•Patriots 17, Bills 10. I'm no doctor, but I do like to throw around groundless assertations: Tom Brady is not healthy. He was only 11 of 23, and New England did most of their damage on the ground; a very un-Belichick like playbook. Buffalo actually recovered an onside kick with three minutes left, only to see it overturned on a pointless offside call.

•Titans 37, Dolphins 34. Tennessee looked like they had this one in hand, up 18 late in the third. But two scores and a clutch 2-point conversion sent this one to overtime, where Chad Henne promptly tossed his third pick of the game. Rob Bironas hit one from 46 yards for the win. Chris Johnson "only" had 104 yards.

•Falcons 10, Jets 7. Hey, Matt Ryan's back! And hey, the Jets' playoff hopes are all but dead! Ryan found Tony Gonzalez on 4th and goal from the six, but that's not the story. The story was three failed field goals for the Jets: one fumbled snap, one block, and one plain old miss. Three Mark Sanchez interceptions didn't help, either.

•Browns 41, Chiefs 34. How many times have the Browns played amazingly exciting games against equally crappy teams? This one was a doozy, with Jerome Harrison nearly matching his season total — and topping Jim Brown's franchise single game record — with 286 yards rushing. Joshua Cribbs had two kickoff returns for touchdowns, of 100 and 103 yards. Meanwhile, Brady Quinn's QB rating was actually worse than that of Cribbs, who had one incomplete attempt.

•Texans 16, Rams 13. Is Keith Null the QB of the future in St. Louis? With a name like that, not likely. But he at least kept the Rams in the game, though he couldn't do anything about Andre Johnson, who lit up the secondary for nine catches and 196 yards. The Texans were able to force a three-and-out after the go-ahead field goal, and never gave up the ball again.

•Cardinals 31, Lions 24. You know what would be a Christmas miracle? If the Lions could finish the game with the same QB that started. Drew Stanton started the second half in place of Daunte Culpepper. (if you had money on injury, you are...incorrect. It was plain old ineffectiveness.) Still, this one was close until Kurt Warner found Anquan Boldin with two minutes remaining.

Ochocinco's brain, which is never censored or edited by Ochocinco's mouth, had mentioned he might wear Chris Henry's jersey for today's game in honor of his teammate. A lovely little gesture, one that I can't imagine a single NFL fan objecting to. Of course, the NFL and its fans have a huge disconnect, and the league said it would fine Ochocinco.

Then a spokesman for the player's union said the NFLPA would reimburse Ochocinco for the fine, all but endorsing the gesture. So, everybody's happy, right? Chris Henry gets a fitting tribute, the league enforces its rules, a charity gets another fine in its donation bucket, and the NFLPA scores some PR points.

Not so fast: word leaked out that for a number of player reps, this was the first they'd heard about offering to cover the fine, and that the spokesman wasn't speaking for the union. Then it came out that the league wouldn't allow them to reimburse Ochocinco, even if they were all on the same page.

Rather than the controversy coming to head with one big clusterfuck pitting player against player, union against management, Ochocinco backed off. Today he said he won't try to wear Henry's jersey, not wanting to cause a distraction. I don't buy it. Since when has he avoided distraction?

Could a world without Chris Henry be a world where Chad Ochocinco has mellowed out, and will play by the rules? This is not a world I want to live in.

Ochocinco Decides Against 'Distraction' [ESPN]

As America sits, in the snow, tired, and perhaps hungry—not for change, anymore, but hungry perhaps for optimism, or hungry to once again love and respect and feel warmly toward our on-air talent—what do they really want, besides a rest, for a bit? I think they want to watch professional football on a Saturday. Snowy professional football. And, I think, they are wary of digital satellites.
***
When I was a girl, America watched football for free. President Kennedy told us to be proud of our Founding Fathers, our moral courage, our free market of ideas, and as he instructed us to look to the stars, America received football from the sky, with rabbit ears and pride. Sometimes we drove cars and listened to football. I wonder—have you listened to football, in a car, recently? Has anyone? Did we lose something, as a country, when we stopped listening to football? I think so, sometimes. But some didn't. Some still do.

In a Catholic childhood in America, you were once given, as the answer to the big questions: It is a mystery. As I grew older I was impatient with this answer. Now I am probably as old, intellectually, as I am going to get, and more and more I think: It is a mystery. I am more comfortable with this now; it seems the only rational and scientific answer.

Out in the country, strong, heroic men pulled football from the air with enormous white dishes 12 feet across. And they did it without complaining. For their efforts they were, sometimes, rewarded with free HBO. They didn't lock their doors at night. In fact, they opened them. They opened them to neighbors—the Cowboys fan, the Colts fan. They tended to their lawn.

And then our president, America's youthful, dynamic president, cut everyone's taxes.
***
I imagine a dialogue between a football fan—a young man, a strong American—and Matt Millen.

FOOTBALL FAN: "I want to watch the football game tonight!"

MATT MILLEN: "Tell it to your cable provider!"

FOOTBALL FAN: "I am a football fan! An American! I work! It is your job, football commentator for the league's official broadcast organ, to talk to cable providers! It is my job to work for a living and then to watch the Saints!"

MATT MILLEN: "Our hands are tied. We passed up easy money because we didn't want you, football fan, to watch football on an inferior Comcast-owned channel. It was called 'Versus.' It would've been terrible. And now Comcast will own NBC!"

FOOTBALL FAN: "How can you have Thursday Night Football on Saturday? Do you respect us, at all?"

MATT MILLEN: "Our post-game show is really good! Our on-air personalities delightful! You would love us, Football Fan!"

FOOTBALL FAN: "You are Matt Millen. You are a failure. I fire you! As an American Voter, I fire you, Matt Millen, from commentating on games."
***
Many years ago, in an airport, after I saw a Mexican, a man said to me, "we don't care what you do in New York." What I think he meant was that he cares, a great deal, what we do in "New York," and "New York" means "places where homosexuals live" and also "asking amusing celebrities about their fantasy football teams." He meant—that is fine, for you, out there. Your arrangements, your digital satellites, your streaming illegally on the internet, if that is how you must live than that is how you must live. But it is a problem when those arrangements, those tiered sports packages, are imposed on those who are uninterested in them.

For years now, without anyone declaring it or even noticing it, we've had a compromise on television. Do you want, or will you allow into your home, football analysis that is graphically irreverent, highly ironic, or reflective of cultural messages that you believe may be destructive? Do you want Rich Eisen? Fine, get cable. Pay for it. Buy your premium package, it's your money, spend it as you like.

But the big broadcast networks are for everyone. They are free, they are available on every television set in the nation, and we watch them with our children. The whole family's watching. Higher, stricter standards must maintain.

I'd like to see a poll on this. Yes or no: Have we become a more vulgar country? Is there something called the American Character, and do you think it has, the past half-century, improved or degenerated? If the latter, what are the implications of this? Most importantly: Is America ready for some football? Where are our rowdy friends, tonight?

Yes, there is a rule! It is called the "Rooney Rule," and it is designed to encourage diversity without forcing it. It operates under the assumption that entrenched, structural discrimination at the executive level has led to, basically, the exact same familiar white faces being shuffled from team to team as qualified minority candidates are simply overlooked. But Goodell says the Redskins, who are patently obviously guilty of exactly the behavior that this rule was designed to address, are in total compliance, because, who knows, they probably had themselves an interview in which Sherm Lewis radioed his best and worst qualities as a manager to Sherm Smith who relayed them to Snyder as Bruce Allen waited for the laser printer to finish delivering his contract.

Hooray for following the letter but ignoring the intent of the law! And hail to the Washington Redskins, champions of diversity!

It seems like they could've thought this one through a little better. A team whose most storied owner decided that "Redskins"—referring, in the most demeaning and reductive way imaginable, to the members of a series of nations that were effectively victims of an intentional campaign of extermination at the hands of the US government—had a better ring to it than "Braves," and who refused to integrate the team until ordered to do so by Congress, a team with this history might think twice about openly flouting the NFL's one single lone rule designed to diversify front offices. You would think!

And that they should openly ignore the rule in order to bring in Bruce Allen is deliciously oblivious icing on the cake of racial insensitivity. Redskins fans still adore George Allen senior, but in Virginia these days the Allen family is known primarily for the disastrous meltdown of the political career of George Allen the younger, a man from Chicago and California who adores Confederate flags and incredibly obscure racial epithets.

(Not, of course, that Bruce necessarily shares his asshole older brother's racism. All we know about their relationship is that "George hurled him through a sliding glass door" when he refused to go to bed, according to their sister Jennifer.)

So the Washington Post has held a little opinion roundtable, here, that is mostly made up of people being like "oh this is a shame there is so much work to do but we are getting there, slowly," and of course one fucking white guy who is all "AFFIRMATIVE ACTION IS REVERSE RACISM DID YOU WANT THEM TO HIRE A LOSER JUST BECAUSE HE'S A BLACK THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A NEGRO QUALIFIED TO MANAGE THE FIGHTING INJUN FOOTBALL TEAM." (That white guy is, of course, KSK contributor Monday Morning Punter, who I hope is not too upset that I think his contribution to the debate is stupid.)

Anyways! All of this is a moot point, because the Redskins are now buried under a mountain of snow (ironical!) and no one will ever hear from any of them again.

The Bears apparently sat on the runway at O'Hare for two hours before they gave up. So, who knows, maybe they'll leave this afternoon, or Sunday morning, or whatever. Maybe they will continue sitting in planes for a while? The snow is actually just getting worse, so let's just declare both of these teams busts for the season and let them begin working out their issues without having to play tomorrow.

Injured Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher, reached at a house party in Evanston, reportedly said that the team needs to get back to a harder, more traditional Bears style of transportation to games, like hitchhiking or makeshift rafts. "Say what you want about Kyle [Orton]," Urlacher said, "but the guy knew how to depart Chicago and arrive in another municipality with an NFL franchise in a timely fashion, and that formula worked for us."

The two unbeaten teams are playing prime time games on the NFL Network this week. The Colts play the Jags tonight. The Saints play the Cowboys on Saturday Night. The people at NFL Network are, naturally, ecstatic about this development, and have thumped their chests about it ever since last week.

Now, I have the NFL Network in my house. Obviously, I have no personal issue with the league keeping these games on their own network, since I'm able to view that network. And I have no issue with the network's content. The Sunday 7:30PM postgame show with Eisen, Deion, and Stabby McScissorsneck is, hands down, the best postgame show in the universe right now, and perhaps the best postgame wrapup show ever. They clearly modeled it on TNT's NBA studio show, and it worked. Eisen is fucking flawless. I think the network's game coverage is pretty shitty, but I'm used to game coverage being shitty regardless of channel.

But the fact remains that the NFL Network is still not carried by SEVEN of the top 10 cable providers in the United States. If you have Time Warner Cable, or Cablevision, or something else like that, you will not be able to watch these games. If you have Cox cable, you will have to pay extra on your basic package to get the NFL Network. There's no guarantee that the area you live in will have an available cable provider that carries the NFL Network. It is currently available to 70 million homes, which sounds like a lot, unless you're one of the 250 million other assholes who can't get it.

And if you'd like go with DirecTV, you of course know that you must have a clear view of the Southern Sky to be able to get DirecTV in your house or apartment. This would be easy if you lived in, say, Tazmania. Alas, you do not. So this compromises your ability to see the NFL Network and, obviously, purchase Sunday Ticket if you want to (that's a whole other annoying matter).

When the Pats were 15-0 two years ago, the NFL Network was pressured into simulcasting their final regular season game against the Giants on CBS, so that everyone could watch. There's been no indication that the NFL will allow such a thing to happen again this week. Which means, if you don't have the Network, you'll have to get your ass to a bar to watch. I am a football fan, which means I am inherently uninterested in getting up and going places. So this is a decided inconvenience for people of my ilk.

Now, the NFL will tell you that you can't watch the games because the cable networks are a bunch of greedy assholes. And the cable companies will tell you that you can't watch the games because the people at the NFL are a bunch of greedy assholes.

I don't give a shit about any of these arguments. All I know is this: It was the NFL's idea – no one else's – to take these games off regular TV and use them for their own network venture. Now, maybe they thought every cable network would immediately accept their terms and NFL Network would be available to everyone instantly. If that's the case, then they are fucking naïve and stupid. Cable executives will shoot their own parents in the head before they do you a favor, and everyone knows that. It was the NFL's decision to take a portion of the schedule and put it somewhere else, with no guarantee that it would be available to anyone in the country who wanted to see it (and pay the cable or satellite fees necessary for it). It was their STUPID, ANNOYING, RETARDED FUCKING IDEA.

I asked our former editor Will Leitch, who does NOT have the ability to get NFL Net in his home, to comment on this matter. This is what he said: "What's most depressing is that no one even complains about it anymore. It has been six years. It's like my inability to smell. It's just something you accept that you'll never have."

Well, I don't accept it. There are very few weeks left in this NFL regular season, and the idea that the NFL would keep some of its product away from you right when it's getting most necessary is a slight I cannot abide. So that is why I say to the people at NFL Network…

FUCK. YOU.

Fuck you in the mouth, you fucking assholes. You want a bargaining chip with the cable companies, and you're willing to deprive us of games to do so? DIE. Die a million fucking times. I hope your homes get flooded with raw sewage and you develop a worm in your intestines that grows 57 feet long and has fangs, and spends 23 hours a day gnawing on the inside of your rectum until it bleeds liquid stool into the rest of your body. You fucking short-sighted pricks. Five years ago, everyone could watch every prime time game, and there were day games on Saturday in December, and Matt Millen was still off the air. BUT YOU HAD TO GO AND FUCK ALL THAT UP. Piss on you, you FUCKS. Roger Goodell? Eat shit. Steve fucking Bornstein,. CEO of NFL Network? You eat shit and die too. Lemme just check your Wiki page:

Bornstein has four children: Alanna, Carly, Mason and Jude.

Hey Jude! YOUR DAD'S A CUMBUCKET! Naaaaaaa na na nananana!

Steve and his wife Carol in 2002 were featured on the TV show Homes Across America. At the time, they lived in a restored house in Beverly Hills that was once owned by Fred Astaire.

Oh, really? Well, fuck your nice house, fuck Beverly Hills, and fuck Fred Astaire's dancing corpse. I bet you have a clear view of the Southern Sky from Bornstein Acres, don't you? I bet this isn't even a worry for you. Well I hope a pit bull comes and eats your balls.

Get your fucking act together, NFL. Settle this shit, or don't bother with your piddly shit channel.

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

Five Throwgasms

Bengals at Chargers: Dan Dierdorf pointed something out last week that was interesting. No, it's true! He really did! Carson Palmer usually hands off with his left hand, but since he sprained his left hand back in October, he's switched to handing off righty, regardless of play direction. So if the play is going right, Palmer will present the ball to the back with his right hand. When you watch it on replays, it's like he's handing off backhanded. His hand is in the way of the ball on virtually every carry, and it's incumbent on the runner to pluck the ball out of Palmer's hand and make sure that hand doesn't get trapped between the ball and their body. He's been doing this for two freakin' months, and he's only fumbled the ball four times in that span. That's amazing. Tony Romo would fumble the ball fifty times a game if he tried that.

Also, here was Boomer Esiason on Chad Ochocinco last week:

Chad Ochocinco now also fined four times this year. As a wide receiver he's the number one fined wide receiver in football, but he's 19th in receptions. This guy is no longer a Pro Bowl player. He's an absolute sideshow. He's an embarrassment to the franchise. The other aspect to all of this, you would think Marvin Lewis would have enough of it, sit him down and deactivate him. Mike Brown will never allow Marvin Lewis to sit down the sideshow that is Chad Ochocinco. It's a shame, because they're having a great season.

Esiason is a moron. First off, who gives a shit if Ochocinco has been fined? None of his sideline goofs have cost the team penalty yardage. If he wants to be fined $50,000 a week by the league, fine. It makes NO FUCKING DIFFERENCE TO THE OUTCOME OF ANY BENGALS GAME if Ocho is fined by the league for something. Secondly, Ocho is having his best season in ages. Being 19th in the league is receptions is GOOD. That's not a bad thing. Ocho is 15th in receiving yardage. He's 13th in TDs. Among all wideouts with 50 catches or more, he ranks 5th overall in balls caught for first downs. Is he good enough to make the Pro Bowl in the AFC? Probably not. But he's certainly productive. So the idea that a playoff team would bench their most productive receiver permanently because he occasionally tallies fines that are of no detriment to the team is breathtakingly stupid.

Also, the sombrero thing was funny. Get fucked, Boomer.

Cowboys at Saints: About that NFL Network postgame show. I'm convinced the reason it works is because they don't have any tightassed white people on the set. On every other studio show, there's at least one humorless prick there (usually more) to suck the air out of the room. Esiason and Marino on CBS. Howie Long on FOX. Everyone on the ESPN set: Berman, Jackson, Dilfer, Ditka, and on and on and on (People like Berman may crack "jokes," but deep down, they're still humorless assholes who take themselves entirely too seriously). Deion Sanders was horrible on the CBS pregame show. But that was in part because there was no one else on that set that was interested in enjoying himself on the air, and frowned upon anyone who did. And now that Deion is with Eisen, he can be as off-the-cuff as he pleases. And I swear, it fucking WORKS. Every pregame and postgame show would be improved by a million percent if networks dropped the old studio format and went with the TNT model.

Colts at Jaguars: I have no data to back this up, but it's a FACT. You can get away with resting your starters in Week 17, but that's it. One week. If you decide to shut it down for two or three weeks before the playoffs begin, you are fucked.

Also, I feel like Peyton Manning's helmet is on too tightly every week. He takes his helmet off on the sideline, and his forehead is beet fucking red. There are two giant indents from the inside helmet pads there. Tell them to take some air out, Peyton. It looks like your head's in a fucking vise.

Four Throwgasms

Dolphins at Titans: Chris Johnson is the NFL rushing leader with 1,626 yards. That's a full 27% better than 2nd place rusher Steven Jackson. The man is an animal.

Falcons at Jets
49ers at Eagles

Three Throwgasms

Giants at Redskins: Vinny Cerrato is OUT! Bruce Allen is IN! Jon Gruden is coming! THIS GUY, Jon Gruden, THIS GUY IS JUST A FLAT OUT COMPETITOR! This is the part where Redskins fans do a complete 180 on Dan Snyder and envision four Super Bowl titles just around the corner. It happens every couple years or so here, and it's great fun. A return to GLOREE IS COMING ANY DEE NOW, COOCH!

By the way, if Gruden comes in, and the Skins have a high draft pick, and they decide they don't want Jason Campbell anymore, that can only mean one thing... CONCRETE CYANIDE IS COMING TO DC! I eagerly look forward to Dan Shanoff becoming a Redskins fan five months from now. Tim Tebow: He's like a thicker Heath Shuler!

As for the Giants, Justin Tuck is a Conehead. I've seen him without his helmet now to believe he's 100% Conehead. Looks like the top of an egg. He must have been stuck in his mom's birth canal for at least 72 hours.

Two Throwgasms

Packers at Steelers: Those Charlie Sheen and Michael Jordan Hanes ads completely creep me out. Knowing what you know about both these assholes, would you ever buy undergarments from them? Combined, they've given at least six hundred women syphilis and forced a solid fifty abortions. And those are conservative estimates.

Bears at Ravens: I've seen the Levi's ads with the Walt Whitman poetry a solid 800 times now. I think they're really good, but I have to wonder what the Venn Diagram of NFL fans and Walt Whitman fans looks like. Probably looks like a pair of tits.

Patriots at Bills: Last week's discussion of standing to wipe vs. sitting to wipe was enlightening, to say the least. The Fark comments alone will entertain you for hours. But we never talked about what people wipe WITH. You say all people wipe with toilet paper or baby wipes? I think you are mistaken. No, I finish off every poop by wiping with a warm flour tortilla.

Vikings at Panthers: This is the Sunday Night game. Why? Wasn't flex scheduling meant to prevent this kind of shitshow? Indeed it was. But CBS and FOX are allowed to lock one game a week. CBS picked Chargers and Bengals to keep. FOX, I assume, kept Niners-Eagles or Falcons-Jets. Those are not great games, but it's the best of their terrible slate (the NFC is juuuust a bit top heavy this year). NBC could have taken Titans-Dolphins or either of those two games, but elected to go with Favre instead. So be sure to tell the folks at NBC to kiss your ass for subjecting you to the Land Baron once again.

Also, the NFL Network is at fault here somewhat. I'm sure Saints/Cowboys or Colts/Jags would have been nice flex options for NBC, but they're off the table now. So now not only does NFL Network prevent you from watching their games, but they make the games you CAN watch fucking worse.

Cardinals at Lions: Hey, there was no Red Zone Channel last Sunday afternoon! WHAT THE FUCK? There were three games on, and only one of them was worth watching, but still! I paid for that shit. ANDREW SICILIANO, GET YOUR BIG EARS IN THAT FUCKING STUDIO AND TOGGLE FOR ME, YOU TOGGLING BITCH.

Raiders at Broncos

One Throwgasm

Bucs at Seahawks
Texans at Rams
Browns at Chiefs

CANNIBAL CORPSE SONG OF THE WEEK!

"Rancid Amputation," by Cannibal Corpse! Yes, the holidays means it's time, once again, to spend a few minutes with Buffalo's finest death metal band. Who needs chestnuts roasting and whiskers on kittens when Cannibal Corpse has so much more Yuletide spirit to offer the world? Just take a gander at the lyrics to this song, which is one of the band's slower waltzes:

Torsos hang by their own intestines
Raped of all bodily extensions, stumps wreathing in a sludge
Like infection
Suffering through a Rancid amputation
A pulsating artery accompanied by some veins, slit with no restraint
Sacs of pus develop
My muscles tighten as I feel the rush
I look at your body starting to gush

I slice through the limb,
A human dissection portions of half-eaten flesh in my mouth
Starting to chew your now bleeding stump

I will swallow your pus, your own rectal slime
I'll force you to drink

Now who can't see the beauty in this kind of music? Impossible not to be touched. BUT WAIT! Why not sample the lyrics to Addicted to Vaginal Skin? Is the phrase "clit carving" in there? It is! Johnny Mathis sang this on one of his holiday specials. It was a delight. Corpse is still going strong in 2009. In fact, this year they released a new album called "Evisceration Plague," which may or not contain the exact same music from the last album they made, but with new artwork and lyrics. Enjoy such classics as, "Skull Fragment Armor," "Scalding Hail," "Evidence In The Furnace," and "Skewered From Ear To Eye."

Christmas Song Of The Week

"Marshmallow World," by Darlene Love. I tell you what, for a guy who loves recklessly shooting women with guns and sporting terrible wigs, Phil Spector sure could produce one kickass Christmas song.

Open Mailbag Tuesdays
People, I'm sad to say it, but the mailbag is getting TOO poopy of late. It's all poop this and poop that, which is fine with me. But some people like variety, so there you go. So send in some new topics if you got them. Got something you want displayed for show and tell in the Deadspin Tuesday Mailbag? Email me any question or observation you like.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Kurt Warner. CRIMINY! You start your fantasy playoffs excited because '99 Warner showed up last week, then he turns around and becomes '05 Warner a week later. THE BASTARD. That's the problem with Kurt Warner. You never know which week is the one where he accidentally walks in front of a pile of exposed plutonium to become '99 Warner. There's just no accurate way of predicting it. DAMN YOU, '99 WARNER, YOU CRUEL TEASE.

Suicide Pick Of The Week
Last week's suicide pick of New England was correct, making our suggestions for your pool 11-3 on the year. Sorry about the three wrong ones. That puts the Pats, Broncos, Bengals, Steelers, Jets, Falcons, Bears, Colts, Eagles, 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? Arizona, and the writing of Variety magazine. Ufford and I had a discussion this week, and we both agreed that reading Variety makes you want to fly to Los Angeles and punch everyone in the dick. "Pic expected to gross $250 million." "Story centers on a banker who turns over a new leaf when his child discovers she healing powers." "Actioner." "Cabler." It's everything I hate about Los Angeles in print from. The casual arrogance. The "industry" shorthand. The haughty detachment. I hope the editors of that magazine drown in their own… (checks Cannibal Corpse lyrics)… RECTAL SLIME! Yes, that will do.

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 Packers getting 2 points against Pittsburgh on the road. I just want to take a moment to wish you all a Merry Christmas. That's MERRY CHRISTMAS. Not Season's Greetings, or Happy Holidays, or any of that secular, ACLU-enforced nonsense. I want you to have a Merry Christmas. And if you're a filthy Jew, then I want you to convert to Christianity, chop off half your nose so it's normal size, and THEN have a Merry Christmas. And if you don't want to convert, then I hope you kill yourself. THAT is what I'm really saying to you when I say MERRY CHRISTMAS. So Merry Christmas from the bottom of my shark heart."

2009 Nazi Shark Record: 7-7.

This Week's Pants Party Winner
This week's Pants Party winner was AR Worrell. AR, come and claim your rant prize.

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Chris D. turns in the absolute BEST holiday skiing poop story you can imagine. It's as much of a treat as the side of a gingerbread house. I call it, TRIPLE BROWN DIAMOND:

I went to high school in West Virginia, the flabby armflap of America. It sucked. The one thing I did for fun though was ski, and I skied a lot. We had a program that would take us after school on Fridays via charter bus up to a local mountain to night ski.

Well one day I'm out on the mountain skiing having a grand ol' time when the urge to shit hits me on the lift. My stomach had been hurting for a while due to eating high school cafeteria pizza and sneaking shots of Jameson from some kids flask on the bus ride up. Well once I get off the lift and start skiing I feel better, this always happens- moving around and stuff takes your mind off of how bad you need to shit. I decide I can do another run before going in and going through the arduous task of taking off all my layers to shit.

HUGE MISTAKE.

I get back on the lift and not even half way up I'm starting to feel it, churning, it comes in waves, I'm breathing heavy, I tell my friends that I really need to go and they try to talk me through it as if I was having a baby or something. I see the end coming and I'm ready to fly down the mountain as quick as I can. And then it happens. The lift comes to a dead stop. I look down, consider jumping.. it's close to 30ft. FUCK! I am now almost in tears from the pain of holding in the liquid fire in my bowels. Slowly but surely it begins to seep out, every time I breathe alittle more and a little more. I'm sitting there in it, my friends can smell it. It smells like someone microwaving KFC they found in the garbage. They're trying to strike a balance between laughing and gagging.

Finally- the lift starts back up. I then start skiing down, I can feel the warmth oozing down my legs through my thermals, forming small pools behind my legs in my boots. As I ski down the mountain, still trying to hold shit in, it keeps squirting out every time I hit a bump or have to turn quickly.

Then some little kid cuts me off and I take a nasty spill, and I mean nasty, I let loose a 3 to 4 second spray. Snow and ice go up my jacket and down my pants. The shit/fake WV snowblower snow mixture in my pants feels like warm sandpaper. It takes close to 25 minutes to finish the run and my ass is now wet and cold, but I finally make it down and waddle through the lodge to the bathroom.

I am wearing boxers under my thermals but at this point they are just shit-pasted together. It's so nasty and sticky that I basically had to cut my boxers off with (Don't know what its called- we called them wickets-the metal things that you stuck your lift tickets on before everything went electronic). I can finally let the rest out. I'm sitting there completely naked from the waste down and the sounds coming out of my body made everyone else stop what they were doing and I was asked several times if I was ok. Finally after all was done and my asshole burned like the rage of 1000 golf club wielding swedish supermodels scorned (what I would have given to have a bowl of ice cream to sit in), I got up and observed my work. It looked like someone had been brewing coffee in that toilet. There was zero visibility in that bowl and the smell was so bad it gave the air texture. Luckily most of the devil slime was contained to my thermals that now looked like an orangy-brown shit sponge. I put my ski pants back and sprinted from the room hiding my face with my scarf leaving all my shit rags laying in the floor for some unlucky bastard . I freeballed the rest of the evening- which fucking sucks when skiing, a bad mixture of freezing and chaffing. I didn't get the shit smell out of my boots for weeks.

Amazing. That story had everything. I too have been stuck on a chairlift while having to pee and/or poop. It's the worst feeling in the world. There's nowhere to go. I swear I've considered not only jumping from the lift, but also jumping from the chair onto one of the utility poles to scale down, which would almost certainly fail. Has anyone ever tried to do that and been successful? Surely some asshole has tried to jump onto the utility pole and horribly injured himself. I'd love video.

Also, the brewing coffee poop is terrible. As is the zero-visibility shit. Where you just seem to shit brown algae. Then you look down at the bowl and it's OPAQUE. Only the Devil himself knows what secrets lay within.

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:

Tom Cable
Wade Phillips
Todd Haley
Jim Zorn
Eric Mangini
Jim Mora
John Fox*
Gary Kubiak*
Dick Jauron – FIRED!
Lovie Smith*

(* - midseason firing potential)

Hey everyone, Wade's back! It wasn't the same without him. There isn't a more certain eventual firing on this list than ol' Wade. Poor feller.

Holiday Snack Of The Week

Banana bread! Oh, banana bread. You are the treat that the fat girl in the office brings in for no reason on a Tuesday morning. AND BLESS HER CHUBBY LITTLE HEART FOR IT. Ever put butter or cream cheese on your banana bread? No? You're missing out on a real chance to pad your cholesterol stats, people. Make it happen.

I don't work in an office anymore, and that means this year, I am not present in an office setting when all the corporate food gifts get left around for everyone to consume. Caramel popcorn buckets. Chocolates with company logos on them. Gift baskets that have one box of chocolates and six boxes of inedible water crackers. Oh, how I miss being in an office this time of year.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

THE BUZZSAW THAT IS RHINELANDER BEER! Reader Chris B. sends in this cheap treat:

In college, being poor, finding cheap beer was always task #1, enter Rhinelander. You could acquire a case of this shit for $8 and I don't care how bad it was, 24 beers for $8 was the equivalent of finding the holy grail for us. It tasted of a mixture of creamed corn found in a can from the 70s, motor oil and sulfur. You could either get The Rhinelander (as my roommate referred to it) in either cans or bottles. Note the buzzsaw on the can, I think it's appropriate as that is what Rhinelander would do to your stomach, rip you to shreds. As for the bottles, for some reason the labels always appeared to be in a state of decomposition, much like your stomach would be that night and the next day…

It came in bottles? WELL LA DI DA MR. FANCY CHEAP BEER! God, that looks so horrible. I MUST HAVE IT. Also, Rhinelander is the name of the town in Wisconsin where I went to summer camp! HEY HEY CAMP DEERHORN! HEY HEY CAMP DEERHORN!

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 Drew Brees of the Saints! Ah, Christmas. My favorite time of year. NO ONE THROWS A CHRISTMAS PARTY LIKE EVANS DOES! Champagne? YOU BET! Caviar? We have beluga and paddlefish! And pressed! Ever have pressed caviar? It's the compressed caviar they scrape off the bottom of the barrel. It's the scrapple of caviar, and Evans loves it!

"Every year I throw my Christmas party, and everyone in Hollywood wants to go! But you have be somebody in this town to make it onto Evans' list, Baby! Beatty? Oh yeah. Hoffman? Of course! Lingerie models covered in butterscotch? Now we're talking! Every year, I slip on my red robe and dress up as Evans Claus! I sit by the pool, with a martini in hand. And one by one, every girl comes and sits on Evans Claus' lap to tell him what they want. But it turns out I already have their gift in my lap waiting for them! Naughty? YOU BET! Nice? VERY.

BONUS Robert Evans Story!
Reader Nubs unearthed another Evans chestnut this week. He writes in:

From this week's New Yorker article about the Roman Polanski saga, talking about Paramount's attempt to woo an up-and-coming foreign director to work on Rosemary's Baby...

After Polanski rejected Peter Bart's initial request that he direct the movie version, Bart asked his boss at Paramount, Robert Evans, to intervene. "Bob called up Polanski and said, 'What have you got to lose? If you come to L.A., the worst thing that can happen is that you are going to have the best sex of your life. Polanski said, 'I'll be there.'"

30 years later, Roman Polanski is still paying for listening to advice from Robert Evans. And now you know, the ressssssst of the story.

Indeed we do. It's funny because he nails preteens.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Rams Fans

Christmas Vacation! Ah, the pool scene. What a delight. You know, Chevy Chase is always dreaming about banging other women in these movies, but you know what's underrated? Beverly D'Angelo's breasts. She had GREAT hooters. Really full and bouncy. I'd never stray from your rack, Bev. Not like Pacino did. Scout's honor.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Marge, you can save more souls with roller skates and Easy-Bake ovens than you can with this two-thousand page sleeping pill."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Reader Eric submits the breast-heavy Oppaii Tumblr. NSFWbewbs.
-For the gals: SHIRTLESS FIREFIGHTERS! True story: I watched exactly one scene of "Sex and the City" with my wife once. Kim Cattrall goes to a firefigher strip show, the guy takes his clothes off, and her line is, "Hello, 911? I'm on fire!" Someone wrote that line and found it clever. God, that show was a piece of shit.

A very Merry Christmas to you and yours, everyone. I hope, if you're traveling, that your trip is as safe and painless as humanly possible.

For the first time in three years, I'm skipping an in-season Jamboroo next week to hunker down with the family. But I'll be back in two weeks. Until then, enjoy the games, everyone.

Vinny Cerrato—the now former executive vice-president of football operations in Washington—would be the "dumber" in most of the "Dumb and Dumber" signs that Skins fans aren't allowed to carry into Dan Snyder's precious sight. Oh, right ... Snyder! He's still there, isn't he? See, Cerrato answered to him for 10 years and even though the deck chairs have been rearranged, Danny Boy is still the captain of this particular Titanic. A moral victory, I guess?

Anyway, Cerrato resigned to the delight of millions, but not without firing one last cheap shot during his exit. He released a statement that was typical gracious nonsense—thank the owner, express disappointment, pretend you've left the pieces in place for the future—except for this one little middle finger:

"I've had the pleasure of working with some great coaches such as Joe Gibbs, Greg Blache and Sherman Lewis," Cerrato said.

Not pictured: Actual head coach Jim Zorn. Seriously, if Greg Blache is getting a shout out and you're not, someone is definitely trying to send you a message. (That message is: "You suck, Jim Zorn.")

VINNY CERRATO RESIGNS AS EVP/FOOTBALL OPERATIONS [ESPN 980]
Cerrato exits, not very gracefully [Washington Times]
Report: Cerrato resigns [PFT]
Vinny Cerrato Resigns, Redskins' Biggest Problem Grows Stronger [Stet Sports]
[Photo via]

Henry, who hasn't played since going on injured reserve early last month, was in Charlotte to discuss wedding plans with his fiancée, according to his agent.

At some point this afternoon, they got into a "domestic situation." Police say the fiancée drove away in the pickup truck, and Henry jumped in the back. They continued arguing. A half-mile from the home, he fell out the back of the truck.

Update: Gerry Fraley of the Dallas Morning News reports the accident was fatal. So far, no one else is confirming this. And the account appears to be fake.

Update: Joe Reedy of the Cincinnati Enquirer reports that Henry suffered head injuries, but as far as he knows is still alive.

Update: The Kentucky Post reports that homicide detectives are investigating. This doesn't necessarily mean it would be classified as a homicide.

Update: Alex Marvez of FOXSports reports that Henry is on life support.

Update: TMZ is, of course, all over this. Just today, fiancée Loleini Tonga was bragging to friends about having bought their wedding rings. Jesus.

Update: A source tells FanHouse that "we don't think he's going to make it."

Update: A statement from Henry's agents: "We ask everyone to pray for Chris. We also ask that you respect the privacy of Chris' family. Chris is indeed battling for his life tonight, and our thoughts and prayers our with him during this extremely difficult time."

Update: A reader informs us that a witness to the accident told local news that Henry was "foaming at the mouth."

It's not really an new argument, but the theory is that the more safety measures you put in place for people, the more dangerous their behavior becomes. Seat belts, cigarette filters, condoms—the illusion of safety makes people do stupid things they might otherwise not. Take away that security and people become less risky, more responsible for their behavior and you actually create less harm.

Football helmets may be the one instance where this theory actually holds true. "Hard shell" football helmets are designed to protect the skull, but they also turn the head into a convenient weapon. Safeties launch themselves at unsuspecting wide receivers because they want to strike with the most forceful piece of equipment on their body. When a running back senses trouble coming, he ducks—exposing his neck to catastrophic injury and increasing the chance for a brain-rattling concussion. Players slap each other in the head, tug on facemasks, and headbutt goalposts to fire themselves up, because they know that if someone (or something) decides to hit back, they've got that nice big helmet to protect them.

(The same is true for boxing gloves. The soft padding doesn't hurt as much and faces don't get as mangled as they do by bare knuckles, but that just means your opponent can pummel your skull for 12 rounds instead of three.)

There's evidence that suggests Australian Football League players suffer fewer head injuries, despite the fact that they don't wear any padding at all. Their game is slower and slightly less violent than the NFL—dislocated shoulders and knees area actually more prevalent Down Under—but there are also fewer unconscious guys carted off the field on stretchers. That's because players learn to protect themselves, rather than hoping the equipment will do it for them. It's good old Republican self-reliance!

The NFL will never remove facemasks or ban helmets—they would have to redesign the entire uniform and half the rule book—but maybe players would be a bit better off if they did? This brutal hit Ryan Clark put on Willis McGahee is just one of thousands of similar plays that doesn't happen if players aren't wearing helmets. All that padding is well-intentioned, but it doesn't make the game less dangerous.

Of course, Beck managed to spin this one minor, yet sensible point into a larger anti-government narrative about the dangers of universal health care. Nearly every thing else he said in his rant was dead wrong—Australian Rules football is not, in fact, called "rugby"—but even a stopped fear-mongering hate clock is right twice a day.

Beck compares health insurance regulation to football helmets, which he claims cause reckless behavior and concussions [Media Matters for America]
Glenn Beck Comes Out Against Football Helmets [The Fifth Down Blog]
Is It Time to Retire the Football Helmet? [WSJ]

Irvin's comments turned some heads and blew some minds, because this is what Michael Irvin does. He speaks before he thinks, and usually comes out with some gems. We get an uncensored, unedited look at his brain. So when Irvin says he'd rather go 19-0 than have Super Bowls XXVII, XXVIII and XXX on his resume, that's all Michael Irvin's id talking.

Which is funny, because Michael Irvin is all ego. The self-proclaimed "Playmaker" is out for his name, and his name only. He just wants to be seen by the world with the same reverence he has for himself. And there's no better way to do that then be part of an undefeated team.

Think about it; a team wins a Super Bowl every year. A good number of players, even wide receivers, have won three, including Troy Brown and Jerry Rice, neither of which Irvin would want to be considered equals with.

But perfection is immortality. Is Earl Morrall remembered as a serviceable journeyman QB, or the man who started the majority of the 1972 Dolphins' games. Is Mercury Morris a back who reached 1000 yards just once in his career, or is he best known for a champagne toast over another team's first loss? Is Garo Yepremian just another funny-sounding foreign kicker, or is he — well, the fact that we even remember a kicker from 39 years ago says it all.

Even secondhand association with perfection is memorable. David Tyree's name will be remembered as long as Irvin's, all because of 18-1.

And as for giving up his Hall of Fame bust, even that wouldn't be forfeiting his legacy. The names of HOF DTs Ernie Stautner, Arnie Weinmeister and Leo Nomellini haven't stood the test of time, but Manny Fernandez's has.

Look, I'm not saying that reaching the team pinnacle of the NFL three times, and then reaching the individual pinnacle of football wouldn't be the ultimate dream for most players. But this is Michael Irvin. Great isn't enough. One of the best isn't enough. He always wanted to be the absolute best, and if you need an absolutely quantifiable measure, 19-0.

So props to you, Mr. Irvin, on reaching for the stars. Now let's all be glad you never got there.

Yes, the ad wizards at Jerry Jones Heavy Manufacturing Concern, LLC, decided that their eleventy-billion dollar show palace, $14 hamburgers, live sex shows (NSFW), cheerleaders, and "Party Passes" (oh, and an NFL game) would not be enough to entertain the 80,000 people who bothered to show up for the 'Boys latest December nightmare. So at the start of the second half against the Chargers, they turned the 160' by 90' superstructure over midfield into a 3-D movie theater so that fans in attendance could experience the wonder of football with length, width and depth! It's like you're actually there!

Now stop and think about this for a second, since no one who works for the organization apparently did. In order to see 3-D images on a television, you need to wear special glasses—glasses that impair your vision of the real, physical world around you. This means that the Cowboys were literally asking fans to ignore the actual live football game taking place before their very eyes, so that they could watch it on television instead. For $300 a ticket. Because that would be more "realistic." The effect certainly is mind boggling.

Since many fans chose not to put on (or couldn't figure out?) the stupid glasses, the video replay board became a blurry red and blue mess to their eyes. According to reports, the loudest cheer of the day came when they finally shut it off halfway through the third quarter.

Of course, the dirty secret of JerryWorld's massive video board is that it so overshadows the playing field that most fans end up staring at it anyway, rather than the flesh-and-blood players on the field in front of them. (Granted, some don't have any choice.) I'm sure that thought will comfort DeMarcus Ware when he wakes up from his coma.

It's hard to see what Dallas Cowboys saw in 3D call [Dallas Morning News]
3D experiment falls flat at Cowboys Stadium [PFT]
Cowboys Stadium 3D scoreboard experiment doesn't go so well, turned off in less than seven minutes [Second image via Engadget]
"3-D" a "3-Dud" at Cowboys Stadium [WPMT]