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.
Reader Kevin Lincoln would like to point out the unbearably awful unwanted All Pros column that Easterbrook shat out two days ago, a veritable festival of pants-creaming lunchpailitude. NO HIGH PAID GLORY BOYS FOR TMQ. GLORY BOYS LIKE GLORY HOLES AND GOD IS AGAINST GLORY HOLES. A team of 22 Danny Woodheads is virtually unbeatable!
My All-Unwanted roster celebrates those who got where they are based on hard work and determination. In most of life, hard work and determination are more important than social status or God-given talent. That's why Tuesday Morning Quarterback lauds hard work and determination on the part of football players who were not born into success, but reached success through constant effort. They set a good example.
Arian Foster is on TMQ's list, and Easterbrook fails to note that part of the reason Foster went undrafted is because Tennessee coaches told NFL scouts that Foster was selfish and difficult to coach. In other words, he was the precise opposite of whatever fucking magic worker fairy Easterbrook now believes him to be. It took being undrafted to spur Foster to NOT be a shitty player. Same with LeGarrette Blount, who is also on Easterbrook's team and went undrafted because he punched the shit out of a Boise St. player. In both cases, there was a very good reason those players were both unwanted. And Easterbrook's QB? Michael Vick, who was the top pick in the draft, signed a $100 million contract, NEVER gave constant effort in Atlanta (by his own admission) and only became a hard-working player after losing it all and being sent to prison for murdering dogs. THE EMBODIMENT OF SCRAPPIDOCIOUSNESS.
Easterbrook's whole idea fails to take into account that many highly drafted players are highly drafted BECAUSE they worked hard and were very determined. Your draft position isn't a fucking birthright. Prospects hire specialized coaches and work out tirelessly just in hopes of improving their draft position. Easterbrook also fails to take into account that, on the whole, your odds of succeeding with a first round pick are quite a bit higher than with an undrafted free agent. Players like Foster represent about .000000001% of the undrafted rookie free agent pool. The rest of that group is dogshit. There's a reason five of the Patriots' six Pro Bowlers this year were first round picks. Even Gregg's precious Bill Belichick knows that a winning team needs talent to go with all that good old-fashioned undrafted white boy moxie.
Do you know who the hardest working player in football is? Peyton Manning, who was a #1 pick, is paid an astonishing sum every year, and is the son of college football royalty. No one was born into success more than Manning, but that hasn't made him a glory boy, or whatever the fuck Gregg calls it. Who you are and where you're drafted says nothing about your work ethic. At all. Unless you're Gregg Easterbrook and you spend your days jacking off to Wes Welker getting extra chippy on the weak side of a play.
You can take a select handful of shitty high draft picks and a select handful of undrafted overachievers and try and make some kind of general statement about how football players only succeed if they work hard and go to church and don't stay out after midnight, but that doesn't mean it has any basis in reality. What Easterbrook really wants is for all NFL players to be sufficiently humbled before both God and Gregg (and really, aren't they the same thing?). Heaven forbid you be a talented player who makes millions and are mildly cocky about it. WILL NO ONE EVER PROPERLY DOMESTICATE DESEAN JACKSON?!
So, in summation: Gregg Easterbrook can eat a bag of asses.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Bucs at Saints: It's the last week of the regular season! NOOOOOOOOOOO. No more Red Zone Channel. No more Siciliano. No more Monday Night games. No more hoping my fantasy team wins only to watch it get crushed by 60 points. FUCK! No! Please! Don't go!
I hate that the NFL season always ends right during the holidays. Due to any number of social and family obligations, I often end up not being able to pay as close attention to these final games as I would like, and then the regular season is over and I didn't get a chance to really say a proper goodbye. This is why we need an 18-game season. I know King and everyone else is like WAHHHHH A PLAYER WILL DIE! Whatever. Fuck that. I don't care. We need an 18-game season so that the regular season ends in mid-January and I'm past all the stupid family bullshit that the holidays entail. For too long, Christmas has gotten in the way of important football and I don't like it one bit.
Bears at Packers:
Rams at Seahawks: I assume the League will do everything in its power to make sure that St. Louis wins this game and wraps up the division with an 8-8 record, a decent QB, and some semblance of dignity. I fully expect the League to bring in Bill Leavy to call 37 phantom holding calls on Seattle and make sure they lose by thirty points. Not that the Rams need the help. The Seahawks are quite good at losing games by thirty points all on their own.
By the way, I'm shocked Lawyer Milloy is still playing football. That makes me feel ancient. If Jimmy Hitchcock somehow shows up in the Seattle secondary Sunday Night, I may have to go get a chemical peel.
Jaguars at Texans: It could be the last game for Gary Kubiak (though reports now have him staying and being saddled with Wade), and I'm glad because Kubiak has always been one of those coaches who looks like one of those guys in the porn movie that you don't want to look at but always draws attention to himself by grunting or talking too much. There's a whole subset of coaches who look like male porn stars than includes Kubiak, Jack Del Rio, Stan Van Gundy, Quin Snyder, and Todd Haley (especially now that Haley is rocking the long hair). I find them all very disconcerting.
Titans at Colts: A while back, I wrote about the computer software program that allows you to scan for words and phrases from any TV show within the past 60 days and compile a video of repeated uses of that phrase, which is how you end up with videos like this.
I wish I had access to that program because I now know the second most overused phrase on reality television outside of "I'm not here to make friends." And that phrase would be, "I feel like (other person) is probably my biggest competition here." I've heard some iteration of this on virtually every reality show, and it makes me want to reach through the TV set and strangle the contestant with trussing string. Because the person saying it A) Assumes they're the favorite, which is almost always wrong, and B) The other 14 or so contestants have no shot of beating them, which is also wrong. You know who your biggest competition here is, Mr. Top Chef Contestant? EVERYONE. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MAKE A VANILLA SCENTED GINGER CRÈME BRULEE FOR ME TO DROOL OVER.
Giants at Redskins: I get very impatient with injury timeouts. Whenever a player goes down, I express immediate concern for his well-being. But if he's just laying there for five minutes interrupting play, then I start to get pissed. LET'S GO, CRIPPLE BOY! I'VE GOT SHIT TO DO! I'm sure this makes me a bad person.
Raiders at Chiefs: Reader Kurt writes in with something that's been on my mind.
Since you have a young daughter I'm sure you're aware of the marketing juggernaut that is the Disney Princesses. My question to you is which of them would be hottest as a real human? I think the top seed would be Jasmine who would probably look like Aishwarya Rai in real life, with Ariel as a close second (Isla Fisher maybe?).
I was always of the mind that Ariel was the top seed among Disney Princesses. She's a redhead, so she's clearly an animal in the sack. HOWEVAH, my kid recently came into possession of a Pocahontas Barbie doll (as well as the movie on DVD – JUST AROUND THE RIVERBENNNNNDDDDDD!), and I think Pocahontas may be hotter than Ariel. In the movie, she's stacked. And the cool thing about the Pocahontas Barbie doll is that she isn't smiling. All the other Princess Barbie dolls have that overstretched smile. Not Pokeahotass. She's frowning. She looks like she wants to hit you with a cell phone. It's way hot. She looks like she is ready to get nasty in the sweat lodge, if you catch my drift.
I really, really need to get out more.
Bengals at Ravens: Speaking of Barbie dolls, every Barbie doll you buy is fastened to its box with about seven hundred very small gray wires. You'd think the doll was a fucking psych ward patient, they're so determined to hold it down. These gray wires exist in virtually all toy packaging now, and they have begun to ruin my Christmas every year. NO MORE GRAY WIRES!
Cowboys at Eagles: Last week, the Cowboys were doing the Christmas Night game and Marion Barber ran out of bounds and slipped on the stadium floorboards. This caused Bob Papa to say, "And Barber took a spill there." Which then prompted Matt Millen to sing out loud, "The Barber took a spillllll!" to the tune of "The Barber of Seville." Now, I hate Matt Millen, but I found this highly amusing. And you know what Papa and Joe Theismann's reaction to Millen was? Nothing. They said nothing. They didn't laugh. They didn't snicker. Nothing. It's like they were denying its existence, which is so lame. Here's Millen being mildly clever for once in his life, and fucking Theismann can't play along. What a dick.
Dolphins at Patriots
Steelers at Browns
Vikings at Lions
Bills at Jets
Panthers at Falcons
Cardinals at 49ers
Chargers at Broncos
Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Bones," by Radiohead. If the album cover of "The Bends" creeps you out a little, it's because the cover art, according to Wiki, was achieved by "morphing a photograph taken by (artist Stanley) Donwood of a medical dummy with (Thom) Yorke's own face." Yep, that's gonna produce an unsettling image every time. It really is.
When I was in elementary school, we had to practice CPR, and the way we did that was by performing mouth-to-mouth on a medical dummy, not unlike the one featured up above. We also had to perform mouth-to-nose on a medical dummy of a baby. God forbid the 10-year-old me ever encounter a baby experiencing respiratory failure, because I almost certainly would have broken the child's skull and blown snot right through its brain.
Anyway, everyone giggled because you had to kiss the dummy, and of course the dummy was male, so every boy in the class was like I'M NOT KISSING IT THAT MAKES ME GAY. And the teachers were of course unsympathetic and told us to get over ourselves. But you can't tell me it isn't damaging to make a child kiss a lifeless medical dummy that looks like a slaughtered replicant. And the fake baby was even worse. These are disturbing objects. No one should have to kiss them. Take the childish homophobia away and it's still creepy.
Embarrassing Song I Once Liked That Will Not Fire You Up
"The Miracle" by Queen, the spiritual predecessor of ICP's "Miracles". No one gave Queen much shit for this song, but they should have, because it's putrid. Just a few of the lyrics:
Every drop of rain that falls in sahara desert says it all
It's a miracle
All God's creations great and small
The Golden Gate and the Taj Mahal
That's a miracle
Test tube babies being born
Mothers, fathers dead and gone
It's a miracle
We're having a miracle on Earth
Mother nature does it all for us
Open hearts and surgery
Sunday mornings with a cup of tea
Super powers always fighting
But Mona Lisa just keeps on smiling
It's a miracle it's a miracle it's a miracle
So, so bad. Worse, in fact, than the ICP song. For a legendary rock band, Queen produced an incredible number of horrible, horrible songs. Take it from someone who listened to "These Are The Days Of Our Lives" more often than he should have.
And the funny thing about Queen is that British people are INSANE about them. Almost as much as Abba. If you say something bad about Freddie Mercury to a British person, they'll hit you in the face with a rolling pin. I've seen it happen firsthand. If you say something bad about Queen on any rock band message board, a British person is immediately alerted to respond and tell you that you are SHITE. Do not insult Queen around drunken British people. They have a deep, baffling affection for even their worst songs, like this one.
Fantasy Player That Deserves A Quick Finger In The Ass
Peyton Hillis, who fucked you over in your championship game with just 35 yards rushing. And I must say, Mr. Peyton Hillis Owner, you more than deserved it. All season long, you skipped around all high and mighty and bragged about being savvy enough to pick Hillis up off waivers. AND NOW RETRIBUTION HAS COME FOR YOU, YOU ARROGANT FUCK. There's a special spot in Hell reserved for Hillis, who screwed over both people who didn't own him (by being good) and people who did (by not being good at the precise wrong time). But Gregg Easterbrook is just glad he isn't some BIG BUCKS GLORY BOY!
Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's picks of Pittsburgh, San Diego, and Philly were 1-2. The Jamboroo is now 27-13 on the season. Not bad, if you don't mind losing your money thirteen times over! 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 Miami, Houston, Washington, and screwed-on battery covers for toys. Why? Why why why? Why does the battery cover need to be screwed on? Can't it just have a plastic tab that snaps into place? Every goddamn toy I buy for the kid now has a battery cover that has not just one, but SEVERAL screws that require the exact wrong sized Phillips head screwdriver. It's just a battery cover. The toy doesn't have plutonium inside it. Make my life easier, you dirty Chinamen.
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 Dallas getting 12 points on the road against Philly. I see an original copy of Schindler's list is going on sale this week. The actual list, not the propaganda film. Well, guess who's pooled together enough money with the help of the Coors family and Gregg Easterbrook to buy that list? That's right. ME. I'm buying that list, and I'm tracking down and eating every name on it. So watch your ass, Itzhak Goldberg! Schindler's list is now Rolf's menu."
2010 Nazi Shark Record: 9-6-1
Great Moments In Fart History
This week's Fart History moment is my own. Three weeks ago, I started on a farting binge that hasn't shown any signs of abating. Somehow, a combination of lentil soup and oranges and Metamucil and Cracklin' Oat Bran conspired to give me some of the nastiest farts I've ever dealt out in my thirty years on Planet Earth. It got so bad that my wife hid the Metamucil from me and demanded that I not consume anything that could set off my nuclear asshole. It got past the point of the farts being humorous to me, which takes a lot, to the point where I thought Mrs. Drew would divorce me if I let it rip around her one more time. And that just made the situation worse, because now I was farting afraid. I would try and fart away from her in various areas of the house, only to have her immediately walk into that area for some bizarrely coincidental reason.
HER: You farted in here!
ME: You weren't supposed to be in this bathroom! STOP FOLLOWING MY FARTS.
Even worse, my butt seemed to only want to fart whenever someone was around. I'd be fine all by myself, and then the Mrs. would walk in and my butt would be like NOW NOW NOW! FIRE AT WILL! This is a horrible feeling.
The whole thing crested two nights ago. I'm in bed in the middle of the night, and the one-year-old starts crying. My wife goes to change his diaper. I'm half-asleep and, after she's gone a while, I feel a fart coming on. No better time to let it rip than when she's gone, I think to myself. So I lift up my leg and… BOOM. The loudest fart you've ever heard. It sounded like the cannons going off at an AC/DC concert. If you lived near the house, you might have thought someone was being gunned down in a drug deal gone bad.
This was a bad move on my part, because unbeknownst to me, my wife had finished changing the kid and had returned to bed BEFORE I let out this major pantsquake. She sits up in bed in terror.
HER: Oh my God, was that YOU?!
ME: Holy shit! You're in the room?! (reaches over, gropes wife's face with hand) YOU ARE!
I thought she was gonna kick me out of the house right there and then. I mean, this fart could have destroyed lives. I pictured my kids growing up mentally unstable and emotionally scarred forever, all because Daddy farted too much.
But I didn't get kicked out. The farts died down, and Mrs. Drew had a nice laugh about it the next morning. Sometimes, you just get on a tear. Anyway, stay away from the Cracklin' Oat Bran. It's poison.
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!)
Josh McDaniels (FIRED!)
Mike Singletary (FIRED!)
Jack Del Rio
The Chargers have already announced that Norv Turner will return next season, which means he stays off the list despite the fact that he really, truly belongs here. Why are the Chargers not firing him? What the fuck is it gonna take? YOU PEOPLE ARE WASTING THE BEST YEARS OF CHARGERS FANS LIVES.
I'd like to also commend Tony Sparano, Jack Del Rio, Eric Mangini, Norv, and Tom Coughlin for coming through at the end of the year and doing all they could to get added to this list. You men are true closers, and I salute you. I think up to ten coaches will end up being fired this year. WHAT A HAUL! Best Black Monday ever!
And with ten vacancies coming, you know damn well there's gonna be a really bad hire or two out there. Someone's gonna hire Jimbo Fisher or something horrible like that. I can't wait.
Gametime Snack Of The Week
Christmas nachos! Reader Johnny sends in this unholy concoction that subs in cookies for tortilla chips and frosting for nacho cheese. VOILA. Instant death. Why not put Skittles in maple syrup and have it be the guacamole? And Fluff as the sour cream? Seems reasonable.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
COOK'S GOLDBLUME LIGHT! From reader Derek comes this aggressively generic lager.
Nothing tops this, it's at some CVS stores in the midwest for 10.99 a 24-pack. But hey, it has real beer flavor!
Mmmmm… real beer flavor. God, look at that can. It's so minimalist. It looks like it was left in a landfill in 1932 and just dug up four days ago. I MUST HAVE IT.
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 Tom Brady of the Patriots! Happy New Year to all of you! My favorite New Year was back in 1979, when I spent the holiday on the Amalfi Coast with the one and only SERGIO LEONE! Visionary? YOU BET! A notorious food fetishist? NO DOUBT! Leone loved mixing the art of lovemaking with various epicurean delights. His entire bedroom REEKED of salad dressing. Anyway, I had to his villa for New Year's and he tells me he's making lasagna for the party. So, after a shower and powdering, I walk into his foyer and what do I see? A giant banquet table laid out, with no less than five gorgeous naked women stacked on top of one another, with layers of cheese, tomatoes, and ground veal in between them! HE HAD MADE A HUMAN LASAGNA! Have a piece, Leone tells me. It's even better when you reheat it the next day!"
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Panthers Fans
Halloween III: Season of the Witch. I thought of this movie the other day because an ad came on for another movie coming out called "Season of the Witch" starring Nicolas Cage and Nicolas Cage's wig. Now, that movie looks god awful. It looks like they walked around the set for Sorcerer's Apprentice and said, "Well, we have Cage, and the sets, and hats. FUCK IT. Let's make another shitty movie!" And then they did. I can't believe they named it "Season of the Witch," given that it's the same title as the movie above, which is considered by many to be the absolute worst of the Halloween movies, specifically because it doesn't have Michael Myers in it. In fact, it doesn't seem to have any relation to the franchise at all. Roger Ebert sums it up nicely in a review from 1982.
There are a lot of problems with "Halloween III," but the most basic one is that I could never figure out what the villain wanted to accomplish if he got his way. His scheme is easy enough to figure: He wants to sell millions of Halloween masks to the nation's kiddies and then brainwash them to put them on at the same time, whereupon laser beams at the base of the neck will fry the tykes. Meanwhile, he runs a factory that turns out lifelike robots. What's his plan? Kill the kids and replace them with robots? Why?
It doesn't matter why, because you will be too SCARED SHITLESS TO ASK QUESTIONS. I want an exploding Halloween mask. I would give it to Jaworski.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
Apu: This is worse than your song about Mr. T.
Homer: I pity the fool who doesn't like...he.
Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Vanessa Raia (NSFW). All swimsuits should do that.
-For the gals: Jim from Outsports sends in this photo of American decathlete Trey Hardee. He's the male Allison Stoke.
Enjoy the games, everyone. And Happy New Year.