Wasn't Dre's new album supposed to be out by now? I think he should just keep re-releasing this song with different featured artists every time. I like this song because, like all good literary works, it contains a reference to a barking dog.

Bonus Kickass Song That Will End Up Concussing More People Than All The Helmet-To-Helmet Hits In History

You guys, I TRIPLE DOG DARE you to watch the entire video without finding yourself muttering "whoa" under your breath at LEAST once. Not possible. The girl in the yellow is my spirit animal, by the way.

Embarrassing Song I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up

Snow, "Informer." Hey, I'm not the only one who needs to cop to bopping along to this: welcome, folks, to the 1993 Billboard #1 Hits:

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

Viva las divas! Man, what was with our country back then? Then again, it was Bill Clinton's first year in office.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

YOU, mister player of fantasy. And you. Andyouandyouandyou.

You, guy at my office who sidles around chest-first every week making the same tired proclamations to your opponents, the kind of relentless banter that typically leads mothers to tell their daughters, "Oh, honey, he's just saying that because he liiiiiiiiikes you." Just lean in and kiss already.

And you, down-in-the-dumps guy at the bar, intruding upon my wino solitude by complaining about some missed two-point conversion in a game between two teams with three cumulative wins.

And you, pretend ally. You are the worst. You have a player on my team, so you trick me: you celebrate alongside me after a big run here, a touchdown there. And then comes a game-winning field goal or something, and I turn to you, high five held aloft, waiting, anticipating.... "I needed a touchdown and a two-point conversion there," you scoff, staring at my hand, eyes radiating scorn. "Your team fucking sucks."

(Fine, I'm just jealous. No one let me join their fantasy leagues this year, although I did receive an enticing offer from one friend who told me that maybe next year I could play if I found a dude to help me in the draft. I contemplated joining one of those auto-generated ESPN leagues or something, but it's a little too glory-hole-ish, you know?)

Suicide Pick Of The Week

I dunno, Tampa? Yeah, Tampa.

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.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

"This week, I like the Miami Dolphins getting half a point at home. I know this is a controversial decision, but where you see a quarterback controversy I see two strapping blonds named Chad. What else did Josef Mengele devote his life's work to if not an outcome like that?"

2010 Nazi Shark Record: 5-3-1

Great Moments In Poop History

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

I'm going to take this topic literally, because girls don't etc. So: say hello to our lil friend the Caganer, a professional pooper who dates back to the birth of baby Jesus Christ. "Caganer is Catalan for 'shitter'," explains Wikipedia:

The caganer is a particular feature of modern Catalan nativity scenes, and is also found in other parts of Spain and southwestern Europe, including Salamanca, Murcia (cagones), Naples (cacone or pastore che caca) and Portugal (cagões). Accompanying Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the Shepherds and company, the caganer is often tucked away in a corner of the model, typically nowhere near the manger scene.

Possible reasons for placing a man who is in the act of excreting waste in a scene which is widely considered holy include:

* Tradition.
* Perceived humor.
* Finding the Caganer is a fun game, especially for children.
* The Caganer, by creating feces, is fertilizing the Earth. However, this is probably an a posteriori explanation, and few cite this reason for including the Caganer in the Nativity scene.
* The Caganer represents the equality of all people: regardless of status, race, or gender, everyone defecates.
* Increased naturalism of an otherwise archetypal (thus idealised) story, so that it is more believable, taken literally and seriously.
* The idea that God will manifest himself when he is ready, without regard for whether we human beings are ready or not.
* The caganer reinforces that the infant Jesus is God in human form, with all that being human implies.

Alarmingly, "The caganer is not the only defecating character in the Catalan Christmas tradition" and other countries have similar traditions: Germans call their ancient version of the caganer "Little Cholera Man" or "Breech-loader." (Every culture gets the crapper it deserves.) Anyway, just thought I'd pass this along as some good trivia with which to regale your holiday dinner companions, particularly if they are your girlfriend's parents and you're meeting them for the first time.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo




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:

Norv Turner*
Brad Childress*
Lovie Smith*
Chan Gailey
John Fox
Mike Singletary
Josh McDaniels
Marvin Lewis
Gary Kubiak

And, in memoriam:

~*~wAdE pHiLlIps~*~

Miss u, Wadey Dewey. In your honor I just stared off into the middle distance for awhile and then poured out a bunch of challenge flags.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

I was all set to sing the praises of Apple Cider Donuts (seriously, they're way less healthy than they sound, especially if you get the kind with the big granulated sugar coating, and they're all bourgtastically seasonal and shit) but then I ran into a roving pack of young girls selling GIRL SCOUT COOKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYS!!!!!!!

I'll have you know that one year I led my Girl Scout troop in sales. I won a Walkman, baby... and then I gained 10 pounds from eating the dozens of boxes that my parents had bought up and stored in the garage freezer. (Hey, it wasn't entirely cheating: it is because of this life experience that I now understand the IPO underwriting process, so.)

Anyway, if you're planning for a party, just remember that there are two types of people in the world: those who love Samoas, and those who would rather lick a subway pole. They're kind of like cilantro that way.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

So, the crazy guy who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart is on trial right now, and I'm basically obsessed with reading the court transcripts every day. I know, I know, I'm going to hell, I'm going to hell. BUT I MEEEEAN:

Smart: […] So he handed us both another can and I started drinking. I couldn’t even get halfway through it. I remember lying down and feeling so sick, he gave me a silver bowl in case I threw up. As soon as he took the silver bowl away from me, I threw up. I was lying down. It got over all my face and my hair, I woke up in the same position. I had throw-up dried on my face and in my hair.

Viti: What did he say to you about it, if anything?

Smart: He said that that reflected my true state, lying face down in my vomit.

Viti: Ms. Smart, let’s go back to what you were drinking. What type of beer was it?

Smart: It was called Steel Reserve.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

Viti: And how big were the cans?

Smart: They were pretty big. Like ... they were big.

Viti: Were they bigger than a Coke can?

Smart: Yes.

Viti: And was there anything special about this type of beer, anything unusual?

Smart: It was in California, so the alcohol percentage was higher there. I also remember reading on the label that it had extra hops.

Bottoms up! (Note: transcript is also worth Control-F'ing for "Shoe-gazing," if you're soulless like me. The Big Love theme song now makes so much more sense.)

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.

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

"Hel-lo dolly, ain't you just a dish. You one of Goldie's girls? Where is that prancing panther of a woman? I always used to say to her, I said to her: Go-go, I like my women like my golden retriever puppies: soft, blond, and wagging both tail and tongue. Listen, dear, I was up all night with those two young Turks over there, Albert and Andrew, they're in LA for one week and one week only, ha-HA, I remember those days, in and out right quick if you know what I'm saying. Love those boys. Last night they told me about this thing called Chat Roulette, and I told them the last time I had my dick out with a gun to my head it was 1972 and I was — oh, look here! It's another pretty face. Gwynnie, baby, push that tush on over here. Hey, gorgeous. Where's that mama of yours? You tell that dame – Blythie Beaver, that's what I always called her – to give EVANS a jingle. She knows where I mingle. Anyway, I gotta hop, but Gwynnie here loves football. She'll pick you a winner."

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

"Oh indeed, what a brilliant game. I was just telling my dear friend Shawn the other day that I was so tickled to hear that he was interested in buying part of Arsenal. It's such a great way for him to assimilate into the London social set, oh dear, I shouldn't have said assimilate, such hideous overtones when in fact I adore urban culture. I grew up in New York City, you know, the same place as Shawn, so... oh, you'll have to excuse me, I've had too much of this chai-tea-ni, and now I'm starting to sound like that tacky Alex Kuczynski woman, and — pardon me? American football? Oh, icky. What an ugly, dangerous game. Those vile heathens, with their stomachs spilling over the tops of their pants like that? "Most Valuable" at what, I can't even imagine. Oh, fine. Put me down for Tom Brady, I know Anna's a fan.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Bills Fans

The Wizard, because I love the Power Glove. It's so.... bad.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

Bart: Take him away, boys.
Chief Wiggum: Hey, I'm the chief here. Bake him away, toys!
Lou: What'd you say, Chief?
Chief Wiggum: Ehh, do what the kid says.

Gratuitous Simpsons Floormat Spotted In Yesterday's Cab

The Confessions Of A Misery Voyeur: Your Guest Jamboroo

Halftime Masturbation Kit

For the mens: Rene Russo boning Pierce Brosnan.
For the gals: Pierce Brosnan boning Rene Russo.

Enjoy the games, everyone.