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.
Oh, Vincent Jackson. Oh, how I hate you. HATE you. LOATHE you. DESPISE you with the force of a thousand tornadocanes. YOU FUCKING DICK.
Eleven weeks, Vincent Jackson. I stayed loyal to you for eleven fucking weeks. I drafted you. I gave you a home on my roster. I said mean things about A.J. Smith (who is a fucking ASSHOLE) to support you. I let other players go to keep you on my squad. I encouraged you, nurtured you, waited for the day when you would finally end your holdout, serve your fucking three game in-house suspension (does any GM besides A.J. Smith ever pull that kind of cock move? FUCK AND NO), and return to the field to FUCK SOME SHIT UP. I relished the moment. I rubbed my hands in evil delight at the prospect of my opponents witnessing the firepower of a fully armed and operational Vincent Jackson. You were, like, the fucking Mario Kart TURBO BOOST my piece of shit fantasy team needed. I was gonna hit that button and BOOM! Fucking smoke everyone else.
That was the plan, Vincent Jackson. That was YOUR goddamn role.
And what the fuck do you do on Sunday Night? You take your candy ass out of the game after ONE FUCKING PLAY. ONE. What in the living fuck? You had a calf injury? A goddamn calf injury? DID YOU EVEN STRETCH WHILE YOU WERE AWAY, FUCKTASTER?! You didn't even TRY and come back into the game. You played one stupid play, then instantly Al Michaels was like, "Oh, and Vincent Jackson is done for two weeks." You couldn't even ride a fucking LifeFitness bike to see it if got better? Had a trainer stretch you on a table or something? You just go to street clothes at the drop of a goddamn hat? ASSHOLE! PUSSY! You fucked me! HARD!
No one likes to hear a fantasy football story, but I'm gonna tell you mine anyway, Vincent Jackson, because FUCK YOU. I'm up 10 points on Amy Blair and her fucking group of old maid cats going into Sunday night. I have you and Marmalard. She has the San Diego defense. I don't even bother worrying about losing this game. Then you pussy out, then Marmalard doesn't throw a TD, then the Chargers house two Peypey throws, and suddenly I HAVE BEEN ASSFUCKED BY A CHRISTMAS TREE.
You speckled cunt. You're faking it! I know it! You're totally faking it because you're mad at A.J. Smith and you want him to suffer. Look, I don't blame you. A.J. Smith is a penis. But you need to think of everyone else you hurt by being such a TREMENDOUS GASH. You need to think of the children, Vincent. And I totally qualify as a child because of my mental and emotional deficiencies. It's not just A.J. Smith you're hurting by pulling this shit. YOU HURT MY VERY SOUL. You are a piece of shit and a disgrace to the concept of loyalty. This is the reward I get for having faith you? For giving you a home? Damn you, Vincent Jackson. Damn you to Hell. In fact, damn you to SUPERHELL, which is located right BELOW hell and reserved strictly for the worst people in the universe, like you and Hitler and Elton John. They make you read Slate ALL THE TIME, that's how shitty it is. That's what you deserve, Mr. Achy Calf. You turd. I don't like you.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Steelers at Ravens: The four best teams in the AFC all play each other in primetime this week. I have nothing catty to say about that. I just think it's awesome.
Jets at Patriots: I hate Ron Jaworski's TV voice. I hate it. I want to punch a mirror when I hear it. He could tell me who killed fucking Jimmy Hoffa and I still wouldn't want to hear it coming out of his goddamn mouth. I don't understand how people can enjoy listening to him do a football game. I don't care that he's informative. His voice is awful. He sounds like an opera singer trying to talk out dialogue. I don't know what the fuck he's trying to accomplish. He has a perfectly nice regular voice. But then a camera goes on and suddenly he's like I AM SPEAKING TO YOU NOW. LISTEN TO ME ENUNCIATE! How do media critics not hear this? How are they able to look past that and say nice things about Jaws? Do they have fucking manure in their ears? I'm at a loss.
Bucs at Falcons: One of the dumbest things about every NFL telecast is when they put up a graphic telling you the analyst's KEYS TO VICTORY SPONSORED BY WINDOWS or whatever the fuck they call it at the time. It's like the worst PowerPoint presentation ever. For example, Troy Aikman's would totally read like this:
-Hit ground running
-As the world Turners
-Bend don't break?
It's the most simplistic, retarded bullet points you could imagine. Even Peter King thinks they're pointless. And they do it every game! Kills me.
Texans at Eagles: Here's you all waiver wire fantasy team for the year:
QB: Michael Vick
RB: Peyton Hillis
RB: Mike Tolbert
WR: Brandon Lloyd
WR: Steve Johnson
TE: Marcedes Lewis
K: Who cares
DEF: Raiders or Bears
Would you win your league with that team? FUCK AND YES, you would. Did I have the foresight to pick any of these players up? FUCK AND NO, I did not. No, I had to hold onto precious Vincent Jackson. YOU SEE WHAT YOU COST ME, YOU COCK?
Raiders at Chargers: Rodney Harrison last week before the game: "If the Chargers win tonight, that makes them quicker to first place." It sure does, Rodney. It makes them way quicker to first place.
Redskins at Giants: I live in the DC area, which means I have access to all Redskin television and radio broadcasts. Lucky me! The local radio team for the Skins is Larry Michael, Sam Huff, and Sonny Jurgensen. And it's worth noting every year that Huff and Jurgensen are completely INSANE AND SENILE AND PRONE TO BOUTS OF EXTREME DEMENTIA. It's astonishing to behold. I listened for five minutes the other day and within that short timespan was treated to a spate of drunken old rambling that would have you shaking your head in disbelief if you heard it yourself. They immediately called Jared Allen, "Gerard Allen". Upon hearing the name Wally Pipp, the other one said, "I don't know who that is." Then there was this exchange.
MICHAEL: Guys, the Skins won last week despite all those injuries. Can they overcome those injuries again?
OLD DRUNK SAM HUFF: Of course they wanna win!
Nothing about any of their exchanges has even the slightest hint of coherence. It's awesome. It's like visiting your grandfather just before he passes away. I'd pay $20 for a printed transcript of one of their games, it's just that amazing. I'm certain that Huff doesn't have functional hearing.
JURGENSEN: Well, the Vikings have Adrian Peterson, and he's one of the best backs in football.
HUFF: Do the Skins not also have a Pro Bowler on defense? Lond.. er… London Fletcher?
JURGENSEN: We weren't talking about London Fletcher!
I swear, if you think Dick Stockton is long in the tooth, get your ass to DC for some quality old person forgetfulness. You won't be sorry.
By the way, Philip Buchanon is on the Skins roster. I remember loving him as a player coming out of Miami and wishing that the Vikings would draft him. They didn't, of course, and Buchanon went on to a middling career. But it's always fun to keep tabs on the guys you WANTED your team to draft who ended up being incredibly shitty. I remember thinking Lamar King would be a goddamn star. I'd love to see a chart of my draft wish picks. I bet it's abysmal.
One other Redskin note: On the heels of last week's Jamboroo, I'd also like to note that my kid was in some class the other day and, I shit you not, they taught her the schoolyard Indian chant. The one where you put your hand over your mouth and go BABABABABABABABA! They still teach it! In 2010! Thass so raycess! And yet, irresistible. She comes running in the house going BABABABABABABA! It's impossible not to join in on the racist fun.
Cowboys at Colts: I saw an ad the other night for the National Collector's Mint's 10th anniversary of 9/11 coin, which makes them the first company I'm aware of to cash in on some of that sweet, sweet 10-year 9/11 scratch. The coin is made with bits of silver that were taken from Ground Zero! And it totally wasn't looted. I don't think it was looted. Okay, it was probably looted. It may have belonged to a cousin of your who died in the attacks. But surely, you can't argue with that silver being used to make a COIN! Look, the Twin Towers even pop up! It's a pop-up coin! So classy!
Browns at Dolphins: LeBron is back tonight! Don't hold back, Cleveland! He still thinks he isn't a horrible person! Say awful things about his mom and her portfolio of sexually transmitted diseases! Watch him run to Mike Wilbon in tears!
Jaguars at Titans: Katie Bakes linked on Twitter this week to this article about an online glasses retailer who rips off and threatens customers specifically to improve his search engine optimization, a strategy Bleacher Report pioneered ages ago. Do I even need to tell you the guy is Russian? Of course not. Whenever I meet a Russian, I instantly assume he deals drugs, beats hookers, and smuggles underage sex workers into the country. Russians creep me out.
Bengals at Saints: I returned to my gym last week after being on the shelf for three or four months due to back problems. It's a lot of fun to return to any place after a lengthy absence. I walked in the door triumphantly, thinking to myself I AM BACK! I immediately pictured everyone else at the gym turning their heads and staring at me, thinking to themselves, "He's BACK! That dude with the smelly iPod armband is BACK!" Of course, they did nothing of the sort, because they could care less about some other fuckstick coming in and working out. But in my mind? COMEBACK PLAYER OF THE YEAR.
Broncos at Chiefs: Dwayne Bowe has scored thirteen touchdowns in the past seven games. And here's his game log for the past three:
Sweet fucking Jesus. This man is terrifying.
Lions at Bears: I was at the store the other day and I was coming out of the exit with my cart full of groceries when I saw my path to the car was blocked by a woman double parked right at the exit typing on her Blackberry. You know how the curb outside a grocery store will gradually slope in a couple places so you can get your cart off the sidewalk? This store only had one of those slopes and the shithead was blocking it.
Externally, I was pissed at this woman for blocking my way. But, secretly, I was delighted that she had done this, because it gave me a rare chance to justifiably yell at a complete stranger. There was no doubt I had the right to yell at her, and so I did. "HEY LADY, MOVE IT!" And she heard me and moved and it made my fucking day. Everyone saw it happen, too. They totally witnessed the power of my indignation. I hope she blocks the exit again next week. I'd pay her $3 to do it.
Bills at Vikings: You know who I hate? People who brag about not laughing. Nothing is more annoying than some fuckhead who pipes up, "Oh, that made me laugh. And I NEVER laugh out loud at anything." Oh, okay. So you're a humorless fuckhead? Noted. Stand proud, you non-laugher, you.
49ers at Packers: I am a terrible dryer of hands. Whenever I go to wash my hands, I am too lazy to spend the time to stand there afterwards and dry my extremities to completion. I just grab the hand towel and then walk out. This does NOTHING, and then I walk ten feet and realize my hands are still wet, then I run them through my hair to get the excess water off. It's even worse in public bathrooms, where I'm too impatient to let the hand dryer do its thing. And if there are paper towels, I just grab a shitload and blot my hands and throw the wad out in a span of .3 seconds. I have no clue why I'm this lazy, but I'm certain that it's a sign of some greater character flaw. Perhaps several of them. Definitely several of them.
Panthers at Seahawks
Cardinals at Rams
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Feel the Pain," by Dinosaur Jr. Loud guitars? Spike Jonze? Golf carts? Works for me!
Embarrassing Video I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up
"Cherish," by Madonna. I never fail to be turned on by women frolicking around in soaking wet clothing. This song was the score to any number of romantic encounters I had with the harem of imaginary girlfriends I possessed as a teenager. Oh man, did I have a lot of imaginary girlfriends. I was the fucking George Clooney of imaginary girlfriends. I gave them names and backstories and everything. And they all ADORED me. I have issues.
Madonna is so warm and friendly in this video. I don't quite know when she became a bulimic cyborg that feasts on African orphans, but I like her previous incarnation far better.
Fantasy Player That Deserves A Quick Finger In The Ass
See the top of this post.
Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's picks of Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and the Jets were 3-0. The Jamboroo is now 19-9 on the season. Again, we pick three teams for your suicide pool and something that makes you want to commit suicide as well. This week, the picks are Green Bay, Seattle, New Orleans, and the Sunday Night Football theme song. I don't quite know why they're still pushing this song on us. I think it's because Dick Ebersol likes seeing his name in the opening credits. Is there ANYONE out there who looks forward to this song, apart from seeing Faith Hill rock a minidress? Does it serve any vital constituency? It's a football game. It doesn't need some half-assed cover of a Joan Jett song in an attempt to emulate a Hank Williams MNF theme that's already decades past its expiration date. It doesn't need ANY song. Just start the fucking game and let me get on with my life, will you?
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 Jacksonville getting 3 points on the road against Tennessee. That's six straight wins for me, people. And that means Jesus is on the Nazis' side. How else to explain both my stellar record and Simmons going 99-74-5?
"I see that Hannukah started yesterday. Did you little Jewish kids out there enjoy your… (snickers) festival of lights? Did you get a crazy awesome dinosaur pencil topper your first night? And light your little candleabra? Boy, that's one kickass holiday you got there. I certainly wish I had that over putting up a tree and gathering with fellow Christians of true morals and drinking spiked egg nog and opening shitloads of gifts and celebrating THE MOST DOMINANT HOLIDAY EARTH HAS EVER KNOWN. But yeah, you keep on going with your little Harmonica, or whatever the fuck it's called. Looks like a blast."
2010 Nazi Shark Record: 8-3-1
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Bob sends is a story I call TAKE MY POOP AWAY:
I was on a week long trip with my buddy and his two cousins to Italy last year in March. Milan, Florence, Lake Como...it was a week-long odyssey and my first time out of the country. I was pumped up for it but on the second day I realized I was getting sick. So for the next six days I gutted out the trip with a horrible cold/alternating fevers as we toured through Italy.
Fast forward to the final day, we wake up at 7 a.m. to catch a flight back home to Newark. I am so sick, achey, a fever, the full on flu. The only thing that's keeping me going is the thought that I can get on a flight, possibly get drunk and pass out for the eight hour flight back to America. We get to the Milan International airport and I look at the big board and see the note "CANCELED" next to our flight information....Fuck Me. We go to our gate and they will give us no information other than the plane was experiencing equipment malfunctions and the flight was canceled. My friend (no exaggeration) stands in line at the airline desk for FOUR hours as I sit by myself in a desolate part of the airport reading and trying to not pass out.
Finally he gets us on a connecting flight to Berlin and then to Newark. As I'm wheeling my suitcase to the next terminal I start to smell wine...why would I smell like wine? Finally it hits me, I had two bottles of wine in my suitcase. I unzip my bag and one has shattered over all of my clothes....glass, red wine all over everything in my suitcase. One of the airline employees see's me and tells me I can't bring the bag on the flight. I beg and plead with them and they finally agree that if I wrap my suitcase in that stupid green plastic wrapping machine I can get on. We fly to Berlin without incident.
Here's where the fun starts. We're sitting in the gate waiting for the next flight home and my stomach starts to rumble. Whether it was the horrible panini I ate in the airport or my sickness, I realize that I'm about to shit my pants and basically run to the bathroom. I sit down and just release, moaning to myself and cursing my fate. After about five minutes I hear a knock at the door. I yell out that it's occupied. The knocking stops for a minute and then starts up again. I scream out to leave me alone and the knocking stops again.
As I'm cleaning up the knocking starts again, more urgent this time, and I finish everything and slam open the door, only to see an airline employee and a security guard in full military regalia with a huge gun pointing at my feet. The employee asked me what I doing and I told him I was taking a shit in more or less words and he asked if I had heard the announcement to clear out the gate. I told him I did not. Apparently it's customary in Berlin to clear out a gate of all passengers when the plane is coming in...while I was in the bathroom they made the announcement which I did not hear. They thought I was a terrorist plotting some horrible plan in the bathroom, when all I was doing was shitting my brains out. To add insult to injury as I walk out of the bathroom the ENTIRE terminal of people is crowded around the gate looking at the moron American who caused the security incident.
On a happy note Lufthansa offers free alcohol on its overseas flights and the flight attendants are some of the hottest I ever saw.
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:
Wade Phillips (FIRED!)
Brad Childress (FIRED!)
Let's tack on Caldwell just for fun. Every NFL season includes a surprise firing or resignation. I still cherish the coming day when Belichick steps down abruptly. It's totally gonna happen in, like, fifteen years. It'll be awesome.
I'm particularly delighted by the confusion surrounding Josh McDaniels right now. Pat Bowlen said he was safe, but everyone knows Pat Bowlen is senile now, so the Broncos had to immediately correct Bowlen and say McDaniels is NOT safe, without coming out and saying that Bowlen is pulling a George Steinbrenner. Fun for all!
Gametime Snack Of The Week
Tostitos! I ate half a bag of these last week (the hint of lime ones), and spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the bag for the ones that were puffed up. I love me a puffy Tostito. The ones with giant bubbles inside and shit? GOLD.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
PROTON BEER! The beer made by SCIENCE. From the shores of Greece, where every drink has a stray body hair in it! From reader Starburied:
I studied abroad in Greece during the spring semester of 2010. After quickly realizing that spending $50 a night to go clubbing was going to leave me several thousand dollars short over the next five months, it was time to go on the hunt for a cheap alternative. The solution: Proton Beer. Selling for 0.80 euro per 17 oz makes for an approximation of $0.74 per 12 ounce can.
Unable to find a can description but let's let "DruncanVeasey" of RateBeer.com sum it up for you:
"Pours pale gold with a grainy, rubbery snout. Cereally graininess with a trace of apple-like fruit. Maybe. Pils-like bitterness with biscuity malt afters. Evilly innocent-looking cartoon tin that would almost certainly be illegal in the UK. Walked past it every day for 2 weeks thinking it was a soft drink marketed at children. Malty, grainy, uncomplicated but OK."
I love my beer to have a rubbery snout. I MUST HAVE IT. God, look at that can. It looks fucking awful. This is what it would look like if they made Mountain Dew Ginger Ale. And they totally should!
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 is Matt Ryan of the Falcons! Now, let me tell you another story about my old pal Bruce Dern. Crazy? YOU BET! Violent? OH YES! Especially during full moons!
"I was having a Hannukah party at Woodland back in '78. And when Evans does Hannukah, he makes Christmas look like Arbor Day! I had a "menorah" of nine luscious nude redheads shipped in directly from Bosnia. Were they Jews? WHO CARES? It got everyone in the spirit!
"Now, my Hannukah party is usually the kickoff to an elaborate eight day olive oil orgy. You know, as a tribute to the Maccabees. So I'm standing there on Day 6 with one of these fine human candles, and Dern is on the bed next to me. We're both COATED in Philip Berio. He says we should tag and switch. And you know Evans always goes with the flow! So I get off my bed and start walking over to his when he whispers in my ear.
"‘Evans,' he says. ‘I got a secret.'
"‘Better be a good one,' I tell him.
"‘I have a tarantula in my rectum.'
"Now there's something you don't hear every day! Dern told me it was an erotic technique he learned from the Malays. They place a Tarantula egg in your rectum and it grows to full size in your body. The orgasms, Dern said. The orgasms would blow your skull. Well, I was tempted, mainly because I was high on Coke. But Evans prefers his bowels to be spider-free! But I do wonder, sometimes, if I'm missing out. Maybe Derny had a better Hannukah than I had!"
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Panthers Fans
Tron. The original one, not the sequel coming out this month that looks fucking kickass. I know the old Tron has its cult following. But I am not among them. I was six when my folks took me to see this, and it pretty much caused me to be clinically depressed. There are certain things in life that depress you for reasons you can't explain. For me, those things include "I Just Called To Say I Love You," any old episode of One Day At A Time, and this film. It's so fucking dark. Literally. The fact that there's nothing but black in the background creeped me the fuck out. Seeing this movie as a child is basically like someone handing you a tab of LSD fifteen years before you should try it. It fucked me up. To this day, I can't look at footage of the old Tron without becoming irrationally despondent. Oh, and I sucked at the video game.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Sindi Bertherton (NSFW) When you look like that, you can misspell "Cindy" all you please. Cherish is the word I use to remind me offffff, your looooooove…
-For the gals: Jim from Outsports sends in this photo of Aussie football star Nick Youngquest. Tell me that isn't the coolest last name ever.
Enjoy the games, everyone.